MLP 30K: The Horus Gambit

by Persona_non_grata

First published 2nd of August, 2019

It is the 31st millennium, and mankind once more approaches the crossroads of fate. It all hinges upon one being: Horus Lupercal. At least, so it seems. But decisions are never made alone.

MLP/Warhammer 30K crossover, Book #1 of an alternate Horus-Heresy path.

For 200 years the Great Crusade has sought to reunify the scattered fragments of humanity's once great confederation, and mankind once again approaches a crossroads. An unlikely soul is thrust into the maelstrom that will tilt the balance of power, for the axis upon which the future pivots is a single human soul: Horus Lupercal.

Now, the dice are rolled on a daring gambit which could alter the course of history. The machinations of ruin and disorder are on the march, knowing that their plans may be forever spoiled. Ideals will arise and loyalties will be tested, for it is the dawn of the 31st millennium, and the galaxy is on the brink of war.

Prologue: Operation Sacrosanct

Bellicose winds rasp across the scoured plains, leaving sidewinding bands of crimson sand to cover up the crumpled forms strewn across the barren plateau. Here and there, atop the rising crests of shifting dunes and dotted in the shaded gullies lie the remnants of war left to rest beneath the roiling ash grey skies. Iridescent teal battleplate lies splintered and gouged while blood soaks into billowing red cloaks caught in the breeze. Even the wispy pillars of oily black smoke are stolen away in the wind's mournful dirge as time swiftly shrouds the evidence of carnage.

But deep below ground, the harsh staccato roar of death continues.

A harsh blurt of binaric machine code precedes the thunderous crack. Whirling chunks of twisted scrap metal skitters across the polished rockrete floor as the lumbering red giant rounds on its assailants lurking in the shadows.

Harsh red emergency lights strobe the narrow hall, glinting off pocked stanchions and momentarily revealing ghosting shapes darting between metal ribbing. The red monstrosity twists its bulk and sets its stance wider with a hiss of pneumatic pumps. Its shoulder mounted cannon belches rounds in the narrow corridor, illuminating the world in stark monochrome as sparks shower off the support stanchions lining the walls. An errant shot catches one concealed figure, casually tearing off a limb.

With a grunt of pain, the figure ducks back into cover as more muted footsteps echo in the sullen darkness between the barking cannon bursts.

"Effrit two-one: Effrit two-nine register, copy."

The hazy rasp of the cypher encoded vox net gives off a fleeting echo. The figure drops his bolt carbine into his lap before expertly snagging a round krak grenade from his belt. He reaches for the pin with an absent limb before realizing his action. There's a sharp cackle as he stares at the bloody stump that had been severed below the elbow, ending in ragged meat and shattered flecks of ceramite. The limb was gone, but the wound had already clotted. A quick flick of his thumb looses the grenade pin before he blindly tosses the explosive towards the hulking behemoth guarding the end of the corridor.

The bone shaking rapport sends rippling shockwaves through the ground as the mechanical monster reels, a fresh gaping wound in the round sensor dome further mocking its parody of a human form stretched beyond any natural dimension.

The guardian castellax recovers with a shriek of protesting servo motors as it steadies itself. Its roving sensor lenses flick back and forth in telescopic sockets, the delicate mechanisms exposed to the world through the shattered dome.

Through the blistering storm of shot and shell, a wraith passes all but unnoticed. A glimmering spark of light is all that remains after the phantom avoids the strobe light, stalks through a curling tendril of smoke, and disappears among the mangled mass of plasteel beams. The castellax's fire slackens and after a moment, abruptly halts.

The aberration slinks forward, closing the distance in the dark. Far too late, the infrared spectrum lens reveals the hazy figure that hurtles through the gloom hitherto unseen. A warning peel echoes from the castellax's external amps as it swivels its cannon to bear on the ghostly foe, but the first blade stroke had already ripped into the tempered metal skin and sliced through tangled bundles of data cords.

Tall and broad beyond its kin, a falsehood shroud peels back across its shoulder to reveal lustrous black scaled armour. It flashes a pale broadsword dancing with eldritch sparks. The blade nearly sweeps across the castellax's midriff, bisecting the monstrosity at the waist.

Had the automaton been truly alive, its guts would have spilled out. But, devoid of such concerns, it merely tries to keep itself upright and bring up its one remaining claw to catch the intruder. The hip servos promptly fail as it pitches ungainly in an awkward mechanical stagger.

The slightest opening was more than enough as the broadsword plunges deep into the gaping wound and straight through the neural core at the heart of the construct. With a dying garble of scrap code, the castellax collapses on its side, its thunderous fall echoing in the enclosure well after it had settled.

It had all taken place in less than five seconds. The inhumanly tall figure stalks past the fallen monster that shot winking sparks reflected by a rapidly expanding pool of stinking amnion. It approaches the flashing red wall panel next to a sealed plasteel blast door, careful to avoid the spreading slick. The figure cocks its head to the side, fingers dancing across the access pad which swiftly changes from blinking red to solid green. Atmosphere rushes from the room in a reedy gasp as the door slides upward, revealing a faint glitter deep within the abyssal darkness.

The wounded transhuman warrior hefts himself to his feet, sliding his back against the wall for support.

"Effrit actual: Effrit two-nine reports condition compromised."

The phantom figure doesn't slow, but quirks its head as it disappears inside.

"Confirm. Bring up the Chronos asset."

Author's Notes:

Alright, so, this is the first of a somewhat ambitious alternate timeline thing I've bandied about with a few mates here and there. It decided to get written, and now it's on here. It's also my first time at present tense story telling, so that kinda propelled me to do it.
There's not really too much more to it than that, it's not going to be following the established stuff completely but there's gonna be a fair bit of stuff from the Horus Heresy books involved. Don't worry, you don't gotta read 'em all.

If you want to read Horus RIsing, though, go ahead as it'll round out a lot of the stuff happening in the immediate background during some of the early chapters.

Anyway, all the best you lot.

Dramatis Personae

Individuals listed by company and relative rank as of the events in medias res, after the events of Horus Rising and midway through False Gods.
Spoilers to both works below:

Equestrians:

Celestia- Princess of the Day, co-ruler of Equestria

Luna- Princess of the Night, co-ruler of Equestria

Twilight Sparkle- Princess of Friendship

Starlight Glimmer- Pupil of Twilight Sparkle

Northling Barnyard- Doctor, University of Canterlot Medical department

Moondancer- Graduate Student, University of Canterlot Thaumatological department

Sunset Shimmer- Former pupil of the Equestrian crown

Trixie Lulamoon-Stage performer

Legiones Astartes:

XVI legion: Sons of Horus
Horus Lupercal- Primarch of the 16^th Legion, Warmaster of the Great Crusade
Genetically crafted 'son' of the Master of Mankind. “First among equals” of the primarchs. Mortally wounded by the poisoned Anatheme blade during the assault on the moon of Davin.

Maloghurst “The Twisted”- Equerry to the Warmaster and senior diplomat

Timmult Vaddon- Chief Apothecary
Recovered Horus on the moon of Davin, currently in possession of the Anatheme blade for the purposes of study.

Ezekyle Abaddon- First Captain, 1^st company
Member of the Warmaster's Mourneval advisory council. Most senior commander under Horus Lupercal, and leader of the Warmaster's Justarian guard. Member of the Warrior Lodge.

Kalus Ekaddon- Catulan Reaver Captain, 1^st company

Tarik Torgaddon- Captain, 2^nd company
Member of the Warmaster's Mourneval advisory council. Accompanied Garviel Loken in the recovery of the Anatheme blade. Member of the Warrior Lodge.

Horus Aximand “Little Horus”- Captain, 5^th company
Member of the Warmaster's Mourneval advisory council. Member of the Warrior Lodge.

Yade Durso- Lieutenant, 5^th company

Serghar Targost- Captain, 7^th company
Official speaker and leader of the Warrior Lodge.

Garviel Loken- Captain, 10^th company
Member of the Warmaster's Mourneval advisory council. Recovered the poisoned Anatheme blade.

Nero Vipus- Sergeant, 10^th company

Luc Sedirae- Captain, 13^th company
Warrior Lodge's gatekeeper.

Tybalt Marr “The Either”- Captain, 18^th company
Accompanied Garviel Loken in the recovery of the Anatheme blade.

Verelum Moy “The Or”- Captain, 19^th company
Slain by Eugen Temba during the assault on the moon of Davin.

XVII legion: Word Bearers
Erebus- First Chaplain of the 17^th legion
Spiritual leader and founder of the Warrior Lodge, current guest of the 16^th legion. Stole the Kinebrech Anatheme blade and corrupted Eugen Temba.

Kal Belekar- Captain, 94^th company

XX Legion: Alpha Legion
Alpharius- Twin- Primarch of the 20^th legion

Alpharius Omegon- Master of the Effrit, Twin-Primarch of the 20^th legion

Non-Astartes
Hektor Varvarus- Commander of the 63^rd expedition fleet

Ing Mae Sing- Chief Astropath, 63^rd expedition fleet

Eugen Temba- Former Governor of Davin
Corrupted, then persuaded to assassinate Horus Lupercal on the moon of Davin with the Anethame blade.

Ashkub- Davinite Delphos High Priestess

Sabinius “Strider”- Asset of the 20^th legion
Young dream strider mystic of the Manataxii tribe.

Chapter 1: Once Again

For countless millennia humankind has obsessed with the nature of the spirit and dreams. Shamanistic practices believed that through the right combination of stimulants and appeasing spirits, a practitioner could intercede in the dream realm. The early world believed that oneironautics could be achieved with enough training and practice, and with the right humours in balance, one could reach out to another. The esoterics that followed would say it is through the fade that all dreams pass, and we are all connected just beyond the false skein of reality. So many believed in such a notion, yet with the rise of the psyker, the secular world decided it had no need for such a damnable path of inquiry.

Sabinus awakes with a start, though her thoughts blend with the howling screams and triumphant roars of what lay beyond the waking world. She bites her lip, drawing blood, tasting iron seeping into her mouth. It wasn't a dream, no, not at the moment. Her vision clears as she stares at the smooth grey marble ceiling, clawed fingers shaking as the emaciated limbs stretch to touch the unseen sky.

Firm hands clasp her shoulders and she closes her eyes again. Her lips move, forming words left unsaid.

'It's not them, it can't be them.'

This was neither the dream nor the ghostly touch of the Silent Sisterhood. She was free, free for a moment and unfettered by the ghosts and haunts that lurk beyond the Unseen Border.

Jarred and pulled upright, Sabinus moans as her frail frame shakes with effort. An arm loops under hers to prop her up against a shoulder as she is ferried along by two strong figures, her feet barely scuffing the featureless stone floor. Rasping mechanical speech spits shrill squeals, each electronic squawk piercing the faint calm that her whispers had provided. Still, a tremulous bolt of pain clears the haze that threatens to settle in like a summer fog on the Great Banks back home.

Figures, she could only feel them and sense them before.

Sabinus lolls her head to the left, then right, taking in the pair of humans that held her suspended between them. They were tall and broad, both male, clad in black infiltrator suits with short las carbines deftly carried in their free hands. The only mark of note is the faceless black masks dominated by a single cyclopian glass eye. They constantly sweep their gazes back and forth, halting just long enough in the lee of a shattered industrial strut leaned against the wall of a smoke choked junction. They look up and down the empty grated corridors before quickly bounding across the open gap and continue down the narrow halls.

Sabinus stumbles over a red clad corpse of the machine cultist but two firm hands hold her shoulders, keeping her upright. More by instinct than anything else, the girl's voice hitches.

"A-apologies, l-lord."

Her suppliant bow and dipped head barely elicits a twitch or pause from her guardians.

"Focus, Strider."

A harsh metallic click grates from the unseen vox emitter of the figure on her right.

By now, Sabinus' eyes had adjusted to the pulsing red lights that illuminate the gloom in shades of blood red. The walls are streaked with thick oozing rivulets from conduit pipes and are spattered wholesale across fractured sections of plasma cut rockrete. The lingering stink of burnt fyceline stings her nose as she takes a deeper breath, barely noticing the feathered brushstrokes of char from flamer units that swept across the walls.

Then she saw it, the giant.

At first, she mistook it for a devotional statue. Even kneeling in the middle of the hall, the figure was as tall as herself. Its thick lustreless plate all but absorbs the darkness as a cloak around its shoulders hangs limply in the stale air like a burial shroud. Its massive rifle is neatly raised, as if caught in a propaganda pict pose as time itself had deemed to freeze.
But as the wailing screams of klaxons howl through the narrow corridor, and red light flickers in ribbons across the figure, she realizes that the giant was all too aware of their presence.

A silent conversation must have passed between Sabinus's guards and the monolithic giant, because both of her cyclopian guards bob a head in deference and swiftly turn the corner. The trio edge around the warrior and make their way down another series of twisting halls.

Like ribs of some horrible beast, Sabinus's glimpses the pairs of identical pillars lining their new route. They were parasites worming through the innards of some horrible rotted beast as the incessant wailing alarms grow loud enough to thrum through the air like a heartbeat. She felt each klaxon now, and its bleating cry shreds her concentration.

The young woman is roughly pulled back in her guardian's unyielding grip as she sways and reaches out dumbly to steady herself. Her hand stretches out just a hairsbreadth away from dull blackened metal carapace. Its flecked with clots of blood, and she realizes that the shredded cabling that she thought was from a pipe was ruined flesh and jagged bone.

Sabinus gags as her eyes shoot upwards, locking with a pair of black sightless lenses that stare back at her impassively. It was another giant hidden in the gloom. This one's head slowly pivots, and even as her guards try to usher her on, she holds its dead gaze as she is lifted above a twisted heap of metal laying in an amniotic slick.

All around her the halls stank of expended cordite, stale air, and the backwash of flamers. One guard, then the other vault over the shattered castellax as Sabinus wobbles on unsteady limbs and rests her feathery touch on the dented red metal.

A swirling eddy of other emotions pulls at her, twisting her head as violently and possessively as a hand on her chin. Her head snaps to the right, and Sabinus finds herself looking into the abyssal darkness beyond a cog-lined aperture.

She glimpses a silhouette of an enormous figure with its palm pressed against a wall. Unlike the other two giants, its helmet is clamped to its belt, exposing the faintest glint of sweat-slicked skin on a bald pate.

"Do you recognize this place, Strider?"

His thick, warm voice intones. Compared to him, her voice is just a mousy rasp.

"N-no, my lord. I, I have never been here."

But as her guardians catch up, they wordlessly guide her forward through the aperture . As Sabinus crosses the room's threshold, a cloying sensation of déjà vu washes over her.

"I have. I've seen it in my dreams. I've seen this in legends, and then in schematics. Now I see it with my own two eyes and still wonder if I'm asleep. You know this feeling, don't you?"

With a soft gesture, he waves her to his side. Her two human guards take a step back and cautiously exit the room, leaving her alone with the giant.

Despite herself, Sabinus cautiously edges forward into the utter blackness between the entrance and the shrouded giant. Each step brings her closer, her feet padding quietly over cold stone. The darkness was all but formless but not so much as a mote of dust coats her feet as the chill grounds her to the world. Now that the giant had mentioned it, every step replays itself in her head like a never-ending loop. Time after time it blends together until she finds herself by the giant's side.

A massive armoured hand descends near-weightlessly on her shoulder. Its feather touch sweeps away tangled locks of matted black hair.

In front of her was no wall, but a simple silver amalgam; a mirror of some antiquated design. Its gilt edges remain locked in the harsh unflinching cold of mechanicum bindings, with conduit bundles spiraling down like dreadlocks from punctured inlets across the slab-like adamantium clasps. But it did nothing to the elegant gold painted wood and flawless surface.

Sabinus looks into the mirror and sees herself, though darkly. Her pinched face is starved, hollow cheeks showing flecks of grime, bile and dried blood. Her greasy black hair had been untreated, unkempt for countless months.

'That can't be me.'

Her voice hiccups as more by reaction than thought, her bony fingers reach toward her own face. Sabinus' fingers shake and jitter of their own will, her nerves long since having fled as she weakly touches her powdery skin before tracing down across cracked and bleeding lips. She hadn't always been like this, the face that stares back from the silver mirror is foreign.

Sabinus had only glimpsed her neglected form for the briefest instants in the long months that her silent guardians prowled the tall gantries above the isolation cells. The ghosts had swam in her vision, she caught contorting glimpses of creatures writhing under her skin in errant reflections of the glass porthole pressed to her face. The wandering beams of searchlights flitted over the hellish nightmare holds of the Black Ships and cast predatory shadows across other stasis tanks. There was screaming, crying, and finally nothing as lifetimes of solitude came crashing down upon her. All the while she was watched unflinchingly by the Soulless Host.

"I'm a mess."

The giant takes a breath and keeps its other palm pressed to the pane, before glancing down at her. Piercing emerald eyes shift to aqua and back in swirling torrents. Sabinus quivers when he holds her gaze, her wracked body only settling when he went back to peering at his own reflection a moment later.

"A fitting metaphor given our state of affairs, wouldn't you say?"

She, in fact, says nothing. But staring at the hollow face, there's an unspoken command to reach out as if to touch and prove that the ghastly image looking back at her was some other being. As her fingers stretch out to brush the metal, that tiny hope is snuffed out.

But an ember of something else takes its place. A fearful whisper arises like a gasp.

F̵̢̑r̴̪͐ē̷͎ĕ̶͉ ̷̺̓u̶͈̇ş̴̒.̸̭̈ ̷̥͗ ̸̯̃H̴͎͂ḙ̴̈́l̶̰̂p̴̯͂ ̷̪̇ū̷̳s̴͍͋.̷͎̂ ̴̡̀ ̵̘̈́S̵̪̓a̸̙͘v̸͙̾e̷͑ͅ ̸̭̀u̸̠͒s̶̖͌.̷̲̀ ̶̠̃L̴̮͠e̵̡̿a̸̱͐v̵̗̀é̷̩ ̷̣͝ù̸͚ṣ̴̕.
Free us. Help us. Save us. Leave us
F̵̢̑r̴̪͐ē̷͎ĕ̶͉ ̷̺̓u̶͈̇ş̴̒.̸̭̈ ̷̥͗ ̸̯̃H̴͎͂ḙ̴̈́l̶̰̂p̴̯͂ ̷̪̇ū̷̳s̴͍͋.̷͎̂ ̴̡̀ ̵̘̈́S̵̪̓a̸̙͘v̸͙̾e̷͑ͅ ̸̭̀u̸̠͒s̶̖͌.̷̲̀ ̶̠̃L̴̮͠e̵̡̿a̸̱͐v̵̗̀é̷̩ ̷̣͝ù̸͚ṣ̴̕.

Dozens of voices rasp their sibilant tones as winking lights spark in colourful bursts in front of her eyes. The dull ring of chimes accompany the breathless intonations as her mind wanders through the star specked flickering images of humanity, from fur clad savages to resplendent archaic lords. All of them stare out at her from the starry abyss. The waking dreams returned after a long hollow sleep.

Four figures in pearl white armour clasp hands together. A trio of dark shrouded forms surrounded by a writhing horde raise stone spears to the heavens. Cabals of crimson figures crowd around an ostentatious orrery. Finally, the screaming of a tortured god stretching his hands towards a distant light. Each flitting image is dominated by the light of a new moon cresting in the heavens above them. Past, present, future, it doesn't matter.

But she reaches further, feeling the dreamscape fold like velvet across her questing touch. Slowly, almost imperceptibly something pushes back.

"-binus. Sabinus."

The tone snaps her out of her stupor. Klaxons wail anew as she regards the giant, having lost track of time. He stands with blade drawn, and her mind tries to put a name to him as if it should know. Though some muddled fugue engulfs her, he still radiates a sense of supreme power.

"We won't have much time, and I can't say what's going to happen. Use your gifts wisely, we won't have a second chance to achieve our goals."

She blinks, her mouth slightly agape in confusion.

"W-what goals?"

The massive form replies while turning and stepping to intercede between her and the doorway.

"Undoing this mess."

Chapter 2: Dream Striders

The soft pallor of moonlight was rarely appreciated in Equestria. It had always been so, but as the pale rays stretch over the open fields beneath the mountaintop city, Luna couldn't help but feel a sombre tremor shiver from her ears to tail tip.

It had been much the same a millennia ago. Here she stood atop the world, and nopony cared. Sure, they could feign obeisance and bow in the market square, when they weren't still stock-still like she were a wayward lion that would wander off if not presented a challenge. She had always been seen as a predator while her sister was their stalwart guardian.

"I suppose it's a good things that times have changed, isn't it?"

She spoke to the breeze that wafted down the mountain slopes, bringing with it the chilly air off the alpine cliffs that towered above Canterlot. There was no reply, there never was as she stared out over the softly warmth of the evening gas lamps lit in the winding streets of the capital city. The quarters felt restful, quiet, demanding nothing of her.

Of course, she could always meander down to the throneroom and hold her night court, but nopony would come. Nopony ever did. The empty night of Equestrians were her court, and while ponies from near and far sought out her sister in the day, she came to her ponies in their dreams.

A sharp snorts blows from her nostrils.

'Why is that so feather-flicking galling?'

Predator princess, it may as well have been her title. Ages ago she was cheered on and vaunted, worshiped for her valour as she led ponies through the darkness of their earliest years: now she got that wry smile at best and given a matronizing pat on the head. It was the same polite but dismissive way that weary youths would deal with an aged grandparent to get them to be quiet. Appeasement, it never settled well in her stomach. Not on nights like this.

What had happened to the days of parading down liberated streets with squadrons of armoured guardsmares, and what about the songs that sprang to lips unbidden? She'd worked and bled to make Equestria what it-

'No'

She mentally reigns herself in.

'We worked and bled to make Equestria what it is today.'

Celestia, herself, the plethora of chieftains and nobles, all played a part. But something still washes part of that away. Celestia had her court and fawning sycophants while the nobles had their titles and privileges, a reminder of that laying just beyond Canterlot Castle's outer walls in the highest and most ostentatious districts. What did she have?

A languid sigh eases from her lips as a resigned scowl etches itself on her muzzle. Sure, the guttering flames of resentment towards her sister and their subjects had long since dimmed to fizzling embers. But, on quiet nights when the moon was full and her subjects absent, those tiny sparks softly glowed to life.

The vast expanse of her domain was well beyond ponykind's knowledge. And on soft summer nights, she let her gaze drift skyward towards the commanding orb in the heavens. It was bright, full, blue hazed in a corona of soft purples and bordered in a star spangled ribbon stretching to infinity. The somniferous princess leisurely paces across the wide balcony at the top of the castle's observatory. Her world was restful, peaceful.

It was, in a word, dull.

Taking in a breath of the quiet breeze that brought with it the refreshing chill off the mountainside, she closes her eyes and lets the meandering depths of her mind take charge.

Amid the veil of blackness the void coalesces. Time would slip by like a circle of waterfalls, wisps of luminous white lights slowly drift from the endless nothingness that connects them all. Luna settles on a shimmering band of russet and scarlet stars, feeling her physical burdens melt away.

One by one the mellow thoughts and dreams of her subjects flit by in ghostly pictures. Here and there she mentally nudges the lambent motes of manifested dreams, a guided caress that quiets overactive machinations or buoys the spirits of the troubled.

True, most dreams belonged to ponies. The vast majority living within the boundaries of Equestria were of the three pony tribes, and she was still a guardian charged with their well being. But other dreamers were hard to place, and harder still to affect. But the dreamscape didn't end with some geographical boundary of her and her sister's kingdom.

The spastic night terrors of a gryphon are shunted into a narrow stream that collapses the horrors into merciful nothingness. It was crude, but sometimes required. The gryphon's dream melts away with those further along the streams of unconsciousness.

Everything proceeds much the same, an hour or a lifetime passing in front of her eyes. The realm of sleep was malleable and time was anything but constant.

That was until all of those lights winked out of existence. One by one, the stream of stars and softly floating motes, vanish. They were small, but she knew when the dreamers stirred, and this was no bell that awoke a few, no.

As her mental grasp extends, she peers towards the writhing bands of darkness that extinguishes the dreams of her subject like a oozing black tide.

And it strikes her with the force of a tsunami. The tide engulfs her, swallows her in a morass, crashing into her conscious mental barriers with the squealing scrape of nails like rats clawing over a chalkboard.

A sightless bird screeches into the dark as countless eyes bubble and burst from its feathers, thousands of legged insects crawl over a rotting corpse that slowly mouths a long forbidden word, scintillating writhing half-beings twist and cavort around a morbidly obese creature that may be one of her kind, and amidst it all reverberates braying snarls and thundering hooves pounding arid earth.

'We aided you in your escape, now the hour draws near.'

A single blurry haze creeps over the dreams, blotting out even the endless rolling expanse of the void. A pair of eldritch eyes flicker into existence next to a smile that spans the stars and breathes a laugh as stale as the grave.

Luna stares up into the incalculable star-spanning face that leers at her from the abyss. Her stomach lurches as stabbing pains flick through her mind like nails. But after a grunt and twitch of pain, she regains her mental centre.

It was here, and instead of remaining an errant thought, Luna manifests herself in the dreamscape. Her equine form, armoured in glossy black plate, mane snapping behind her in the torrent of eldritch wind. Even next to the massive shape she was minuscule.

"W-we think not." she lapses into her antiquated mien as the dizzy concussive blast pulls her into the maelstrom. Her neck straightens as she lifts her chin, eyes narrowing at the apparition, "We tamed the Tantibus and shackled it. This is our realm and thou shalt obey us-"

Her voice wavers as a touch creeps along her spine like a tendril. Her back leg lashes out by instinct, as if to catch some unwary offender, and halts.

Her glance back catches the ragged decaying mirror of herself. The eyeless figure's rusted armour deteriorating as its withered face stares. Its mange ridden forelegs grasp her hock in its cracked and broken hooves. Its mouth opens as Luna's muscles tense.

F̵̢̑r̴̪͐ē̷͎ĕ̶͉ ̷̺̓u̶͈̇ş̴̒.̸̭̈ ̷̥͗ ̸̯̃H̴͎͂ḙ̴̈́l̶̰̂p̴̯͂ ̷̪̇ū̷̳s̴͍͋.̷͎̂ ̴̡̀ ̵̘̈́S̵̪̓a̸̙͘v̸͙̾e̷͑ͅ ̸̭̀u̸̠͒s̶̖͌.̷̲̀ ̶̠̃L̴̮͠e̵̡̿a̸̱͐v̵̗̀é̷̩ ̷̣͝ù̸͚ṣ̴̕.
Free us. Help us. Save us. Leave us
F̵̢̑r̴̪͐ē̷͎ĕ̶͉ ̷̺̓u̶͈̇ş̴̒.̸̭̈ ̷̥͗ ̸̯̃H̴͎͂ḙ̴̈́l̶̰̂p̴̯͂ ̷̪̇ū̷̳s̴͍͋.̷͎̂ ̴̡̀ ̵̘̈́S̵̪̓a̸̙͘v̸͙̾e̷͑ͅ ̸̭̀u̸̠͒s̶̖͌.̷̲̀ ̶̠̃L̴̮͠e̵̡̿a̸̱͐v̵̗̀é̷̩ ̷̣͝ù̸͚ṣ̴̕.

The apparition's mouth distends in a mournful scream that grips the very void.

And with a sharp gasp, Luna's eyes wrench open.

"Luna," a quiet cooing voice pipes from the doorway, "is something the matter?"

The nocturnal regent gallops across the dank chambers and plucks another tome from the sagging shelf.

'No time, no time. If she doesn't understand, then she doesn't understand.'

Luna had held her tongue at bay since that door first opened to allow a chambermaid entrance several hours ago. The red rimmed eyes and manic flicks of her head tell a different story, her lips pursing despite the gentle whispers.

"Did something happen?"

Silence again, but the alabaster mare finally lets out a frustrated sigh. Celestia takes a few steps in, watching her jittery sister flit back and forth like a mute songbird. Aged books, scrolls, and folded charts float across the room before they're casually discarded into three separate piles on the mildew crusted floor.

The casual approach hadn't worked, "Luna," Celestia's voice stiffens, "The maid said you've been here since before daybreak. If something's bothering you, you know you can tell me anything... if you're working too ha-"

"That's not it!" Luna snaps a look back over her shoulder. The angry crimson veins in her eyes break the perfect aqua pools, and whatever flash of viciousness frame her features halts Celestia's careful pace.

The awkward pause between the two becomes palpable. Loosing a resigned sigh, Luna shakes her head. "Apologies, sister. Something interrupted last night's obligations."

"Interrupted?" Celestia quirks a brow, taking a few more paces towards the slighter mare before sidling up next to her.

"Yes." She opens her mouth, squints, and stammers, "I-It's nothing pedestrian. I know what you're going to say, and I'm not sick, I'm not tired, I'm not anything... Ugh, you know what I mean. So not a word about some petty malady."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Celestia smiles.

It's met by a glowering frown, "That's not funny."

"Sorry." Celestia's voice softens. "So, what happened?"

Luna finally stops and awkwardly shifts on her hooves. "Something hijacked the dreamscape and drove me out." The proclamation meets a shocked blink, but no interruption. "It was short, temporary, but something happened. It may have been a shared nightmare, something powerful."

Luna shifts her weight to lean against Celestia's stronger frame as the elder sibling remains silent.

"It was the Nightmare again, but I don't know if it's the same one or something different."

"Did it offer something?" Celestia's careful question draws Luna's wary glance.

Luna scans her sisters face, and detecting no accusation, she sighs.

"No. Nothing." Luna lifts a hoof to rub at her weary eyes. "At first I thought it had come to make a demand, but now I'm not so sure. Sister, something reached out for me. It was... I don't think I could describe it in a way you would understand." she sighs and clenches her jaw.

Celestia merely lifts a brow and shifts subtly enough so that she was able to settle in against Luna's side. The darker hued Alicorn instinctively leans into the gesture. "Luna, I might not understand all of your gifts, but if I can help in any way, I want too."

Luna's silence stretches out for nearly half a minute before she draws a resigned breath.

"It was something dark, but not the same matter as the Nightmare. It felt like a dreamer, but I didn't enter their dream, they reached out for me through the dreamscape itself. It wasn't a dream, but it was made of one."

Luna's frustrated sigh breaks Celestia's attention for a moment. The Lunar princess shuts her eyes and buries her face in her hooves.

Celestia gingerly bites her bottom lip and stares at her weary sibling. "Lulu," she gave her a soft nuzzle, "has this happened before?"

"Not this coherently, no. Sometimes there are feelings, collective worries of dreamers during difficult times. But not like this."

Luna's muffled admission coaxes a comforting hug from Celestia.

"I wish I could do more to help you. Perhaps Starswirl or Twilight might have some insight into these matters."

Celestia's affectionate chuckle melds with a warm circling rub against the younger mare's withers. "I can call Twilight to Canterlot to-"

"No!"

Luna interrupts sharply. Seeing her sister flinch back at the tone, Luna sighs and leans in with a nuzzle, "Apologies. But it would be best if I were the mare to make the request. There are a number of explanations, and I would like to be certain I am not wasting anypony's time. Perhaps it was merely a residual element of fear or apprehension."

The alabaster Alicorn bobs her head while remaining silent. Curious again, Celestia draws the frog of her hoof up her sister's neck to her cheek. "Was there anything else? Anything, my dear little Lulu?" softly directing her sister's gaze.

Luna's bloodshot eyes meet her own, thin red lines and a bleary unfocused glint betray her discomfort. Celestia's affectionate hug never wavered, she never drew back, and Luna falls deeper into the embrace with an exhausted shudder.

"I can make a few other inferences," she mutters into the elder diarch's shoulder, "but nothing I'm comfortable with. It might be nothing, it might have just been to shake my confidence and allow itself more control. I won't let it happen again."

A hoof caresses Luna's mane, lulling her further into the embrace. "You have my complete confidence, sister."

Chapter 3: Method Master

“Did you make contact, Strider?”

The master of the Effrit asks as smoothly as silk. He easily maneuvers his pistol, adjusting the angle before the high pitched squeal of the disruptor beam mingles with the garbled roar of pain. Whatever had just turned the corner disappeared in a puff of incandescent sparks.

She catches the movement from the corner of her eye, though it feels distant and impersonal. Trails of objects swim in her vision as she lulls her head, feeling a cheek brush against the cold marble. Her senses swim back just long enough to register that she's splayed on the floor, hand barely tracing along a bronze rim of the mirror. The young woman draws a breath after recognizing that she had been called; a poor choice given the small unnoticed pool of bile, blood, and acid by her lips.

The spluttering fit melds her retching with a hacking cough.

“S-ssssir.”

Amidst the wheezing breathes, she clears her throat and wipes away the pink foam gathering at the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. She weakly rises to all fours, trying to shake her head and fight back the throb of pain in the base of her skull.

“Yes, lord.”

Her reedy voice trembles as she rocks back and forth on scraped knees.

“What did the farseer say, Strider?”

Even with his back turned, Sabinus reflexively tenses and leans away from him.

“I-I don't think it was an Aeldari voice, my lord.”

A half glance over his shoulder turns her blood to ice. The master of the Effrit lowers his voice, the rasp of a razor blade over granite.

“Then what manner of creature did you contact?”

She swallows hard and staggers to her feet. “I saw, no, I felt a Dream Strider that pushed back. It-” she hacks and coughs, red spittle dotting her lips. Sabinus pushes past the pain and sweeps the back of her hand across her mouth. “It was powerful, and it was from somewhere beyond the Unseen Boarder, but not a daemon. It wanted nothing and it offered nothing. Sir, It could have been a void angel.”

The astartes warrior, perhaps satisfied and perhaps not, turns his gaze back to the doorway. One of his Effrit lay in pieces behind the castellax, and the rattle of situation reports and requests came in a staggering non-stop torrent echoing from the helmet clamped to his waist. But his voice returned to its brazen inflection at her suggestion.

“Such a thing doesn't exist, Strider. There are no gods, certainly no angels, and no masters here to help us. What we do here, we do alone. While I do not doubt your sincerity, perhaps it was merely a sorcerer.”

She would have laughed had the sentence been uttered at any other time and almost any other person. A hundred attenuated souls couldn't produce something so clear and potent that it would press through the fabric of reality without brute force, and she knew it.

“Forgive me, lord, but it wasn't. I... know you brought me for my talents. My talent says that this is what you wanted to find. And you knew what we were searching for. It wasn't a Aeldari bone caster, was it?”

And for a time, her enormous guardian remains silent. Another pistol crack and Sabinus catches the faintest glimmer of a grin in the dark.

“Hmmm, and you are certain it was no Farseer? No avian Star Shaper?”

Sabinus scrunches her nose in defiant certainty.

“No, lord, I'm positive.”

“Tell me, would you stake your life on this?”

Sabinus took a long moment to think, searching her feelings.

She had been a tribal Dream Strider, she'd woven the dream catchers that protected her people for eight years until the arrival of the Star Walkers. She had felt the screams of other Dream Striders in the days before the Soulless had arrived and cast into the black ships.

“I think I already have staked my life on it. I am a Dream Strider, and I would bet my soul that was one as well, lord.”

Fully satisfied, the astartes draws a level breath. “It will require you do nothing less than exactly that. Can you contact them again?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation this time. The young woman heard the astartes take a few steps towards her, practically back to back.

“Then do it. I need to speak with them. You shall be my emissary and I, your guardian.”

“Y-yes. Lord, I didn't mean to sound assuming, I was-”

“I know.”

She sighs, body quivering both with effort and anticipation. It had been so long, and she felt a coolness the moment her palms press against the sheer metal. Her mind wanders, and slowly the world dissolves.

The kitchens were thankfully empty when Luna had slipped from the library and through the royal palace's halls. The chefs and cooks had left moments before, their voices echoing off the cold stone as the slow cooked vegetable stocks and broths simmered in enormous iron cauldrons. The kindled arcane flames still flickered beneath them in their well swept hearths.

Luna looks over the long trestle table, seeing everything on it but paying no attention. The sound of her munching some corn nuts compete with the crackling embers for dominance in the empty room. The plates had been set out but her elaborate plans had amounted to little more than a sandwich and pouring snacks into two ramekins. It was easier than making something, despite her initial grand ideas.

The kitchen staff would be back soon but the relative peace and homely quiet was momentarily more appealing than being shoved to the end of the enormous refectory table in the dining hall... alone, awaiting breakfast in the hollow echoing chamber. The ambient glow of the fire in a smaller more cozy room seemed comparatively pleasant.

The Alicorn's magic sputters as she tried to grab another mouthful of the baked treats, only to find they'd vanished. Only the crusts remained on her plate, and she momentarily stares at the husks in stunned silence. The meal had betrayed her, disappeared.

Traitors... humph, Oh well.

The princess lowers her chin to the table and closes her eyes with a lengthy sigh. The long morning of research after her duties had been fruitless. For every half-decent idea, other worries and conditions had cropped up. Sleep remained elusive, chased from her mind long ago. It was going to be another sleepless day in Equestria for her.

Opening one eye, she stares out the narrow window at the sunlit morning. Golden light spills across the Unicorn Range, bathing it in gilded glory. Each shimmer of radiance was still beautiful as she stars enraptured at the sight. The night fell like silver, but there was always something about that golden dawn creeping across the hills that... well, it was infuriating in a way. A smile slips across Luna's muzzle, even as her eyes glaze when sleep slowly envelops the princess of the night.

She had been wrong after all.

A screeching, jarring crash jolts Luna to wakefulness at once. Her heart beats painfully in her breast, breath raggedly torn from suddenly parched lips. Her eyes roll, shooting glances back and forth, flickering over the room, drinking in every last detail to search for something out of place.

“Celestia?!” she calls with a rasping crackle, louder than she'd ever meant too. Luna fights to draw breath in ragged uncontrolled gasps, feeling a rising pressure in her chest pressing from the inside outward against her ribs. Her forehoof twitches on its own. Feeling the trembling shudder down her limb, she reaches up to paw at her throat, grazing her hoof against the pristine platinum torc. The cool chill of the metal calms her as the frog of her hoof rests against the metal plate emblazoned with her cutie mark.

No, this was no prank of the elder Alicorn.

Something buzzed in her mind and she'd awoken. Her body was still tired, she sat on the brink of exhaustion, but something worms its way into the edge of her consciousness. A wayward thought crosses the princess' mind.

'Stars above, I better not be getting sick. Wait, did I leave my other journal in the old castle? Ooooooh, please don't be some evil sorcerer who found that diar- uh, journal.'

The thought passes. An Alicorn could be sick, but she would almost certainly know about any illness plaguing the palace staff. And if her journal was found... well, that might be something.

'No, I'm tired. I'm just tired, that's it.'

Luna closes her eyes again and tries to draw back something, anything. Thoughts of a foalhood and gallivanting around the old palace flit back like a photograph before her minds eye. She smiles, an inadvertent memory of an easier, earlier time. Thoughts of deeds and conquests for her ponies, for the fledgling Equestria. Her own memories fade, and the faint background noise of the dreamscape reaches her once again.

The quiet melody of a world awake mixes with a few pulses. Like the sound of a heartbeat or whisk of a breeze, the ponies that slumbered in the mid-morning were few and required far less attention than at night.

Thoughts and visions of greatness and the cheering sound of a name even made Luna grin. She'd long since attuned herself to the dreams and wishes of her sister's pupil and the element bearers. Loyalty's dreams thread past her like silk, a quiet and transient dream from a shallow rest.

And like an earthquake, the clamour of noise slams into her again. Luna's hooves scrabble at the tabletop, but they skip over the wooden surface as she careens awkwardly to the floor with a sudden loud crack. Pain blossoms through the back of her skull, and the taste of copper floods her mouth. But worst of all, that howling rings in her ears and blots out everything from the outside world, leaving her deaf.

Her heart thunders in her chest, she'd been attuned to the quiet when something blindsided her. The rogue dream arose from nowhere like a gale. It was no random noise, it was screaming: a single undulating rhythm propelled by a torrent of emotions so fearful, so distraught, so unthinkably tormented that the dreamscape shook with its touch.

Luna chokes back the rising bile in her throat. It was almost familiar but there was still a hope that she was wrong. As she lays against the cold stone, her mind torn from her, a whisper passes her lips in both realms.

“Be still.”

Authority, comfort, she breathes life into her words as if it would stem the tide. There is no starry cloak she can use to comfort her subjects or bring relief. This wasn't a dreamer she knows, neither was it a dreamer in her realm. Luna's conscience flits across the nebulous expanse in the realm of dreams but the waterfall had dried up. The shrill cry rang from the depths of the abyss like a voice in a cave. The bands of twinkling stars and quiet lights in the darkness were no more, washed away into a bleak and featureless void.

“What's wrong?”

Luna's voice reaches out when nothing but silence meets her. With a ghostly breath, she spots what almost appears to be a sunken corner in the dark.

“Ȩ̵̖̤̈̌͛ḛ̸̲̣̃̉eeverything.”

A whisper, a mind reaching out across the silent astral landscape. It steals her breath. Luna glimpses lithe limbs reaching like tendrils from the black blot, writhing and contorting as it struggles for breath.

The astral mirror of herself hesitates for only a moment before edging towards the abyssal pit.

What creature would emerge from utter darkness? She prepares herself, weaving an array of enchanted wards and incantations to safeguard her. If this was the Nightmare, it was different.

“How so?”

Did the being know it slumbered? Luna consciously slows her approach, now on the lookout for other signs of manipulation.

'Th̴͖̩͈̉̒̽̕ings are e̴̮̯͒͐̓nding, things have ended. The son of h̸ope is dead. T̵͛̓͒he son of l̷̡̋ight̵̢̛̊͜ is gone. Are you a power of the Ḓ̸̘͔̫̀͠e̶͆̈́ep?”

The voice queries, its very essence reeks of of the bitterness of desperation hidden behind a creaking facade of formality. She knew their type. Luna lets the imperceptible moments pass. One question needed to be answered first.

“What are you?”

The reply is instantaneous. ”I am a Dream Strid̵̼͒̀̀e̵r.”

Another creature who stalked the dreamscape? No, she knew it intimately, she nurtured it, she knew all of its pathways like she knew the castle gardens. Better, actually. Luna scowls, stamping her projected hoof down in a peel of thunder.

“Is that so? Truly? You are unknown to us.”

The voice responds without hesitation, its tone clearing slightly, hiccuped rasps affecting it only now and then like a skipping vinyl record.

“We be̷͇̘͆́̾g forgiveness. This method, it is taxing. We require aid of one in the ̶͘Deep.”

Luna searches the hazy figure, trying to figure out what it was. It was almost certainly some form of nightmare, its effects on the whole unwaking world couldn't be more profound. But at this distance, she felt all the malign powers as little more than background noise. It swathed the other creature, enfolded it, but it was not them.

“You search for one who wields power. For what reason?”

The being whispers again, its form flickering, its incorporeal shiver seemingly occupying two spaces at once. “For the purposes of my lord: to mend what is b̶̙͕̀roken, to restore the lig̵̀͝ht.”

The road to Tartarus was paved with good intentions, and this creature had already hurled itself screaming from the void in a fit of anguish. As Luna looked on the form she saw something alien: it was slender, gangly, upright, with emaciated limbs wreathed in wisps of deepest darkness like the coils of a vast serpent.

“At what cost?”

“Do ̶̬̲̘̝̃͘y̴ou... do you ask for a sac̵rifice? We...” a shiver wracks its form, sending roiling spasms across the amorphous mass. Its featureless face tilts up to stare at Luna, “We will comply. We will provide. We only ask that you hear our plea, then you may name your ̶̬̲̘̝̃͘price.”

Luna's eyes widen at the suggestion. A thousand thoughts rush through her mind, but she settles on one single statement as she grasps for more time.

“Continue.”

The apparition begins without pause. “ ̶̃͘W̵̆͝e know not what realm you belong to, what worlds you have seen, but the Empire of S̵ol is crumbling. Their k̶̤̯͗ing is slain, the lord of arms dead by his hand, uncountable sons of the immortal host butchered on fields across the stars. N̸̛͑̕ightmare̶͒̈͑s stalk the waking realm and the Dream Striders are hunted. The peoples of the Sol Empire die in countless multitudes every day. Numbers as vast as the stars are erased by the war machine and their worlds turned to ash.”

It waits, but Luna finds herself with little to say. So she makes a little rolling gesture with her hoof to proceed, which the creature seems to understand.

“My lord is one of the immortal host, one of the one-and-twenty, and he seeks to right this wrong. ̶͘ He seeks to save countless trillions of lives from the furnace. We can not, we have done all, and are at the end. I do not know if this translates to you, liege in the Deep, but I have been allowed to provide proof if you accept it."

Trillions. The number was meaningless, utterly meaningless. Luna's mind quickly fumbles with the numbers. For thousands of years Equestria had gone on in its cycle of life, teaming tens of millions had been born and lived out their lives under her sister's reign. Luna swiftly came to one conclusion.

'That's it, this thing is nuttier than a fruitbat.'

Part of her mind said that bats didn't eat nuts, another insists she had seen them do so, and the last casually mentions that the whole thing fit the crazed creature anyway.

But even madness often held a speck of truth, albeit oft twisted beyond recognition.

“Trillions, is that so? Tell me no lie, speak no half-truth, or I'll know.”

“I can show you what I have seen. If you accept this, my lord wishes for an audience, through me. Is this agreeable?”

A moment of truth, a moment of hesitation. If it was a lie, it was a danger to her and to Equestria as she could sense no malice. But this creature couldn't possibly be speaking truth. It couldn't, it was a figment of its tortured imagination. Part of her is happy that she has something so strange and new to do in an otherwise boring day, something unheard of. Another tugs at her fetlocks with one question:

'What if it's not lying?'

She ignores the dissent in her own mind and confidently tilts her chin up.

“Then show me.”

Author's Notes:

Sorry about the glitch text, just kinda felt appropriate in the moment. It likely won't be too recurring... probably.

Chapter 4: Bad Dreams

Soft curls of sandlerush fluff drift lazily through the fragrant afternoon air as peels of thunder roll across the meadows. There was a wonder to the elements of nature, but there was always something to the Dreamscape that surpassed it.

Luna looks on as the Dream Strider's roiling sensations recognize the prickling discomfort of déjà vu.

Pale grey-green waves rippled across verdant fields as wisps of smoke rise from the cluster of sharp angular habitations partially hidden behind the rise of the hillock.

'It looks like the Unicorn Range, just a little more dull.'

Flitting memories of the nearby grasslands outside Canterlot bubble up, melding with the dreamer and lending the pale grey-green waves a lush and vibrant shine.

The girl sits on the hillock, crosslegged and alone. She sways back and forth in happy reverie with the breeze, long black hair caught up in its playful tussle. Sun kissed skin and freckles reflect a moment of peace. The girl rests her hands on her knees, fingernails digging in to the ribbed leather patches as she draws a breath at the sound of distant thunder.

But the rumble doesn't fade. Instead, the sound swells.

As the first specks of black appear over the horizon, a faint pain lances through Luna's temples. In some juddering moment of sympathy, the girl's outline wavers like smoke as she rubs the side of her own head before shutting her eyes.

The fleeting pain retreats, leaving the girl to open her eyes again and Luna to softly pad up behind her.

"Can you hear me?'

The girls lips move but a double-vision of sorts crosses her face, lips both unmoving and a ghosting image that mouths a response.

" ̴͎͂Yes"

Another lash of pain and faint crackle strikes through her temples. The sensation brought up the image of a whip, a willow thatch, a crop.

The sharp spike of pain is mercifully short.

The girl stands, patting her clothing free of dust before shielding her eyes with a hand. The little black dots were drawing closer now. Luna picks out the rigid geometric shapes that were neither birds nor drakes, but something else.

Airships.

But these were drastically different from the little wind skiffs that dart across the hinterland's canyons and crags. And neither were they the luxurious Canterlotian sky yachts. No, these were bulbous, like bloated seabirds of enormous size. Two of them flew side by side, speeding swiftly over the foothills as they raced over the open landscape. By the time she could see the glint of glass and metal, the pair had parted.

One of the lumbering contraptions circles, approaching where she sat on the hillocks while the other lowers itself on plumes of fire. It settles like a mythic dragon on the rise overlooking the village.

The other lazily arcs high above its perched companion, but she can see it clearly enough. Its side peels open, a skeletal limb juts out ending in a twin barreled cannon that slowly pans back and forth. The airship rolls to its side, displaying a faded yellow eagle painted under its stunted winglets.

A sickly tide rises in her gut, but Luna knew it was symathetic. The girl seizes up, like she's about to dart away. Everything in the dream shimmers and wobbles before collapsing in wisps of smoke. Luna can feel the rapid thump of an omni-present heartbeat. A shatter cityscape forms where the fields were moments before. It's a skeletal ruin surrounded by flickering halos of ghastly green corpusant.

The same airship passes overhead, a shadow soaring so untouchably high through thick smoke. It passes over with a scream of ramjets, the thunderous shudder of rocket swarms shriek by as red-hot metal casings the size of Luna's horn fall like rain. The reeking backwash of burnt chemicals send tendrils of curling corpse smoke billowing through stale air.

'Focus, Strider!' a smooth masculine voice booms through the dreamscape.

Pain lances through the meat of the Alicorn's brain from the base of her skull to her horn. But while Luna grits her teeth, the other entity's shriek echoes through their shared existence for what felt like an eternity. And almost like it never happened, it stops.

The pastoral village wriggles back into focus and the ruined cityscape disappears. The girl wrinkles her nose and coughs against the persistent smell of fuel, but the airship continues its lazy circuit to the north.

It dawns on Luna slowly, looking at the swath cut across the verdant fields, the other ship still remains perched on the rise overlooking the settlement.

She hesitates. A voice of instinctive warning rising up in her core, a voice that wasn't hers. Instead of returning to the village, the girl edges away from the bloated airship and creeps away, following the billowing waves of the rippling prairie grasses tall enough to conceal her from the prying eyes of the far off aerial predator.

Ramps fall from the landed airships underbelly and two rows of grey armoured figures stride down in perfect unison. A figure swathed in gaudy colours proceeds behind them, a billowing black standard emblazoned with that same eagle emblem as was on the ships snapping in the shuttles backwash. After what might have been just a few minutes, three dozen villagers are herded up the ramp.

Luna's eyes pick out the manacles and coffle lines, knowing a slave hunting expedition when she saw it.

That sense of déjà vu returns.

Part of the Alicorn distrusted everything she saw and for good reason. Dreams could often come in the guise of emotion twisted memories, and memories were anything but infallible.

She had tested the boundaries and found it wild, permeable, but contained. And this was most certainly an emotional memory drawn through a fluid dreamscape. But it wasn't quite normal. At least, it didn't flow like a pony's dream aught to. There was definitely a tug of emotion, but that second voice, smooth as oil, definitely male, it had coached her and pain had flicked through her mind to guide it back away from the eddies and turmoils of a true dream.

'This was rehersed like a play. Is it... trying to commit only certain central parts to memory?'

No, it wasn't just a flashback or some imprinted vision like a photograph. When the airship banked, the flash of golden wings brought the rise of bile to her throat and made her heart race. It evoked dread, like a monster. Unnatural fear had washed over her in ripples of other memories and emotions, vivid and fresh. Luna had been on the verge of stroking the girls mind and putting an end to the dream before the searing flash of pain had re-aligned the memory. It had stopped the drift, it had returned the dream: the method was so appallingly crude but it had worked.

This creature, this bizarre thing, had talent enough to intrude on her domain, albeit in a crass and primitive way. It was not noble or learned, but it was genuine. Luna reflects silently on the female figure she had observed.

From face to mind, it wasn't Equestrian at all. It was alien, but perhaps not beyond comprehension.

“When did you learn this?” Luna asks the void between faded dreams and gets no answer. This being had focused and collapsed the memory.
The Alicorn's distraction sent its mind spiraling. The world dims with just the Alicorn drifting among a flickering set of stars.

A set of images begins to form from the stars pale and nebulous sparks. A panicked series of frames streaks among them, like images from those new moving picture machines. She sees flashes of an unknown night sky, of firelight and wisps of fragrant incense. Aged rituals of paint, and baubles, and chanting rang in secret beneath a bright crescent moon. There's a ripple of thunder that crackles in one's ears like the breaking of a fever that gave rise to a single keening note. The scream started deep and distant before rising until it shook the fabric of the void.

The dark Alicorn had grown accustomed to using senses that weren't there. She wasn't used to these senses being blotted out in a wall of force. Nothing cut like a razor, soothed like a salve, it was as blunt as a hammer. But a steady arrhythmic thump still beat in her breast like a second heart.

'Focus Strider, do not wander.'

That male voice cuts the silence. The images flicker and die, as if chastened by the rebuke. She had tried to answer in a way that perhaps wouldn't draw some other intrusion.

" ̷̐There is more, ̴̞̍ ̷̪̐ Deep liege. There is much more ̵̛̤̲̔ ̴̞̍"

Luna takes in the amorphous figure, and traces out the lines that resembled the girl sitting alone in a field. The Strider that had emerged was both the sickly tendriled being cloaked in deepest oily shadows that had clawed at her the night before, and that same freckled waif seated in the fields.

The squeal of sharp blaring noise heralds in the new reality and wakes the waif of a girl from her rest. She lays on a hard iron cot, so very like the beds in Canterlot's dungeon: dingy and aged. But while Canterlot's dungeons were in disuse, these felt neglected.

She rolls off the hard iron bunk as much by instinct as choice, wincing when her raw hands touch the bunk's metal frame. She wears a tight metal band around her neck. Gone were the leather patched pants in favour of loose fitting shorts and an ugly stained shirt covering just her upper chest exposing a withered and emaciated midriff.

Two other girls sleep in her room now, three bodies crammed into what was evidently meant for one's personal quarters. Luna looked on, having to sidestep and turn. It's so cramped she couldn't even extend her wings. The figures, shaven headed and flecked with grime and soot felt intrinsically familiar.

But there was no wellspring of friendship from the waking girl, the Strider. It was merely recognition. She wanders ungainly towards the shared bathroom, staring in the mirror. The motion and sound of two other waking bodies in the background are only dimly glimpsed as Luna follows, looking in the mirror as well.

The face that looks back contorts in a scowl, cheeks hollow and skin turned ashen pale compared to the bronzed youth that she'd seen. Dark rings around the female's eyes struck Luna in an instant as the same rings of a raccoon. It was both comical and worrisome as the girl pinches her own cheek in disgust.

Luna's visage wavered in the same fiery halo, and for a second, she swore the waif's eyes and hers meet. The girl's eyes widen, and a hitched breath rises in her chest just as she's jostled to the side by another shaven haired figure. A prickling feeling of being watched raises Luna's hackles.

'It's a dream, of course she can see me.'

Luna steps back, and catches the Strider looking in the mirror again, but this time she was out of sight. But it didn't take a detective to notice the prickle of the girl's skin, and the awkward recognition that that was still a memory. She reaches for the faucet, splashing a jet of water onto her face. The jostling of three people in competition for what space should be afforded to one erupts in a ribald string of curses. Luna looks on as the girl is shoved from the tiny closet-sized space in her stained tan shirt and undergarments.

With a sigh, the girl fetches a pair of synth-leather pants and work boots from the end of her bed and awkwardly hops as she puts on the semblance of a uniform. But the boots she eschews with a petulent harumph, and she merely tucks them under an arm. Stopping just long enough to snap up a jangling necklace looped around the metal frame of her bunk, she pops it around her neck and heads out the door.

Even just a sidelong glance reminded Luna of something else. The necklace's metal threads jangle with a single round metal disc etched with writings and markings.

"Wait, they make you wear collars like a common pet?"

There's no answer this time, but the figure does pause as she scratches the chaffed skin and whines like a dog. Rolling her neck and nodding, it was hard to tell if that was meant for her or just stretching. The girl straightens her back, then heads out into the hall in her bare feet, the Alicorn trotting a few paces behind.

The girl grumbles as she scratches the raw flesh at the back of her neck. The dimly lit hab block stinks with manufacturing fumes, the stale air dead and cloying to her senses. Luna sees bald creatures passing by, much the same as the girl but broader in frame and face, far taller. They wear the grey garments that look like some clergy, and part of Luna's mind feels the jab of a telepathic prod from the Strider.

"Offworlders."

The soft clarifying note melds perfectly with the girl's wrinkled nose and a mouthed phrase that matched it. This time, the booming voice said nothing, like it had missed the faint flicker of duality.

Each narrow hall led to another prefab labyrinth functionally identical to the last, from the bare grey walls to the brass grating and steel conduits running the length of the ceiling. The dim hum of the lumin orbs pool what dingy orange light could be had every couple meters, leaving the edges of her vision swimming in shadows. The darkness settles in empty alcoves that now and then lead to access panels or caged lifts.

A work crew emerges from one of the shrouded alcoves, prompting the slight girl to spin and wedge herself against the wall to avoid being trampled by the thick exo-suit crews that trudge from it. Their footfalls disappear, as did the stink of fyceline vapour and heady lho smoke.

She looks around, takes a breath, then darts into the lift as the steel cage closes. Luna follows immediately. With a single push of a large glowing rune, it judders and slowly descends further into the heart of the hab block. The girl rubs her eyes and waits for the lift to stop.

"Is this normal for you?"

Luna queries, and gets no reply save for a weary sigh.

The rhythmic click of mechanical actuators rouses her, and she blinks the sleep from her eyes as the blurry form of half-dead men step numbly forward. The two grey-fleshed creatures stare forward with dead milky eyes, their mechanical limbs making them barely recognizable as the same species as the girl. She darts out, barely avoiding the dull plod of feet as she skitters down the hallway, still carrying her boots in hand.

Loud hailers blare on the lower levels of the block, voices filtering in through open doorways lead into nondescript industrial runs which spill into the open communal hab chambers. The Strider turns quickly, emerging into the upper gantries of the mustering hall. But instead of the steady stream of workers and hab dwellers hustling through the congested room, Luna sees a sea of people staring up at the churning images on grainy pict displays. Every single one was the same.

A dread stillness engulfs the room.

The girl takes a few more steps, but even on the gantries, people lean out and watch in unnatural silence. And then she sees it; a burning eye, flickers of light around a dusty charcoal rock. But Luna knew a planet when she saw it.

In a far off system halfway across the empire, there had been an 'incident'.

Istvaan, the name rings in the deep of the creature's mind as the world bleeds back into the nebulous black void specked with pale stars.

The very word felt imbued with wrongness: from its sibilant cadence to its harsh accent, it was a word that had yet to pass from Equine lips. It felt wrong to do so. Its very being unleashed a mythic understanding of some knowledge of good and evil; once said and heard, it could never be forgotten.

Like a rising dawn, Luna knew what was coming. But the question forms regardless, “What happened there?”

The Strider's strained voice replies honestly, with only the faintest hint of hesitation, "The beginning of the end. My lord has memories if... you need to see, and to understand. He knows much. Will you entreat with him?"

Luna thinks for a moment, though it was barely a fleeting lull for most ponies. “He was the voice in your head, wasn't it?"

A pause of silence, but the stars flicker and glow.

"Tell me, why are you asking on behalf of somepony else? You could be pleading for sanctuary, Stars above know you deserve it. But instead you're here requesting help for somepony else.”

For a moment, and just a moment, Luna thought she saw the glimpse of a monstrous serpent outlined in the dark. It was a flash of twisted coils and glittering fangs that disappear like smoke.

"This one repays a debt. This one.. hopes. This one is not of the one-and-twenty, or part of the immortal host. But even so, maybe it... I, yes, maybe I can make a difference."

There was a skip in the heartbeat, a steel in the being's resolve that caused the stars to burn more brightly in the endless expanse.

"I can do what even they can't."

Luna's mind sifts through the information as the creature danced around its true request. She draws a breath, steadying herself for whatever would follow. The Alicorn tests each of her enchanted wards, and one after another, finds that the arcane devices remain unchallenged.

“Well, then I'll listen to what your master has to say.”

With a shiver, the dreamscape writhes. Wisps of a nebulous grey void rolls in like mist on a morning lake and Luna's hackles raise as she recognizes it for the sensation of a shared dream. But it wasn't one of hers, this space was imprecisely constructed. But it did create what amounted to a slurry of potential.

For the first time, she wasn't the architect of such an occurrence.

A pulse runs through her hooves, an arrhythmic vibration Luna recognizes as the heartbeat that so pervaded her conscience earlier. But more to the point, she sees her hooves, she senses her body even if it was just a manifestation. She willed it to be and it gained substance compared to the wisps of fleeting shade that this girl created.

'Calm yourself, Luna. They probably don't have the same experience or clarity of mind to manifest themselves in their dreams.'

That thought dies in a heartbeat.

Chapter 5: Black Sands

The creature that emerges through the smoke is a giant. From its thunderous stride to the sway of its luminous cloak, iridescent scales cover its upright frame from the crest of a copper fin on its head to the blunt tips of its hooves. It stands like a Minotaur but two snarling fire-breathing maws curl to look left and right from its cloaked back. Luna's mind puts the title 'dragon' to it, as few creatures could command such attention short of an Alicorn.

But another equally adept image rears its metaphorical head: a hydra.

It approaches, each footfall deliberate and resonant. It was hard to tell if it was a threat display, it looked and moved like a Minotaur but she could sense little from it. It was surprising, impressive even, but Luna had faced worse. Here, in her realm, she held dominion.

'Yeash, it think it has the tuft to try and intimidate me? Hmm, alright, If it wants to display its prowess like a peacock, let it. Anything he can do, I can do better.'

Her wings rise into a corona, each feathered tip raised up and over her head as she rises on an eldritch updraft of scintillating silver sparks. The same radiant glow spreads from the edges of her figure, an illusion forming the shape of her crescent moon.

The figure stops.

“Lady of the Deep.”

It had no mouth but its booming voice still echoes in the empty expanse. It was the same voice that passed through the Strider's mind.

Luna inclines her head as her horn sparks to life, though to its credit the creature didn't even flinch. “We are the Princess of the Night, Mistress of Dreams, We are Luna. Who seeks Us?”

Unperturbed by the formality, the creature inclines its head, “The master of the twentieth legion, the last of the three-fold serpents. If it is to your satisfaction, you may call me Alpharius.”

Luna studies the creature for a moment. This was her domain, and between the creature and the dreamer that provided the blank slate, few things could hide from her. “I could, but that's not your name, is it?”

It pauses long enough to reach up to its face. “A formality.”

With a blast of air, the hardened scaled exterior peels off to reveal flesh. Its face was hairless, smooth, unblemished, and ageless. She recognized the falsehood of years that betrayed nothing but pure primal strength. It was male, she was confident of that, and that he was a warlord was certain. Luna's white incandescent eyes stare into his, detecting what she could from the usually unguarded minds of her subjects.

This one was different, his dark eyes glitter with iridescent waves of brightest blue that fade to darkest green. No, It wasn't just artistic. Others might have missed it, but it was clear to her. There were intricate wards as clear as the banded rings of magic that layered themselves around her. She could see the bands of tempered gold clearly now where nothing had been present before.

Luna replies as the light from her eyes begins to dim, returning them to their oceanic calm. “You test me?”

“I would expect you would do the same, princess. My name is immaterial, I am Alpharius. Who I am hasn't changed. I apologize for what resembles deceit, but I will not entreat with just any entity.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face like a flash of lightning.

“You fear me?”

“If you are what I think you might be, yes.” The master of the twentieth nods, then in a single fluid movement, he kneels. “I seek an intercessor for one in a dream not of his own making.”

Luna, taken aback, blinks several times. “You seek intercession for another?”

“I do, Lady of the Deep. I have been told that such a feat might be possible.”

The Alicorn huffs, “Of course.” Her mind searches out what seemed like an unsaid flaw, “But this is done by your servant, and not yourself. Is the one you wish me to aid nearby?”

Alpharius looks up, “No. The one I wish you to aid is dead.”

Stone cold silence greets the endless plain.

'Is he bucking serious?!'

When Luna finally speaks, it burbles out as half mirthless chortle and half reluctant scoff, “Pffah! I'm not a necromancer, I can't raise the dead to change a dream!”

“I wouldn't want you to.” Alpharius rises and Luna drifts back a pace. “And even if you could, it wouldn't matter. There'd still be enough dead to use planets as pyres, and my father and brothers would still rail against madness or rot in their graves. No, I don't want to raise the dead only to consign a billion more. I want to snuff out the candle before it sets the world ablaze. And I would offer much, here and now.”

Luna ponders the request and its implications.

'How in Tartarus am I bucking supposed to do something like that?! Hah! It's a jest. Yes. A bad one.'

She knew next to nothing about time travelling, save for the fact it had been part of a resurgence in foalish fantasy novels since her return.

Celestia might have an inkling, but she could also be a stubborn mule when confronting the unknown. And this was very much 'the unknown'. Oh, her sister would certainly have some opinions about this, even if she was talking out her flank. But even if the impossible were possible, and this warlord wasn't a capering maniac, Luna knew full well she still needed proof.

'Not to mention he wants me to try to turn back time as if it's as easy as spinning the hand of a dining room clock.'

The look on the warlord's face rouses her from her musing. She must have stayed in silence for longer than he'd expected.

“What do you offer?” She finds herself blathering as she plays for time to sort out the possibilities. She'd need more than a few paltry assurances to entertain such an idiotic request.

“I would offer myself, my soul, my legion. All for you to do with as so pleases you, Princess.”

She searches his eyes for deceit, and while the immense willpower is there to block her prying, there's none. He spoke the truth about that, it was the dark shadow of desperation that fed a flicker of hope.

'Oh pony feathers... he's serious. He's actually serious.'

“Alpharius, do you take me for some sort of... some-”

“God.” Alpharius offers.

Luna rears back and cringes, yet his gaze still follows her.

She purses her lips and wrinkles her nose in distaste. “I was going to say maniac."

"One in the same, really."

Luna scowls and shrugs, "I'm just a pony.”

“As much a pony as I am a man, I suspect.”

Alpharius stands, locking the helmet to his belt and taking a long breath. “So, is this an offer that you would accept?”

“Well, no,” Luna bites back. “I wouldn't know what to do with souls if you gave them to me. It's not something I could put on a mantle. And I don't need more servants... you would be slaves, and... no. I can't. I won't.” The Alicorn shakes her head and for the first time, lets the corona flicker until it's little more than a hazy outline.

“Your servant said you needed aid from somepony like me, so here I am.” Her eyes catch the slightest movement, his hand had drifted towards the hilt of what appeared to be a concealed blade. But whatever she said had some effect, and he simply brushes the folds of his cloak flat.

“Luna, Princess of the Night, Mistress of Dreams.” He speaks her name, savouring each word. The warlord begins to pace, shielding half his body from her sight. “You are most definitely alien to us.” He almost spat the phrase, yet smiles.

“And this is a problem?” She scrunches her muzzle in a scowl.

“In this instance, no. You're rather familiar in some regards. You're equine, like an ancient Terran horse.”

“What did you just call me?” Luna's narrowed eyes betray the deadpan voice.

“Equine.” Alpharius looks back and takes a breath, “You are odd, and I have never seen your kind in this capacity. A beast of burden on a backwater, sure. I've even seen some gene-troopers of the Imperial Army that are very much equinoid, but I would expect if you were a servant of the fell powers, you would be more... fair . More honeyed, not petulant and insulted.”

Even before a spluttering Luna can respond, he bobs his head, “I mean no insult, but I have caused it. For that, I suppose I'm both grateful, and apologetic.”

Luna's scowl flickers, then deepens as she mutters more to herself,

'I meet the first non Equestrian, non-Lunar, who is both a warlord and a stallion in search of aid, and for feather's sakes, he's as evasive as a common Zebra.'

She coughs to clear her throat, a gesture of irritation more than any need as her temper cools. “You wish for my aid, and yet you insist on speaking in riddles.”

“I have been accused of as much, yes. So let me be more clear, can you intercede in the dreams of another being?”

The Alicorn's eyes search him again before she tilts her head and cautiously asks, “If I could, and I make no guarantees, how do I know what you say is true? You offer souls that I have no use for, and servitude which I won't take. But your servant said you would know what happened on Istvaan. So my initial price is simple, I want truth and I want answers. Prove to me why this is worth my time.”

Alpharius' face never changes, “Truth commands a price higher than a soul. But I am willing to pay. I would be lying if I said I didn't remember it like it was yesterday.”

His visage melts into a waterfall of iridescent colours as the world bubbles and boils in gossamer strands of fiery orange and lustreless black.

Luna's stomach lurches as she transitions from the organic flow of a dreamer's partial memories to something more mechanical. Bits and pieces of a foggy tank and too-close metal plates scratch across her consciousness the way tree branches clatter against a window in a storm. And all of a sudden, everything she thought she was prepared for was tossed aside. It was the first glimpse of an ocean from a rocky cliff top, utterly unfathomable.

The Alicorn's mind reels as her senses sift through the burning haze of sulfurous ash clots and the bitter tang of burning metal on the tip of her tongue. Every breath rakes in hot embers that stings her eyes and sends her into sharp coughing fits. Each unsteady hoofstep forward into the haze sinks into a churning mass of boiling muck and rancid puddles pulled straight from the nightmares of the most pitiful ponies. But muck wouldn't cling to her hooves like this, and it shouldn't stink of copper. The sickly mire sucks at her hocks, trying to drag her down into the skeletal talons of the underworld.

But unlike the fitful trauma dreams of fillies and colts, there was no waking from this. The world's spectral denizens rove to and fro as juddering memory fragments that crackle with the déjà vu of wordless anguish. Bands of those war-like spirits drift across the Tartaran wilderness in anarchistic fits of rage.

No.

Tartarus was real. It was a place of unrelenting cold and despair. Its tall crags and rocky ledges were treacherous and the few minions that lived in the sunlight deprived peaks were misshapen monsters. They lived in tormenting stretches of stygian wasteland. No royal sister sent anybeast to Tartarus lightly. It was a place of grievous punishment.

No word in Ponish could describe Istvaan.

It was a place of incomprehensible insanity utterly alien to any sensibilities. Its blasted abyssal plains lay cloaked in fire and corpse ash; inhabited by relentless nightmares dredged from the darkest pit of her millennium long exile. Pillars of fire stretch to the stars, blistering winds transform coarse sand into flensing hurricanes, and trickling rivulets of molten flesh empty into eddies of caustic chemicals.

Chitinous armoured skeletons shatter to powder underhoof, but there's no way to avoid them. They carpet the ground in numbers beyond counting, heaped in drifts like autumn leaves. For hundreds of paces she couldn't set hoof on the boiling sand, and had to tread over the crumbling husks.

For one grotesque moment, Luna's mind had tried to recognize body parts like pieces of a puzzle rather than accept it as mounds of dead flesh.

She couldn't.

The deranged portraits and demented paintings of the world flicker through her mind as a Canterlot gallery opening viewed through tired eyes. But one image etches itself in her mind.

High atop the bastion walls of ancient veined basalt, towering fifty meters in the air and silhouetted by the pulsating crimson sky, she saw Him.

Cold eyes stare out from a marble patrician face, gazing across the Istvaanian hellscape. The master of any domain he surveyed, hooded eyes drinking in the madness without flinching. The hulking brutes thronging around him all but disappear in his shadow. His standard unfurls, a wrothful golden eye stares out into the whirling maelstrom. He has but to raise a single hand and the world would submit.

He hefts a mace larger than Luna herself, and the unconquerable firestorms are shackled to his will. Istvaan dies in a crippling shudder of agony as Luna cries into the yawning abyss.

“Enough!”

"So," Alpharius's voice whispers in her ringing ears, "Do we have a deal?"

Chapter 6: The Vaults

Minutes, hours, time becomes irrelevant to most restful minds. The passage of which could be swift or slow when within a dream: it might seem to be a decade trapped inside a moment or a few second spanning hours of real time before the dreamer wakes.

Luna stares at the bleak horizon, her thoughts fragmenting and shifting as she muses over what she'd seen. It was moments like this that made her glad that she had however long she needed to think.

She patently ignored the floating pillars of obsidian looming out of the grey mists, and even the distant crackle of lightning. They were little more than distractions as she set to ponder the sour feeling settling in her stomach. It took more effort for the Alicorn to bite her lip, hoping to keep it from trembling.

'By the stars, sun, and sacred elements, please let this be my dream and not theirs.'

Part of it felt unreal, a torture dredged up to wound her personally. Luna knew she could dismiss this, at least for the moment. The Tantabus was proof that she could torment herself, so perhaps this was just another of its forms? But a chilling thought kept creeping back regardless.

What if this was all real?

If this was a memory being replayed for her, just as they claimed, then she was in way over her head.

Equestria was a realm like any other, it had seen its share of war and disaster. Ponies had died for causes that seemed ludicrous in the light of the new age, and hordes of creatures had to be forced back to the borders at the cost of hundreds of lives. At its zenith, she'd personally led battalions into the heart of marauding hordes to slay warlords bent on enslaving ponykind.

But this was countless orders of magnitude worse.

And even in their troubles, Celestia had always been by her side. Her sister had been the one she could lean on, confide in. Well, most of the time anyway.

'Sister, I could use your help right now.'

Barely an imagined breath passes her lips before the veil of smoke swirls and churns in a slow convulsing vortex. The sound of distant mountains crashing together resounds in the deep, and tiny crackling lights illuminate the penumbral haze of shadows. Luna barely sees the floating obsidian columns, now ringed with golden runes winking in the dark. Those towering spires and unnatural geometries of the world subtly warp and shift around her. She glances up and spots the impossible curvature of an immense stairwell sweeping upwards as if upside down, ending in a colourfully complex mandala at its apex. Juddering sparks arc across a soft hue of light bending through the stained glass mosaic. The world shudders under her hooves again, pulsing in deep arrhythmic throbs. It grips her heart like it was her own.

It's from a searing lightning strike glimpsed out the corner of her eye that reveals the outline of her otherworldly petitioner. The princess of the night straightens herself, adopting the regal poise expected of one of the diarchs of Equestria.

But as she spots her petitioner, he notices her as well. With a raised hand, he approaches.

'Keep calm, Luna, keep calm.'

Reflexively, the Alicorn's horn alights. Her wards had slipped for just a moment, and she renewed them while also willing a gate back from the dreamscape into being. The gates were tiny and so faint that almost no being could possibly notice as it formed an emergency exit back to herself.

The temperature plummets immediately, and Luna stands agape as the tiny black spot next to her left forehoof bursts into a blossom of swirling pink smoke.

In response, the world violently shakes and spasms in an earthquake that hurls Luna flat. A shrieking wind arises from nowhere, flattening her plumage and raking through her fur. It takes less than an instant for her to find a far more recognizable quality in the gale: It burbled and choked in a screech of agony.

'Oh buck! This isn't a dream!'

Her breath hitches as her gaze shoots up to the mandala. She recognizes countless ingrained memories, stitched together, fragmented into a tapestry of colour and light. A memory vault, she was inside somecreature's mind. It had retreated, pulled itself into a coma and drawn her with it.

And she'd just ripped a physical hole in its head.

“What was that?!” Alpharius tosses his helmet off. The black pillars around them begin to crumble and shake themselves into rubble as they fall from the sky. The world trembles again, shifting meters at a time and tossing the warlord to his knees. His shifting eyes peer into the Princess as she fumbles for a response.

“W-we had thought that it would be better to prepare an avenue of egress.”

The warlord's face contorts into a momentary snarl, pinching into a pursed-lipped scowl. His image flickers just as wildly and violently as smoke caught in a whirlwind.

An otherworldly mumble rises as Alpharius' figure gutters like a dying candle. His lips move, but his voice comes through a moment later as if muffled underwater.

'I've given you what you need to see to find him. Now, fulfill your destiny, Sabinus.'

Alpharius's eyes glitters back to intelligence as he peers into Luna's. Her mouth hangs open. Not only did he have a magic of his own cast over Sabinius, but also his own body. He was half awake and half asleep.

“We're out of time.” Alpharius turns as the arrhythmic flutter of the world around them pulses beneath her hooves. It's a heartbeat, there's no question about it. And by the fluttering palpitations, it was anything but healthy. “I can help get you there, but don't you dare try that again.”

The impossible obsidian spires fall from the sky like icicles as the miasma congeals, mist turning from airy purple wisps to sickly black clots.

“Sabinus,” Luna shouts to the Warlord, panic raising her voice to a squeak, “we're hurting her!”

“No, we're killing her.” Alpharius' gaze remains stone cold as he approaches to within a scant arms length, then gestures to the silent, spluttering Alicorn. “I didn't anticipate anyone putting a hole in her skull. Yet. No matter. Whatever you did started the cascade early. He'll be aware of us now, there's no helping that. There's still one last thing-”

“It can't be done. We're in her mind, not your dreams. I can't read-”

Luna's protest is cut short by a hand crudely clamping over her muzzle. The grasp had been made in a flash, nearly instantaneous. Nothing should have moved that fast, but the grip wasn't painful or even particularly tight.

“No time. Six-six-six, 'Hydra Dominatus'. Truth is a matter of perspectives so do not trust your eyes. Find it at all costs. Find Horus Lupercal. Go!”

Luna's muzzle is freed as he grips her mane in his other hand. Luna squeaks in indignant protest before he flings her bodily upward towards the mandala spiral. Unlike the hand clamped on her muzzle, that was painful.

Instead of finding herself muzzle first on the ground, gravity seemed to come unglued. She felt herself falling away from the ground as the wind rushed past.

Her stomach lurches as the wall of congealed smoke closes over Alpharius, crashing together in a murderous wave and obliterating him from sight.

Wind whips past Luna's deadened feathers and claws furrows through the fur on her back. All around the falling Alicorn the clouds swirl into ordered strata before roiling over one another. Lances of red lightning flicker through, smashing already collapsing blocks of perfect obsidian into jagged shards.

Luna twists in mid-air, trying to see the ground, trying to regain some measure of control as her wings flap but catch hold of nothing.

'Gate out, be done with this!'

She could, she could very well rip herself from this creature's mind, bypass any aegis, and she would be home. She would never have to deal with this, or even speak about this to anypony ever again.

'This isn't Equestria's business. This isn't my business.'

But a memory bubbles up as fresh and cloying as the sickly black droplets suspended in the air around her.

'This one hopes.'

Hope. It twists in her like a knife. Fleeing from Sabinus’ mind and collapsing it would be the end of that.

A whirring flutter greets the image of a spiraling banister missing her wingtip by a few hooflengths. She still falls like a meteor, and a few wing beats and twists did little to halt her descent.

The Alicorn spins awkwardly, careening off course, and the stone stairwell rises to meet her. Any scream she could utter is cut fitfully short as she closes her eyes and awaits the inevitable impact.

Like plunging into ice water, Luna gasps. There was no bone crunching crash, just a halting push against her entire body and the bite of the cold. Her eyes flutter open, hoping to find a soft bed and knowing there would be none.

Luna finds herself floating, body suspended in thick viscous fluid. Hoses and prickling wires pump air straight into her maw, held in place by a riveted band around her muzzle. Her hooves flail in the thick sucking syrup. She kicks, feeling the smooth glass through the blurry yellow morass. Her wings spread, sweeping the inside of a rounded glass tube. Luna's mind recognizes the sensation, saying it's like a vat of honey, or jam, as disturbing as that thought might be after more than a few of her subjects less comfortable dreams.

She kicks down, hoof barely pressing the bottom, and pushes herself up. The wires bind and pull, but she twists and sees several tendril-like apparatuses slide free of her hooves. No, not from around, they'd buried themselves like thorns in her frogs.

Luna suppresses a shudder of disgust, flipping her hooves over, seeing the metal holes eaten through the bottoms of her fleshy pads. With growing uneasiness, she felt the little tugs all along her spine, limbs, pelvis, groin, and even at the dock of her tail.

Bubbles escape her in a cry of disgust, and she shivers, thrashing to throw the animated cabling free. She concentrates and with a twinkling chime of magic, the tube shatters spraying glass shards and amber gunk all around her. The sucking squelch pulls her free as the tide of viscous amnion slops out.

The mechadendrite tendrils withdraw, coaxing a wave of shivers down her spine as they release her. Luna flops to the ground, feeling all together too much like a fish flushed from a broken bowl. She grips the thick oxygen tube jammed down her throat in both hooves, and pulls it free. The viscous solution and metal washed up with a bitter mixture of bile and iron, causing her to gag.

The Alicorn wobbles and pulls herself upright as curtains of slick film drip from every inch of her body. Luna shivers and extends her wings to wipe her eyes. A flick of her pinions spatters the thick goop across steel grating, and she blinks her vision clear.

The howl of the onrushing wind never ceased, even coated in slime. But all around her was a sea of cold torment in the midst of an immense cavern. Layers upon layers of latticed steel walkways were suspended by immense chains and rods. In the middle of the chamber, propped up by thick metal pillars, is a great round tower with walkways stretching out from its lower reaches like the central hub of a wheel. Spotlights sweep out from it like a dozen luminescent eyes, while shifting shadows stride the gantries hanging high up over the floor.

The floor.

All around her were the same yellow tanks. And lining the walls, as far as the eye could see in the cavernous expanse shrouded in darkness, were sarcophagi. There were thousand, latched to walls, tiny windows glittering when the spotlights swept across them before disappearing into darkness. And in the pits at the very bottom were hundreds of yellow viscous tanks, filled with denuded, hairless forms like Alpharius, like the girl.

Cold choking similarities came back, it was almost identical to an iron and steel version of a changeling hive. Worse yet, it was just as oppressive... no, it was more so.

The roiling static ambiance wells up around her as cloying as the amnion still clinging to her feathers.

Luna felt it as much as heard it; a sorrowful song of suffering shared between the thousands of beings trapped inside the sarcophagi. It was a melody that couldn't be wholly suppressed by the tanks. She could hear the chime of their combined arcane gifts, and as she gazes across from her she sees the naked form of an older female. She was stripped completely, entombed in the amniotic tank and lit by a single weak orb in the base. She was curled up, atrophied limbs suspended by tangles of mechadendrite wires. A single black strap and steel plate covers her eyes with a burnished number 111, while a single thick corrugated cable snakes down her throat.

“Sacred Elements, they're all mages.”

The shadows on the gantries never become clear beyond sketchy motions in the distance. The mage's nameless, unnatural guardians prowl quietly in the dark, and even from a distance, Luna can smell the unmistakable pong of something else. Dogs.

'111' Luna reads the metal plaque across the woman's forehead again, her eyes widen in recognition.

“Six-six-six.” her eyes scan the monolithic expanse. “Simple.”

If they were organized into anything resembling a system, she could find it quickly enough. A few flaps of her wing flicks the last of the offending fluid from her, and she takes to the air. The first row at ground level reads 211. A promising start.

Luna avoids a wandering light, ducking around it and streaking up past rows of narrow gantries. Four more rows, and she finds row 6. Following it along, she glimpses more figures, more forms, each splayed out in rictus moribund poses. The oppressive sensations mesh with the growing roar of winds.

Hot droplets spatter across her coat like rain. Slowing her movement, Luna flicks the offending liquid from her face, but found it congealed red and reeked of bodily fluid. She takes a breath, looking up at the towering bulwarks high above.

And the rain began to fall. Luna narrows her eyes against the new assault, but she didn't give it the thought she might have. It was blood, it slicked the gantries and dripped down them like eaves. Luna shivers but presses on, reading the numbers printed on the tanks. 624, 635, 648, 659...

Rows and rows of sarcophagi rear up, but there's a sudden and obvious gap. 665, 667. Nothing. She stops, suspended above a narrow access walkway. Touching down, her hooves squelch over the thick offal pooling and dripping down below. She can see one of the sketchy forms in the distance as it approaches.

It doesn't matter, the princess's breathing deepens as she gazes at the smooth patch of wall between two metal coffins.

“It should be here.” She reaches up, pressing her hooves above it, then taking to wing to get a better look. seeing 766.

A lump forms in her throat. There was no 666.

Ringing metal-on-metal footsteps echo as the warning klaxons blare a hideous alarm. The strobing yellow lamps meld with a sickly red from hundreds of flickering red lumin orbs sunk into the bare metal walls.

The mechanical bleat of the klaxon physically wrings the breath from the Alicorn, and she nearly missed the beat as a shrouded form sprints across the suspended footbridge towards her narrow shelf.

Luna wheels in time to see the figure. It was slender, tiny compared to Alpharius, but big compared to Sabinius. Its glittering silver cuirass reflects crimson as the warning lights bath it in a sanguine glow. Rivulets of crimson dribble down its polished armour and starts to seep into a billowing white fur cloak. It was lithe, and while shaven headed, the form was similar to Sabinius in other ways. A female.

'A guard.'

Her dark ebony skin was marred by a single white glyph over her forehead, and with that almost faceless presence, some degree of similarity drew across Luna. This felt relatively normal. She drops to the metal grating and holds out a forehoof.

“Cease. We merely wish to-”

Luna's plea evidently fell on deaf ears. The creature never slowed, rather, it wordlessly and expressionlessly drew a silvered greatsword from behind the cloak.

“-know where...”

She skids around the metal corner, throwing her body into the massive sweeping blow. It was done in fractions of a second without battle cry, taunt, or even demand.

Luna's eyes widen and another word springs to her lips.

“Ceifador!”

In a flash of eldretch blue, the silvered blade halted a hairsbredth from the Alicorn's throat. A cerulean metal haft congeals into existence behind a roiling latticework of abject darkness. The harsh outlines of a polearm cast pale blue light in the darkness, transmuting baroque silver leaves stretching up to a broad crescent blade tipped in a tapered icicle point.

The halberd that saved her pushes back against the great blade, luna's arcane grip throwing the female guardian off balance. Her opponent forces the blade over, locking the crossguard with the polearm's haft and scraping it across the fluted metal.

Luna yelps and ducks the shearing edge until it caught the leafed fluting and lodged fast in the guard. The female warrior barely drew a breath before dragging the blade back in a shower of sparks.

But the Alicorn throws herself at the haft, leveraging her weight and arcane might to toss the guardian off balance. She skids across the grating, wordlessly taking the shock of the Alicorn's shove. Luna draws her halberd back before thrusting the point forward, goading the warrior back who neatly bats it aside and hops backward.

She snorts like any other warrior mare and hunches forward, bracing the keen greatsword against her bracer and circling towards the wall.

For the first time in her life, Luna locked eyes with the creature and saw nothing. They couldn't be read, no fear of death, no fire of ambition. Absolutely nothing. The guardian darts forward jabbing the blade towards the Alicorn, then feinting left while sweeping a leg out beneath her. Luna skips back another few paces. Blood beating in her ears, twin heartbeats thrumming through her hooves through the mesh grating.

Only distantly could she recognize the sound of more feet pounding in over metal, drawing closer. There was no pattern, no reason, this creature fought 'wrong' as it wedged itself between her and the wall.

The first whip-crack and undulating whine of a ricochet drew Luna's gaze to the left where impacted off a hanging sarcophogi.

She realized her mistake far too late.

The guardian woman darts forward, quillions locking with Ceifador's crossguard as she throws her armoured bulk into the princess. Luna's rump hit the thin excuse for a railing, and with a vicious headbutt, she's tossed into the void, barely avoiding a sweeping chop of the freed blade.

The empty woman seemingly fell away from her as stale wind rushed past her ears. Luna's mouth opens and the rows of coffins flit by her at a blinding rate with her vision still swimming from the hit. A moment before she crashed to the metal decking she glanced over and caught a glimpse of a plaque. 991.

'991'

Perspective.

Summoning up her reserves of will, the Alicorn disappears in a swarm of sparkling energy. Through the screaming whirlpool of energy she plunges, momentarily as mesmerized and shocked at the roiling torrent around her. It lasts only a moment before Luna is spat out into the copper tinged air. She falls a few more meters before quickly flipping over to right herself. A swift glance around let her reorient herself, finding she was well up above the blaze of the searing spotlights.

She glances at a nearby tank. A-185. Not quite right. She descended a few rows past an unoccupied shelf and counts the nine banks of tiny yellow lights running up from the depths. 985. Luna browsed, ears back and attentive of every nearby sound.

She quickly finds it: 999.

With a breath, the Alicorn chances a glimmer of magic, grasping the whole sarcophagi. A soft electronic chirp startles her as she blinks, seeing a little red flicker on the side near a thick hoof-width metal restraining band.

She cranes her neck to see, spotting a monochrome red display with a flashing white question mark. There was no words, no characters, no buttons, just the display. Her hoof and magic both scour the surface. With growing unease, she notices the spotlights sweeping over the metal prisons, searching ever higher as the roar of the klaxons blot out any other noise in the enormous prison.

Nothing, there wasn't a single button there at all. Luna closes her eyes and whispers a single phrase through clenched teeth, “Hydra Dominatus.”

With a click and a flat bleep of binaric, it spits back a harsh metal cadence, “Dies irae dies venit, rex imperator. Inductat noctum aurora saluto.”

The casket swings open, blotting out the world in a swirling hiss of sucking air emptying into a howling void. Even light itself disappears down the endless drain, and the princess barely manages to let out a squawk of protest as she's swallowed.

Chapter 7: Trail of the Wolf

Luna's entire body aches as the swirling maelstrom of unlight winks in strobing flashes before her unwaking eyes. It wasn't the slight tugging of teleportation, but something more akin to being sucked through a straw and stretched like dough. The Princess of the Night's discomfort blends with a familiar garbled sound; as a peel of thunder shivers through the storm, so bleats a muffled babble through the void.

“-Consuetudine constet. Centurionis proferre hasta-”

The voice rasps the unknown phrase with an utter absence of life. Tiny clicks and static pops impinge on its edges, and Luna recognizes it for what it was. It was a recording. Whatever else had been stored for her quickly fizzles away.

Even that stony realization can't help numb the nauseating pull which draws her through the vacuous expanse. Her body throbs with muscle cramps inflicted in rhythmic spasms, as if triggered by a beating drum. Its rough tattoo feels staccato and unpracticed, like a fumbling foal's first attempt. Her senses grow dark and the painful pulse lessens as it slows. The dual-beat fades like the rhythm of a pony's heart.

'like a heart.'

Realization fuels a surge of her own muscle which strains against a stricture in her chest.

'Alpharius?'

This wasn't the shared dream. But the thought is torn away as something lightly brushes past her battered form. A thin withered limb claws desperately at her hind hooves. Luna's own breathing comes in ragged spurts as instinctive chills tremble across her spine. She wanted to raise her hind leg and buck at the offending claw, but halts herself at the last moment.

There was nothing there. Even as the whirlpool churns faster into a roiling mass of gaudy rainbow hued colours, a tortured breath escapes her lips unbidden. It's not her own, but she feels the sensation as keenly as if it were. It's dry, hot, and shaky.

It's a death rattle.

There was one unspoken duty that the princess had overseen in her night-time vigils, something that her sister could never truly feel: Luna had acted as a mortal gatekeeper. The ghastly and thoroughly loathed shiver of the last mortal quiver fades away, and for a moment, the princess of the night senses that last desperate gasp. It pulls itself with laboured effort from a young, abused body, broken and racked with effort.

The princess's eyes open as recognition dawns. A wasted waif of a creature hovers in a watery reflection just behind the thin skin of the riotous maelstrom. Her pale ashen face is marred by streaks of grime and flecks of blood, pink foam gathering at the corners of her lips. But she stares at the Alicorn for the first time on her own.

“Sabinus?”

The youth's eyes sparkle in shared recognition, and that frightful dull pain slowly ebbs. She was there when ponies slipped away in the night and she felt the tug on their mortal bonds as they broke from the world and passed beyond. Humans, apparently, were no different.

And as much by reflex as intention, the Princess stretches her foreleg out for the girl. Her limb parts the stream, pushing through the torrent that thrashes and roils around her. It turns violent, frothing and bubbling as if to lash back at her for daring to touch the youth. Even as the pale Sabinus reaches back, some otherworldly weight tugs her away from Luna's proffered hoof. The human girl shoots a hand out, desperately stretching her fingers as she's pulled into the imperceptible darkness beyond the maelstrom.

Luna takes a sharp breath and lets her horn gather energy. She feels the strength of her magic, but the build up sloshes electric sparks through her conscious mind. The heady strength and confidence imparted bolsters her just as another wary part of her whispers that she could just cut the connection and awaken. This single creature wasn't her responsibility.

'Right? But, isn't it my fault? So that makes her my responsibility.'

That same disparaging whisper echoes again through the Alicorn's mind.

'Everything that you do and are, are anathema to this creature. To her reality. Don't interfere. There's no need. Just go home.'

But that whisper had been lingering just beyond some cognizant part of her mind. It wasn't a thought, it was a thistle that scratched and pricked but was never enough to hurt. It was a distraction.

'You knew this was a danger, and if you didn't, then you weren't paying attention. Luna, you knew this was taxing for it. You knew from the start that this was a drain, and you let it prattle off and waste itself when you had no intention of helping. You're to blame, you did this. Don't make it harder. Go home.'

Words come unbidden in a relentless condescending tide.

'Go home!'

As luna focuses her attention on Sabinus's quickly disappearing form, the Alicorn spots her lips move. There was no way to tell what was said, but from the fearful tears, she didn't need to see it to know the desperate plea.

'Help. Please.'

With a flash of anger, Luna's horn glows as a torrential beam of magic careens into the paper-thin skin of swirling colour.

The moment the magical blast strikes the maelstrom, the whirlpool flares to life in a searing flash. A barrage of formless voices babble a dozen different conversations as they invade her mind in a wave of white noise. But among the static screams and low chanting, a fleeting series of wet crackles slowly replaces the auditory miasma with a single feminine voice. It's serpentine and utterly devoid of empathy.

“We must be swift.”

Another voice, this one masculine but no less unhallowed, breaks the maelstrom along with the the sharp sour scent of a ginkgo tree.

“Why must we hurry, Akshub?”

The ginko's pungent smell melds into the putrid stink of rotten meat.

“There is another presence near, a one-eyed ghost who walks between worlds and seeks to return...”

The female's voice slows, and Luna's body flares in agony as if being pulled and stretched to turn her inside out. The flick of a knife and errant bite of metal rasps against her back, like a grater run across a freshly shaven pelt.

“Magnus, you old snake.”

Luna yowls and hisses her discomfort, realizing it was the flaying gaze of something just out of reach. She bites her tongue far too late to stop the ephemeral call.

“No, now there's two!”

“What?! For your sake-”

“Be silent!” the female hisses, “The veil, quickly, quickly!”

The Alicorn reflexively lashes back at the voice. It had no direction, no up, nor down, but she reaches out in the way only a purveyor of her realm knew. She found the voice, and with a monumental shove of energy, it turns from a seething hiss into a needling screech of pain as the swirling vortex vomited her out.

The princess of the night is suddenly and uncomfortably expelled into the world where she flopped on cracked and broken hardpan in an inelegant bundle of flailing limbs. With a groan, Luna rolls onto her belly and blinks away the cloying haze clouding her vision. She grumbles, feeling a tremor that shook through the landscape.

Even before she can rise, the cracked and shattered ground beneath her hooves trembles before churning and folding over itself in a wave. Grungy rust-red hardpan gives way to a transmuting ripple of earthy loam and twisting roots.

“It's a dream.”

She'd passed from the brittle crystalline form of memory into the verdant pool of the dreamscape once again. Luna pulls herself up, and takes in her surroundings. Evidently, she had been spat into a forest. But it looked painted, artificial in its construction, and almost hollow with a distinct lack of life. From her perspective she saw patches as if passed over by the painter, empty expanses of white or blotches of simple colours much the same as the set of a particularly cheap playhouse.

It was rickety but among the shade of the trees and rustle of leaves, it was soothing. The scene had been made like this. It felt directed
but nopony was meant to see it from this angle. It had taken too much effort with too little time to prepare.

Trekking up the tangles of roots was somewhat difficult, but a few errant wingflaps brought her up to a wooded hillock overlooking a grassy valley. She spots packs of plains creatures gazing on the rolling steppes, unattended and unhunted as they sedately meander in the distance.

The glint of late afternoon sunlight flickers over a lone waterfall, emptying out into a life giving stream that calmly traced its sapphire finger into a high pterra basin. Soft pink and orange clouds reflected off the diminutive lake's mirror-like surface, painting the heavens above. But the underlying scent of cut grasses and rural charm still held an antiseptic churl and potent sting of some unwelcome aromatic. No flower held such a woody scent, and no loam diffused its spice; it was the cloying pong of incense wafting in the breeze.

Now, more wary, the princess let her mind wander in the dreamscape. Intuiting the direction of the dreamers wasn't difficult, but other presences seemed to clutter the edges as if not allowed to trespass upon the painter's domain.

In that arrogance, there was direction. And Luna even allowed herself a joyless smirk as her head instinctively pans towards the base of the woods. She could see nothing, but she knew that the architect was near. It was devoting its effort to something, angling its attention to present its painted frescoes to another. Luna gathers herself up, taking a few steps forward and stretching out her wings.

All of a sudden, the breeze stops. It's less than subtle, like a shiver. With a few running hop steps, the Alicorn takes to wing and soars through the leafy canopy with practiced skill.

The sudden erupting gale buffets her into a tree trunk as the winds scythe sideways through the line of trees. Luna gasps, and with a flick of concentration, the upper half of the tree becomes insubstantial. As she breaks through the cover of the forest canopy, she sees a glittering red star winking on the horizon, and catches sight of two figures at the base of the forest.

Two tiny figures, clad in white, hurry off at a lope as an ethereal wolf howl echos faintly in the distance. She couldn't chance a shortcut by teleporting when the dream was actively being manipulated. Something here was trying to throw up barriers, to block her out, and the suddenly shuddering and growing trees were evidence of that, as was the rattle and crack of rocky outcroppings thrusting up like spear tips from the ground.

She felt one of the pair's gaze on her, even from a league away. Even feeling it set eyes on her made her feel like she'd been licked by a diseased serpent. Its attention lingers on her for a few seconds before so crudely blotting out the dreamscape, leaving just a tiny black cube containing the two figures in an endless white field.

They fled... they fled from her.

She charged her horn just as the world unfolds into another prefabricated dreamscape.

Another world begins to writhe and form in corners of the endless white void. This one didn't hold the spicy scent of wet loam, but the dry gust of furnace bellows. It heralds a blaze as the white fields burst into flames. They scorch away like tissue paper, revealing a massive cityscape shrouded in the cloak of night and lit by endless strings of artificial flames.

Luna knew they were cities by the sudden tides of creatures. They pour into the enormous soot stained avenues and gather in pulsating knots illuminated by massive banks of lights that vaguely resembling rounded Manehatten streetlamps, though inflated like a fattened tick. From there, the similarities to cities like Canterlot, or even the metropolis of Manehatten, ends.

Choked by cloying grey banks of incense, the doleful peel of bells rings off the ribbed and skull adorned walls of towers. The grey basalt edifices aren't new, but pitted with age beyond reckoning. They soar thousands of paces over the arterial streets and bridges which criss-cross the enormous expanses.

Luna finds herself atop a brazen casing, her hooves and frogs cold and sopping wet. But as she looks at the vein-like latticeworks of lights and converging multitudes of creatures, she only dimly became aware of the immensity of this dreamscape.

“Where...” she glances around, her eyes unable to pick out two figures in the throngs from any distance in the gathering dark. It was too much, too great to take in.

“This is impossible.” she mutters with a stamp, “Stars damned impossible.”

A partial memory, yes, but in a dream it was limited by the dreamer.

'They aren't a pony,'

While others would stop there, she recognized the significance at a glance.

'It's still limited by the mind to fathom and understand.'

Either this was a fathomless intellect and will, or there was more at work here.

As a flash of sheet lightning bleached her perch to stark monochrome, she caught the glint of metal. Craning her head back, she found herself staring into dead eyes and eeped in fright. She stood on the bridge of a beast’s nose right between its bulbous crystalline eyes

As her thundering heart slowed back to normal, Luna took a breath of air and ruffled her feathers before giving the massive statuary a glower and a dismissive flick of her tail. The sudden shock of a dozen wing-length eyeball staring at her was, perhaps worryingly, not an unknown feeling to the Princess of the Night. That didn’t mean she was comfortable standing on the enormous head of a brass gargoyle jutting from a mountain-sized building.

It she didn't know better, she would have sworn she was in the dreams of a giant. But her memorization fades swiftly, retaking control in her natural domain. Something was wrong. A flash of lightning heralds an otherworldly hiss. The eyes of the enormous avian blaze once in virulent streaks of indigo, red, and purple flame.

“You should not be here.” The formless warning rasps a wet gurgle. “Do not interfere with your betters, xeno. Go home.”

The Alicorn slowly turns to confront the blazing eye again. That last little acidic phrase echoes in her mind.

'Ah, thaaat's whose voice it was. There you are, creature. '

Luna smirks to herself. “Your opinions are noted. But I don’t take orders from anypony.” With a tiny leap, the Alicorn hurls herself from the perch and into the void.

She feels the ripple flow through the realm, a shiver trailing from tail to forehooves. Wings folded, there was a certain exhilaration to be had slicing through the air as fast as lightning, beyond what was physically possible.

Luna hurtles past the first airborne bridge stretching between two monstrous structures. She catches a glimpse of the blob-like figures, approximations of these creatures at a glance but evidently just that, glimpses from a distance.

‘Not so powerful after all,’ she grins.

A raucous cry from the statue echoes into the void with a shrill serpentine hiss.

Focusing her perception as droplets of incense and condensate form on her slicked back wings, the Alicorn wills them away, brushing them off with a ruffle of her feathers that turns them into a puff of white vapour.

Luna plummets from immeasurable heights as swiftly as a comet, the scream and snap of displaced air feeling remarkably close to Loyalty's exploits done to a practiced perfection in the dreamscape. Part of her realized she'd have to thank Rainbow Dash for this, another just found herself reveling in the sensation.

So caught up in the sensation of weaving through the enormous city, Luna barely notices the bubbling shadows. It was just a faint twitch in her peripheral vision, but the movement was enough to catch Luna’s momentary attention. Dark winged shadows detach themselves from under the bridge and descend like wraiths behind her.

“You defy us?! You are a maggot, an intestinal worm, a parasite feeding on something you cannot comprehend. Leave. Now!” they shriek as one voice from a dozen lipless maws.

The keening scream grows louder as the Alicorn blazes through a league of space in moments, and still finds herself with at least as much distance to the ground.

Flattening out her trajectory some, the world contorts, having waited for some unseen event. The tolling bell coincides with a bridge sprouting in a sloppy oozing mass from the shadow of another building's immense baluster.

Horn charged, Luna focused her efforts in a single thought. Eyes hooded, she looses a single lancing ray of eldretch blue flame from her horn. Magical energy crackles in a roiling torrent, arcing from her as the creatures pacing her screech in surprise. The beam strikes the still bubbling and blistering stonework, obliterating it in an unearthly puff of blistering black smoke and crackling silver embers.

The Alicorn plunges through the opening as the winged beasts fall behind near the now collapsing bridgework.

Luna's small grin disappears swiftly; a trick might work once against the uninitiated but this was a dreamscape of some other entities design. It was hard to say if it would work once again.

Her flight flattens out, and she stretches her wings to catch the thin cloying air: it was unnecessary but habitual. She caught an updraft and banked hard as she flew parallel to the lofty footpaths to flit around the side of the massive stone building. She emerges into the light only to confront something else.

Before her was some sort of tributary square, halfway between a market and one of her sister's gardens. A plaza lies in the midst of the cluster of skyscrapers, completely dominated by a half score of statues laid out in a wide semi-circle. Each of the gold and silver idols were of such enormous size that they themselves were as tall as a Canterlotian building, towering on massive foundation plinths far above the insect-sized masses who throng their bases.

The largest of the idols shines in perpetual lights cast by bulbous lumin orbs. But firelight braziers the size of Yakyakistani funeral pyres send cascading orange shadows licking up the idol's bases. In a sense, it was so morbidly misshapen that even compared to the bewildering creatures she'd seen, it was both heroic and completely alien. The vast figure of towering metal poses with one hand outstretched, an ungainly claw of some enormous creature upturned melodramatically like a fillies grade school play. The other hand hefts a massively oversized blade that looked like it was supposed to look like it was on fire. Around its sharp and avian face was a crown of thorns.

The idol's sharp features glitter in the stark lights cast by some monolithic airship, bloated and vast with training scrolls of parchment more ludicrous than Princess Twilight's worst proclivities. They hung from banners uncomfortably close to slowly spinning propeller blades lining its corpulent frame. Luna spots even more flocks of strange birds spiraling around it like brass winged gulls, and heard the droning chant and bleating cries of prayers in foreign tongues. Tongues not meant to be heard by her or meant to be understood by the dreamer.

“You aren't supposed to be here, Xeno!” The shrill rasping voice cries again.

Luna chances a look at the footpaths and balconies lining the corner of the square. Thousands of mouths speak at once, as the flocks of birds wheel and sweep towards her. Babbling groups of hovering creatures swoop forward, their frame diminutive and fat in some dwarfish imitation of the humans she'd seen. They giggle and twist, cavorting in midair before alighting on the edges of the arching balustrades.

The Alicorn scans the puppets. They were doll like, stitched maws and black orbs for eyes, inhuman and exuding unguarded malevolence as their false bodies strain at the seems. Thousands of them look up and down at her, and for once Luna halts her flight and hovers in the little circular space between two intersecting bridges and the open balconies of a massive spire. Flapping in midair, she concentrates, and amid the sea of faces she spots something unique.

The simian face stares at her; short pug nose and hairy springs of fur sprout like the Stormking's apish features, though this one had a twitching mirthless grin plastered across its face. Unlike its puppets, it wears the loose fitting robes of some barabaric clergy. From the bedazzled hoshen housing four skulls with bejeweled eyes, to its golden eagle tipped staff and gilded mitre hat, it all stood in stark contrast to the pocked and unshaven visage jutting its chin at her. It stretches out the staff and the thousands of flesh puppets lining the gantries point at her.

“You are unwelcome here. Leave, go home. You will invite your doom if you anger the Powers further! Your parasitic presence pollutes the sanctity of the Delphos, you trample a sacred observance-”

The more it spoke, the more it became clear that the massive airship was altering its course to shroud what transpired. It hoves near like a whale, and already Luna could tell the architect of the dream was elsewhere beyond that vessel.

“-aking obesense to the Powers that embody the world! If you were to bow to acknowledge the primacy of the Primeval Architects-”

‘Sacred Stars, it’s still talking?’

“-possibility that perhaps you too shall yet live! Cease your fruitless endeavors."

Luna balks with a harsh laugh, “I’m fairly certain you’re the parasite here. By right I should just toss you from your perch, ape. So save your breath and just point me to your masters. Better yet, just point me to Horus Lupercal.”

With a screech, the creature shakes its staff like a totemic shaman. The puppets' mouths unstitch, hissing and sprouting tangled fangs as the swirling flock molt in midair. Their ivory pinions melt into black bat wings tipped in bone shards, bodies swelling beyond the limits of their frames as skin bursts open in tattered rings and falls in fluttering scraps.

Swallowing back the tide of revulsion was difficult, but this was just one dream-shaper. No doubt about it. There were more, there had to be. It was some sort of cult, or cabal. That made sense. She'd stumbled upon something set up well in advance and crafted for some creature like a museum exhibit.

The shrieking creature stabs its staff towards her as the dolls from the balconies crowd the edge, and they too suddenly burst from the seems. Masses of tentacles and claws split from fingertips and feet in a single writhing multitude.

“Enough!”

Luna's horn sparks with power, sweeping a beam of pure blue across the gantries like a spotlight. Wherever the light touches, corrupted skin sizzles and withers with a sickening wheeze. For a moment she was taken aback as limbs flop from the gantries where the creatures had been obliterated.

The marionettes throng in even greater numbers as whatever force animating them surges from another direction, a sensation felt in the interconnecting weave of the dreamscape rather than seen. They surge forward from the balconies dozens of meters away, the swarming hordes spawned from the caverns of shadow wreathed hallways. They spill from the byways and clamber over one another in a seething tide of ragged clothes and alien limbs. With growing horror, Luna sees them linking their writhing tendrils and claws to form a sickly sprouting bridge of mangled limbs that hangs over the edge in ivy-like sheets.

With a wheeze, Luna twists and throws another burst of magic. The ribbon rakes the balcony, tearing through the seething mass of bodies and shearing through them in a slopping gush of black ichor. It sliced through the base holding the creatures up, pitching the interwoven mass over the edge and into empty space. Hundreds of bodies plummet towards the ground, still intertwined and writhing.

Even from this height, it was impossible to miss the bone crunching slap as they crash to the pavement at the edge of the idol square.

The hallowed chants from the airship mingle with the squealing shriek of the airborne beings, swimming up from the deeps as they try to duck below the suspended walkways.

But the fur prickled on her neck, and Luna let herself drop down as a bolt of sickly glowing green vomits from the shaman's staff. The energy bolt hisses and bubbles past her, a few gobbets of the caustic slop coating her secondary feathers and a spot on her withers. And despite herself, Luna heard the hiss of fur and feathers just before she felt the acidic bite.

That shouldn't happen, it couldn't happen.

In a moment of rage, she twists onto her back and aligns her horn with the simian figure leaning over the edge of the bridge’s balcony. She directs a wrathful beam of smoldering blue energy at her target while a seething tide of puppet beasts fling themselves into midair towards her.

But her magic aimed true, and even as the creature tried to duck away, the ray swept across its chest and it stumbles backwards with a wail. The once eagle-embossed staff falls from numbed hands, though the moment it left the ape's hands it contorted into a fetid totem of shriveled flesh, rattling bones, gaudy feathers, and shiny stones. Even from a distance, she could smell the stink of putrescence in her nostrils.

But the swarm of bat-creatures had caught up. Luna takes a breath and throws a barrier of force around her body as the first dark figure impacts upon the telekinetic shield an instant later. A bone talon from a grotesquely swollen beast slams into the arcane barrier, sending spidering cracks across the hazy blue mass.

She turns her head and flares her wings, batting the creature aside. The grotesque creature once resembled a pegasi melded with a human, now it was a blistered bot fly the size of a cow, its suckling proboscis oozes slime as scythe-like limbs flail into her barrier.

“Ceifador!”

The mystic halberd sweeps upwards in a killing blow even as it materializes. The blade carves through slick black chitin in showers of silver sparks, disintegrating whatever it touches. But it's merely one of many grotesqueries clambering to swallow her. Horned faces and beaks snap and peck at her while lashing limbs and raking claws carve juddering furrows into the barrier, pushing more strain on her body and taxing her ability.

A swipe of her halberd, a twist of her barrel into a corkscrew dive, and she pushes under the morass of beasts as the deluge of bodies plunge past her. Several reach out to brush against her shield, and she can see the formless waxy faces streak by with gnashing needle teeth. But she shoves her way through towards the idolatrous ring of statues as the mass of bodies rains past.

She shakes the nightmarish flock of creatures, but the dream never dies. The shaman and his marionettes were gone, replaced by a more 'normal' crowd. But the perfectly normal looking humans still felt 'off' as they set about in what appeared to be a common routine of fascinatingly macabre chores.

Some men scourge their backs bloody with rush tailed whips, others hold up scraps of parchments and affix scalding wax seals to the flesh of kneeling cenobites. Others preach from skittering daises mounted on sextets of spider limbs while masses crowd around them. A shambling cluster shuffles past, clad in dirty burlap robes and ringing bells stitched to the stumps of forelimbs like some deluded school choir.

Luna sweeps over them, well out of reach, but seemingly unseen to them as she passes into the shadow of the macabre airship. The entities haven't given chase, rather, they seem to have melted into the bleak background of this world.

And so she licks her lips and finds her voice, “Horus! Horus Lupercal!”

A single shiver runs through the world around her, as motion completely stops. From around the statues golden frame, she sees a blot of pure white light torn into the world. It was another room, another place prepared for the dreamer.

She seethes, plunging in headlong knowing full well, the architect was near. Still, as she slipped into the closing rift, she noticed the broken form of another simian priest nearby. It looked exactly the same as the creature that confronted her.

'Peculiar.'

Chapter 8: Confrontation

Blood: it had an unmistakable scent, and Luna had grown used to it when accompanied by the stink of medicinal antiseptics. It was an odour smelled only rarely, and much of that was from the faint scent of it soaked into soiled bandages or clots of shaved fur. Lately, it had come from wandering down corridors of emergency rooms after her night guard got into a tussle, or occasionally visiting one of their subjects recovering to bolster their spirits.

It had been lifetimes ago, but she still remembered the fields of mud, split organs, fecal rot, and above all, blood. There was nothing clean or antiseptic about that stomach churning stench. It struck her now like a thunderbolt as the Lunar Princess stares wide-eyed at the charnel scene presented to her like a macabre art house exhibit.

A long hall of soot stained metal surrounds her, ten paces high and about the same wide, banded in bronze strips and bolts the size of her hoof. Once polished to a mirror shine in the long distant past, the pitted surface was dented by enormous impacts and raked with ragged furrows. But it was the enormous splashes of crimson ribbons and clots of gore that truly set the madness into stark relief. The lunatic artist who'd graced the room had even splattered misty droplets across the ceiling.

Splintered golden shells and their dead occupants lay in discarded heaps. Bisected plates of remarkable thickness were sheared open, revealing their enormous occupants. But she couldn't make out much beyond the ropes of innards, shredded flesh, and emptied cavities laying in tangled heaps at the base of the walls. Luna thought there might have been a half-dozen of the golden giants, but she couldn't be certain. They were smaller than Alpharius, but only just.

The only thing she could be sure of was the clash of noise echoing from further down the halls. Two discordant tunes prick her ears, one a chorus of wolf howls mingling into a single surging melody. The other song, a barbaric guttural chant melded with the droning monotone buzz of throatsinging.

"There."

Luna breaks her self-imposed lull so she could blot out the suppurating corpses and mindless carnage.

The Alicorn redoubles her pace, surging down the hall and bounding over the bodyparts and slick pools. The soft chime of magic thrums from up ahead. Magic. The architects of this nightmare were here. She can hear the distant clank of machines mingled with voices. They were muffled but her hearing had always been excellent, she picked out at least three distinct voices even if she couldn't make out the exact words.

A quavering shimmer wobbles near the end of the hall and Luna nearly balks at the oddity.

'That's not heat haze.'

There was no steam, no warmth, the air was stale and chilly if anything. Her mind registers the omnipresent tang of pooling magic just as she twists sharply to the right behind scorched bulkhead. The temperature drops violently as she turns the corner and she nearly slips on a thin sheet of pink hoarfrost.

By instinct, she throws an arcane shield up in front of her face the moment her breath coalesces into frosty white clouds.

“No further, Princess.”

A familiar hissing voice seethes into existence. The hall was identical to the last, every corpse, every splash, everything the same but cloaked in a shroud of white and pink hoarfrost growing in crystalline clumps. At the centre stands a black vaguely pony shape. Its body twists like living oil, dropping and oozing non-reflective black gobs as it spreads a pair of wings from its back. But the face, Luna stares and recalls the impossibly wide grin and flickering eldritch eyes of the abomination.

“Nightmare.”

The smile seems to grow, twisting around its lipless mouth showing rows of needle teeth.

In the distance, a strong accented voice calls, “It is lies, brother, all of it!”

The wash of magic and fire could barely penetrate the icy depths of the hall. The Nightmare stares at Luna, but already the princess's ears pick up the sound of shuffling from behind her.

“Do not interfere with this. We will have no mercy this time, little one.”

A flush spreads across the Alicorn's cheeks as her eyes narrow.

“Do not speak to me as if I were a foal.”

She knew of the creature behind her, she would not make the same mistake again. But part of her didn't feel the threat from the apparition, it had appeared as the seducer in her past, it never could simply overpower her. Once more, she was sure it knew that.

It cocks its head to the side, that unnerving grin waxing as wide as a crescent moon, “Again, Lulu? I thought we'd already talked about this before-”

“Don't you dare use that name like you know me!”

If the creature could blink, it may have. “Deaaaaaar little Lulu, who knows you better than I?”

The Alicorn's ears perk up again, hearing a harsh barking cackle in the distance, “You're still too far away, Magnus. You have no power here!” That earlier choir of wolf howls grows more distant. Like the tick of a metronome, it was a reminder that time was slipping away.

“Step aside,” she says while taking a strong step forward.

The Nightmare seethes, eyes popping out across its oily hide in so many angry hives. Each stares in a separate direction, “Not this time, Luna.”

The wet gargled noise behind the Alicorn pricked her hackles. And as she turns, it was most definitely not the same as before.

A bulbous mass of wet bloated tissue pulls itself from the golden corpse. It waddles forward, distended belly pulsing as if ready to burst. Each ponderous step causing a little jingle from a tiny bell hanging from a wicked changeling-like horn sprouting from its forehead. A single cyclopian eye stares directly ahead as it opens its fanged maw with a wet belch.

From behind it, more of the corpulent horrors emerge from the wasted flesh of the dead host. The golden guardian's own skin and muscles provide the flesh for the fecund monsters.

Luna senses her mistake, throwing herself to the side while pulling her wings around her in a protective shield.

A bolt of virulent green flame streaks by, crashing into the metal and leaving rapidly cooling slag.

The Nightmare still smirks as the frozen corpses crackle and writhe. Long lithe limbs claw their way through the golden forms, shattering plate armour like brittle pottery.

“Your adoring fans from beyond wish for an audience, little Lulu.”

“Ceifador!”

The halberd bursts into existence, scything through the air at the Nightmare's throat. With a flickering pop, the monstrous apparition disappears with the conjured blade a hairsbreadth from its neck. It coalesces back into existence behind the newly emerging forms.

“You are no mistress of these realms, little Luna.”

Graceful, slender forms with perfectly set musculature pull themselves from their icy prisons. Their faces were lean bloodless visages, with jet black eyes that seemed to still stare holes into her. A garish display of golden trinkets hang from barbels and ring piercings punched through taut waxy skin. Long crustacean pincers and scything blades end their limbs, and rarely were their forms symmetrical. Some were mareish, with at least a single teat, though high up on their chests, others appeared more stallion-like as she kept her gaze from drifting. They were, however, entirely alien.

That moment of hesitation was too much. The first of the lithe demonic figures darts forward with a bestial screech. It was fast, unnaturally fast.

It scraps its claw along the wall, gouging the metal and pulling itself forward as Luna let her ears flick to the cyclopian beasts to her right.

Charging her horn, she lashes out with a magical lance at the first shrieking terror, punching through its chest leaving a trail of baleful blue flame. The lithe form flickers and dissolves into a puff of perfumed smoke before her eyes.

Even before a second leapt through the haze made by the first, Luna's attention drifted. The bulbous monsters were less graceful and slower than the shrieking terrors, but they could still conjure one surprise.

They were quiet.

Luna came nearly face to face with its rancid face before the pick of Ceifador slams into its temple. She thought she'd put it down as the barb sunk in several inches, but it merely stretches its gangly limbs out to grasp her.

Eyes widening, Luna heaves the halberd forward and down, tugging the creature off balance and sending it crashing to the floor.

But the second darting horror had closed the gap, backing Luna into a corner. It leaps through the air with its scything claws outstretched. And it's all she could manage to use the butt end of the conjured halberd to crack into its sternum and throw it back with a shove of telekenetic effort.

It sprawls across the floor, doubles over, and rights itself on four scrabbling limbs like a spider. A follow up flash of magic turns it into the same lavender smoke.

Five more bloated corpses, four more screaming terrors. In a corner like this, she already knew her chances. With a breath, she throws herself at the swifter creatures. A flash of magic, a hastily thrown up barrier, then a swift sideways chop of her polearm.

The gambit worked as she plunges through the smoke, barely seeing the needle filled maw dissolve into a noxious haze before another creature slams into her barrier and rockets back. The halberd caught something through the mist, and it surrounds her in a noxious, cloying haze that stings her nostrils and tries to dredge up distracting images

“No!” she let her tongue loose, giving voice to her frustration to wriggle free of its toxic fugue.

A shadow glides past the haze, and she felt a vibration through the metal. But tossing her shoulder forward, she plunges through the smoke and emerges face to face with another beast. It slams its claws into her shield, sending spider cracks through the blue arcane veil.

Blow after blow rains into the forcefield, sending sympathetic shivers back through her as it pistons its claws in a flurry of near-instantaneous blows. A sweep of her wing buffets it to the side before she hurdles the creature completely. It's needle teeth snaps at her belly, and it gets a hind-hoof to the face for the effort.

But the bloated creatures had caught up those mere moments, their ponderous bulks visible through the haze as Luna tears forward and throws another demon from her back. Plowing through them, she dismisses Ceifador and sprints to the end of the frozen hall.

The Nightmare grins, walking leisurely to the right and out of sight. She was about to protest, but more voices reach her ears in the lull bought by the destruction of at least three of the shrieking terrors.

“Horus, the Serpent Lodge and its priestesses have sent me to offer this chance to save you!” A sibilant voice echoes from further down the corridor.

She was getting closer now, and taking the corner with a skid, she confronts what lies beyond.

And again, it was another identical corridor. The same six golden bodies lay in a state of ruined repose. Blood spatters the walls like a sick paintbrush. But here, shadows and lights glint off the pitted metal like unseen torches as they filter down through the hall.

And at the end, the Nightmare still grins and stares.

“Luuuuna, you best go home now. Or I might just start to get upset.”

The six bodies burst apart in gobbets of liquid metal and specks of vaporized tissue. Slick, fleshy horrors pulled themselves free, amorphous shapes oozing free of the broken shells. Massive maws snap open and shut in jibbering blurts of psychotic laughter. Tangles of hands and feet erupt from around the plump body.

But Luna was already sending a lance of magic towards the Nightmare.

It dissolves into oily smoke and slinks further down the corridor before disappearing behind another bend to the right.

Luna's ears flick. She didn't need to be an architect to know she was in an endless square. She brushes it off and throws herself forward. The voices were getting louder, that in itself was progress.

The shrieking terrors were almost on her, and these new figures merely hop-skip back and forth like excitable foals. That was before the first opens its mouth and vomits a scorching ray of blue energy at her.

Part of her was aghast as she sees her own arcane barrier curling inwards at the edges like a slip of parchment.

“You've figured it out, silly little pony.” the Nightmare's booming voice echoes with its mirthless laugh. “You're in the warp, you're playing in my castle now, little princess-”

Luna backs herself to the corner, a grin spreading across her face as she concentrates, feeling the presence of the dreamer so far but so remarkably close.

A shiver of discomfort rolls down her spine, remembering the Nightmare's presence perfectly well. Another shiver like an earthquake rocks the room, and the wolf howls once before disappearing.

From further in the dreamscape, as if cast through rusted pipes and ancient vents, she hears a far more determined shout that had no direction. It was everywhere and nowhere.

“I am Horus Lupercal, and I have made my decision!”

The Nightmare stops, and the demonic beasts collectively seem to hiss and writhe, not in agony but some approximation of pleasure. It rolls its head back in an almost drunken haze, “-maybe I'll wear your skin again.”

“You say this is your castle. That you command it.” Luna smirks, “But this is also a dream. So, I own your castle!”

Luna throws herself at the inside wall, pulling the structure closer to her, manipulating the dream as only one such as herself could. The wall stretches and the structure folds to her will. As she sends a lancing beam through into the metal she throws every ounce of her strength into her shoulder. Beating her wings, she winces against the inevitable impact.

There's nary a sound as she strikes the wall, and it explodes into ragged scraps of metal and stone. The lingering stink of corpses and corruption gives way to the still pungent waft of foundry dregs. She stumbles for a moment, righting herself as a hoof bumps into a steel railway spar. But as the Alicorn emerges from the rain of debris and dust, she stops cold.

Not five steps in front of her, towering over her seemingly diminutive form, was a living god.

He was more than twice her height and carried himself with the bearing of one beyond the ken of any other in existence. Clad in jet black plate armour and swathed in a crimson cloak draped in wolf furs, he was every inch the warrior lord that other rulers would aspire. Part of her mind threw the image of Sombra front and center, but to compare the Unicorn King of Shadows to this being felt insulting. But it wasn't his raiment that held her attention, rather, she slowly found herself captured by an unnatural radiance in his stern face.

He tilts his chin up, angular, powerful but not wrathful. Even with the little twitch, a hesitation forms on his lips as if it were totally alien to his being. He had no lines, no wrinkles, but a bald pate and smooth brow uncreased by the passage of time. It left her searching his face until her eyes lock with his. More than Alpharius, more than any creature, these piercing golden eyes demand answers.

For the first time in ages, the Alicorn was speechless.

'What magic is this?!'

She shivers for a second, before her tongue seems to act of its own accord, “Sweet Eveningstar...” A soft gasp hiccups from her throat before she straightens up and puffs out her chest tuft in what would have been an impressive pony display of dominance.

The being beside the warrior king had escaped notice entirely until that moment. Clad in grey plate, bronze skin etched in sickly runes and eyes of liquid amethyst, the imposing figure all but faded to complete insignificance next to the demigod. But still he took a step forward as if to shield a prize with his far smaller bulk.

“Erebus?” The warrior king asks the unspoken question without taking his eyes off Luna.

The smaller man's hand rises up, digits twisting in some arcane pattern that trace through the air. Layers of dark arcane power converge upon his figure, unseen to the naked eye. They fortify the creature, offering a wellspring of nightmare magic to be tapped at his will.

“It's filthy xeno trickery, my lord!”

There he was, she could feel the malice in that sharp gaze that stares utter hatred at her. This was the architect, shrouded by whatever facets of power pulsed through this half-dream. But at its core, this space was still just a type of dream.

It's hardly a moment of concentration this close, a flicker of power in her horn and she slips through the folds.

Teleportation was no simple trick, and in an active dream such as this, it could have consequences. But this close, it wasn't nearly as dangerous to one versed in its nuances. But as she tore the imperceptible rift open, she saw something for a moment.

It was a maze. A labyrinth of incredible size hovers in front of her. Nine layers deep, and wreathed in arcane configurations, the unfathomable structure turns on its axis, guarded by seething tides of minions.

It was a lock, a device to keep others out. Though she saw red wolves... she sensed them in the maze as it spins and twists like a rubric in front of her. To step in would be to willfully step into a trap formed around this dream.

Something wanted to keep others out, others in. Teleportation wasn't an option, even this close.

'Maybe I should have tried that earlier, after all.' she mumbles.

“Be gone, I banish thee, creature of the warp!” Erebus stretches out a hand with a malevolent smirk. A violent bolt of scarlet hurtles towards her, scarcely allowing the Alicorn time to manifest a barrier in front of herself.

Her shield shatters like a plate hit by a hammer. The bolt arcs straight through and slams into her breast, hurling her across the room and slamming into the base of the wall. Smoke rises from the black miasma of scorched fur on her chest.

The Alicorn stands shakily as the tide of demons pours in from just a few steps away. Simple arcane might wouldn't be enough as the creature, Erebus, takes a few steps forward.

No, instead, the Alicorn draws a steadying breath and pushes herself back another step as the shrieking terrors ready their pounce.

With a thought and faint breath to the dreamscape, the floor beneath Erebus and the demons crumbles while the ground beneath her erupts in a single arching pillar.

Erebus was quick, jumping and clasping the edge to haul himself up while the demonic creatures fell away into a yawning red-lit abyss. The Alicorn unsteadily slides to the edge of her bowing pillar of metal and stone as it races skyward, right until she could slide down and kick off the plinth to reach the solitary figure below.

She leaps, up and over Erebus, directly at the confused face of Horus Lupercal.

“Witch!” Erebus spat the words as harshly as possible, and despite his efforts, the ledge cracked further leaving him hanging from the edge of the sinkhole.

Even as the Warmaster knits his brow in confusion, he merely sways to the side, avoiding the Alicorn's decent. He clenches a mailed fist, readying it for a single crushing hammerblow.

It never lands. Instead, as soon as the Alicorn clears Erebus, the dreamscape ripples and shimmers in lancing tines of white lightning. In a sudden blinding flash, both princess and demigod disappear from the sorcery crafted dreamscape into a unfathomable white cube.

And the demons of hell howl as their prize slips away.

Chapter 9: Time For Regrets

Ten days, they were told that it would be ten days before they knew the fate of the Warmaster. Ten days to know for certain whether their desperate plan had worked.

"It might as well be ten years, or ten lifetimes."

Captain Horus Aximand murmurs to himself and pulls the cowl of his cloak tighter around his armoured frame. It was about the only protection he had to stave off the discomfort of the constant downpours that swept Davin since their arrival.

The arboreal planet shook and shuddered as much with the juddering roar of heavy bulk landers disgorging hordes of menials as with the echoing boom of thunderclaps. All around the kilometers-wide caldera were countless lumin-lit vigils and near religious observances made by tens of thousands of mortals. The 'pilgrims', for there was few better words for the eclectic mass of humanity, came from every walk of life and sought shelter on the grimy slopes. The nearby landing zone had been a gateway, and in just hours, shanty towns had popped up to house the masses that awaited word of the Warmaster's fate. They came from the army, from the navy, from menial laborers, and even the haughty remembrancers. He and the others of the Legion's command gathered before the mammoth gates of the octagonal temple at the centre of the hollowed out basin.

No, that wasn't quite right.

A group of astartes stand at the apex of the steps leading to the Delphos Serpent Temple, but it wasn't all of them. The Twisted had returned to the Vengeful Spirit, the legion's flagship hangs in orbit low enough to be seen with the naked eye as a winking star in broad daylight. Ekkadon, Kibre, and Targhost still loiter in the lee of the temple's windward side to shelter from the sheets of pouring rain, but Ezekyle Abaddon had barely moved from his post beneath the lintel of the door. The First Captain remained their master's loyal, albeit temperamental servant. Even now he stood at the precipice, face upturned to regard the twisted mural decorating the massive edifice.

Loken, Targaddon, Vipus, even Marr had approached them hours ago. But by then it made little difference. Horus had already been ferried into the halls of the fane that, as they had been assured by Chaplain Erebus, would be his salvation.

The others had ranted, raved, and at several points, Aximand was certain it would come to blows between the snarling Abaddon and the indignant Garviel Loken. If it did, Loken's hound, Nero Vipus, almost certainly would have waded in to provoke Abaddon's choleric ire. And where Abaddon strode, so too did Falkus Kibre. The 'Widowmaker' would break up any argument by siding with the First Captain.

Alone among them, Tybalt Marr didn't so much as twitch as he stood at the base of the ancient stone steps, looking up at them through empty eyes. The silent judgment of a man no longer there, no longer whole. He looked as dead as his other half, Verulam Moy.

For centuries the Legion had sought to bring the light of reason and empirical clarity, to smash the strongholds of profane delusion and free its people from the hold of false religion. That was their mission, the petty propaganda of iterators they'd all followed. While Aximand hadn't been captain for nearly that long, he had stood decades in the shadow of Horus Lupercal and done his every bidding. He had been one of the Mourneval, a trusted voice to Lord Lupercal, but now he couldn't help but loath his weak and paltry contribution.

'We had no choice, you would have done the same!'

The sickly burble that erupted from his throat as he whisper-shouted down to Tarik Torgaddon and Loken had been a feeble thing. He'd instantly regretted it, and his damned mind kept replaying that pathetic moment time and time and time again for the past twelve hours. There must have been something he could have said differently, something that could have made them see that this wasn't done in malice.

It had been voted on, for Unity's sake! They had been invited, First Chaplain Erebus himself had summoned each and every one of the Legion's leadership cadre and neither Tarik, nor Loken, nor Marr had bothered to show up to cast a ballot. No, instead, the deciding vote had fallen on him.

He wished Hastur Sejanus was still alive. He would have known what to do. But his friend was a half-year dead, the dead had no voice and could give no advice.

It hadn't been up to Abaddon, or Maloghurst, Ekkadon, Targhost, or even Kibre. It had been up to him. They had looked up to him, and like a guy-wire in a whirlwind, he'd strained for a moment, then snapped. Horus was given up to the witches and holy-men of a fane to save his life, just as Erebus suggested.

'It's a betrayal of everything you stood for, Aximand!'

Maybe Loken had been right. A single look into Tarik's eyes had nearly broken him, after all. And after the heady haze of adrenaline from the confrontation had passed, he'd felt more than empty. He felt sick. A squirming tide of bile had risen unbidden, and he'd excused himself for a moment just to keep from being seen in the ignominy of vomiting. It all sounded like a grotesque jibe now that the Warmaster lay inside a structure that they should have, by all rights, put to the torch.

Now he stood before the doors in the company of comrades as silent as stone. Chill winds cut into his transhuman constitution, lashing his face with freezing rain that frayed the edges of his cloak. All around him storms howl and shriek their fury across the windswept plateau.

Horus Aximand glances up at the doors once again, seeing the bare-faced Abaddon with his eyes closed at his endless vigil. Rain traces down his carved face, soaking the top knot into a crimson hued rat tail. Yet, he gives no indication that he so much as feels the cut of rain or prick of cold.

Pathetic. Aximand felt pathetic. And for only the second time in his life, he felt helpless.

No.

He was helpless. But he would stay here and face the consequences of his choice. Yade Durso was a competent lieutenant, surely he could pick up the slack and command 5th company until this was over.

With a racking breath, Aximand gathers his cloak up, turning it against the wind. And under the eyes of the massive structure, he would wait for the day that his Lord would walk out from those doors, or be carried out in a shroud.

It would be over in nine days. Then, and only then, would he know if his choice to give his lord to the witches would save his life, or had it already been taken the moment the assassins blade pierced Horus's side.

A sharp growl bellows across the caldera's slopes, only just drowning out the hawkish whine of a stormbird's engines. An ugly blot of ruby red light flares into existence along a crenelated bastion tower jutting from the Delphos's octagonal hub. It could have been any number of things, but as red flames lick from the crenelated top, and a low shudder rumbles through the earth, something far more unsubstantial shiver's through the captain's form.

Unease.

Something baleful and malign radiated from that structure, shrouded in mist and rain. It threw hellish light across every surface, like the profane temple itself was angry.

"You feel it, don't you?'

Aximand jerks to the side, hand clutching the hilt of his gladius. But the voice was familiar, merely sudden. The ashen face of Tybalt Marr stood out from the gathering gloom, bathed in the same half-light cast by the bastion. But something else glinted in his cold, dead eyes.

"I don't think this was part of the plan, Aximand. Something's... changed."

"The plan went sideways ever since that Temba bastard tried to kill the Lupercal." Aximand quietly replies. "It's just your imagination, Tybalt. I told you, don't worry about it. Everything will be fine, you'll see."

But he himself didn't believe a word. Neither did he have the spirit or will to retread the arguments of hours past. And to his relief, Marr just lapses into an intense silence while staring at the tower's summit. It lasts for several awkward seconds before he turns sharply. The 18th company's captain quickly descends the stone steps, allowing Aximand to return to his vigil in relative silence.

Still, it didn't take a medium to know that Marr was right. The astartes could feel it in the wind, he could smell it in the soil, and sensed it in his bones; something had changed.

Author's Notes:

Alright, little 'in medias res' chapter just to plot out where we are on the other side of the equation. Back to Luna and the Lupercal next week.

Chapter 10: The White Room

Fate was a ruthless mistress. Fickle and indiscriminate, its touch flowed through every event and made a mockery of even the best laid plans. It was vicious, cruel, and afflicted both great and small in equal measure.

He could feel it. In his heart, Horus knew it.

The Lupercal's lips pinch to form the unmistakable glower of paternal disapproval; a look traced from the patrician face of his father. But the resemblance was evidently lost on the creature before him.

It shook, panting and half-grinning like a lunatic. The diminutive beast was less than half his height, uncommonly short for a Terran equine. But so far as he was aware, Terran equines didn't possess coats of dark regal blue fur, or wear tiaras of twisted glossy obsidian, and they certainly didn't have them neatly perched atop star-spangled manes.

Yet, the perplexing creature had shaken Erebus from his sanctimonious diatribe.

'Hmm, what manner of beast would frighten you, my serpentine friend?'

No word, no matter. The creature makes a few hiccuped noises before the slightly widespread stance shifts into what could only be described as an attempt at formal poise: it brings its hooves neatly together, neck straight, chin tilted upwards in a pose cut straight from Terra's squabbling nobility.

And all at once, Horus's scowling mask melts into a sneer.

“We-”

“So," Horus abruptly cuts the creature short, "it seems even livestock can put on airs so long as they're draped in enough baubles.” His snort precedes a half-turn as he regards his newest prison. For all the world, it was still a prison. The void was unfathomable, and yet calming compared to the tides that washed over the other malleable expanses.

Part of his mind returned to the earlier calm. It was suspiciously easy to forget two centuries of violence, the questions regarding would be assassins, the nature of Erebus's presence, and even the juddering fit at the sight of his uncaring father. When confronted, it had been too real to be just 'a dream'. But now it all gave him pause.

'When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago. Isn't that how you said it, brother?'

The creature, for its part, says and does nothing. He catches a glimpse of it blinking owlishly as it rears its head. The demigod flicks a hand at the beast dismissively.

“Go on back to your friends. I've no time to play.”

It didn't move, it just stares wide eyed for a long moment.

“D-don't you just wave Us away like a shirk-work farm foal! We save you from spirits, and that is the thanks We get?! You ungrateful, pretentious... Who do you think you are?!" The creature's voice rises to a quivering crescendo with remarkable venom.

The glance back saw its wings spread, face convulsing with tremors. It sways back and forth, tail flicking in irritation as its nostrils flare, as if physically venting the insult.

He'd been called worse, though it had been many years, or in several cases, many drinks. It was remarkably refreshing, as even the stern glare and glower he adopted didn't faze the beast.

“I am the Warmaster, what I do is of no concern. Only the consequences should worry you.”

A long pause passes between them as the creature continued to seethe and splutter indignantly after a few false starts. Horus's mind flickers through mental notes and possibilities regarding the unquestionably intelligent creature. But one good question gave rise to ten more.

“Hmm, but now you've got me curious,” Horus begins with a gravelly rasp, “What manner of being would come to me at just such a time, in such a way? To what do I owe this sudden bout of 'good luck?' Hmm?”

The Warmaster smirks, looking her over with a studious glare, “Perhaps you are 'The Sagittarius'? The 'Simurgh'? Or are you the 'Pegasus'? Because, little one, I think you may need to practice some more.”

The creature's fur bristled at each supposition, each 'title', and she narrows her eyes. But with a blink, that anger evaporates.

“You think We- I, am an illusion?”

With a breath she shakes her head, a knowing smile crossing her lips as she held some truth over him.

“Most likely a mental projection. I've seen warp-spawn before-”

She waves a hoof in the same mocking dismissive way he had. “No no. I am exactly what I appear to be, a mistress of dreams. Besides, if I was a mental painting, what would that say about you?” ”

Blunt, quick, simple. But the question had caught him strangely, and he gently twitches his left hand, feeling a small golden ring with a peculiar depiction. It couldn't know. The demigod of war's sudden silence spurs her on.

“I'm here to help you. And I mean more than just the usual advice to 'work on your anger management problems,' like any other pony."

'Weren't you the one to insult me less than a minute ago? Hmmm, not the most self aware. Or perceptive.' Horus's eyes stayed with the strange creature as it blithely continues.

"No, there's something else. You were in danger, and like a snake oil salespony, others were plying you for an immediate answer. ”

This creature circles the Warmaster, but didn't look to him. Rather, she lifts her eyes to gaze into the blank white void, staring as if searching for corners that didn't exist.

“And you wouldn't? What do I owe for this little 'intercession', hmm?” Horus never let his back turn to her.

“No, and nothing. I'm here to give you as much time as I can so you might make your choice.”

Horus chortles, “Why? You don't look like the typical sort that would try to lick my boots hoping to curry favour.”

The equine harrumphs and flicks a tail like a whip. But he quirks his head to the side as a thought bubbles to the surface, “Unless this is about revenge. Russ has a particular talent for such things, you know.”

The equine answers through clenched teeth without looking, “I've seen your kind before, and I've made a choice much like yours. Oh,” she snorts, “and no. I have no interest in being your hoof licking sycophant, you likely have more than enough of those and I wouldn't stoop so low.”

Despite himself, despite her, the Warmaster laughs. A flicker of a smirk crosses the patrician face unguarded. “You're short enough that you wouldn't have to stoop too far, little horse.”

Luna's bristles as she rounds on him. She scrunches up her muzzle, blazing teal eyes saying she'd had enough. But eyeing him up and down, she settles with, “You might get away with that with everypony else, but if any beast calls me 'that', one, more, time... I'm going to make them listen to all one hundred and five acts of Lion Quichener's Lily every night for the next thousand moons.” A small mirthless smirk had her finally meet his golden eyes, “And I know just the soprano that can break glass from a league away.”

There was just a moment of silence before the Warmaster's bass guffaw breaks the veil. “Not one to let an injustice or insult stand, are you?” For a fleeting instant, he swore he glimpsed a grin stretch across her muzzle.

'How quaint. It acts like us.'

There was more to worry about. The demigod's hand roved his chest, searching for wounds. There wasn't so much as a scratch on his armor where the assassin's poisoned blade had found its mark.

“You won't find it. You don't take physical wounds with you to my domain.”

Horus groans, but testing his shoulder he felt nothing. “Do you speak from experience, or should I listen to you as some 'divine dream goddess'?”

“No. But you are the second to ask that.” She ruffles her feathers, replying with less impetus after a moment. “I'm just a pony. A pony makes mistakes. I, make mistakes. But we can make up for them too.”

“As I said, I am the Warmaster. The Warmaster doesn't make mistakes.”

“Well, how nice for you.”

He continues without pause, “And I suppose other 'just ponies' typically wear tiaras and invade others' minds, do they?”

She turns back, taking a steadying breath. “I'm a princess. This is my talent. Understand, Horus Lupercal, for everything I can do here, there is still danger. I have bought us time. Time for you to think, time for you to reflect. If there's something you need, I'll provide it, but they will come for you again. Until you awaken, you are in danger. I'm here to protect you for your own good against their machinations. They're clever enough to know these magics.”

“Magic, magic magic. It's always magic and sorcery. Why do my ephemeral guardians constantly feel the compulsion to determine exactly what it is that 'I need'? Father, Magnus, Lorgar if I'd have listened to his fastidious ramblings, Erebus, and now a diminutive princess-” she glances sharply at him, “pony.”

“Luna.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Luna.”

“Is that so?" Horus barely hides the subtle vein of mirth. "How remarkably convenient."

She tears her eyes from him as he placidly flexes his immense frame. The demigod's armor whirs and clicks with every roll of his shoulders, a rare moment of unguarded reflection as every muscle and joint is tested in turn. She hadn't lied about the physical wounds being absent. No pain, no weakness, he was in perfect health. The slight hum in the back of his mind had slipped away undetected at some point. And with it, his ire had even drained away.

Glancing down, his eyes catch the miasma of the princess's swirling mane. She wasn't a beast of burden, but was she some faceless witch? Some warp spawned mystic?

Moreover, she didn't ask what he'd meant, but he was sure he caught her flick an ear in other directions like a damocles dish. 'Would a treacherous warp-beast allow itself such an easy tell, or make use of such an obvious bluff?' There were a thousand and one possibilities about what she could be, not all of them were terrible. Merely most of them.

“I would have thought, if appealed to, my guardian would have come in the guise of a great wolf.”

Luna's ears flick up, then around, alert and attentive once more. “You're still thinking that I'm not what I appear. Sure, I could turn into a wolf, I could vindicate you. But what I am, here and now, is who I am.” When she finally turns, Horus catches an unblemished flash of genuine empathy in her teals eyes. "You've seen enough masks today, Including your own.”

'She's not one of Magnus's minions. Interesting.'

A distant howl and raking scream whispers past, quiet as the breeze.

Luna's breath hitches. “I thought we might have more time.”

“First Chaplain Erebus is nothing but persistent.”

“It's not that. They're desperate.”

Luna's horn glimmers with a soft blue flash, opening up a starry expanse stretching over a quiet forested hillock. The fragrant breath of a countryside breeze whisks falling maple leaves into the white expanse. “We can run from them for a while and buy you more time. But they will come, Horus. You're too valuable for them not to try again. Still, it is your choice, and whatever that choice may be, I'll be by your side.”

Horus eyes the portal into the night-dappled landscape. It was soft, it was unchanging, even a little bit inviting. But so too were all the others, at first. And yet this was more than they had been. It had a certain verisimilitude that he hadn't found in Erebus's facsimile stages.

Horus stares into the starry night sky, the first traces of a smile crossing unguarded across his lips. He notes, but readily dismisses the ponies perplexed and then perhaps satisfied glimmer of a smile.

“Forgive me if I were to say I'd have preferred Sanguinius by my side. He would know a Luna Wolf does. Not. Run.” The warmaster reaches for the empty scabbard on his hip, but even without the hilt of a blade, his smile was absolute. “And they're not cowed by a few ghostly voices. Go and run along, little princess, I have a few things to say to my so-called friend.”

Luna sighs and bobs her head. It didn't conceal the smile. And noiselessly, she canters to the Warmaster's side, “I had a feeling you wouldn't.”

His eyes fell on her as she glances at one spot straight ahead of them. Like plaster falling from a buckling wall, the void begins to break apart.

“You're a stubborn one, for pony's sake.”

"So I've been told. Yes.” He folds his arms, glaring at the crack as he stood like an ancient Imperator before the tide of barbarians. From the corner of his eyes, he catches the equine staring at him

"Hmm... very similar."

It was just for a moment, but he was certain there was an unguarded shiver all but radiating out from her. Thankfully, she covers it with the haughty impasse of a bored noble in moments.

The swirling maelstrom of color and writhing forms beyond the opening rift wriggle and struggle to find purchase. Claws shear through, and more ragged cracks drag down their as hooked talons rend the veil. The portal to the other dreamscape closes behind them, out of sight and mind of the ravening host.

“Lord Lupercal!” The voice resolves itself as if from everywhere inside the white chamber. “I meant you no ill will, I'm here to protect you and guide you, my Warmaster. Nothing more.”

The Warmaster inclines his chin just a touch, “It seems you've brought some new acquaintances with you, Erebus. I seem to have come by one myself. Why don't you come in here? Oh, and Erebus? This time, if you show me a face that's not your own, I'll tear it off. Then perhaps I'll keep going until I find one more to my liking.”

Luna's sigh is far less dramatic, “Stars help me, I'm in league with a thespian.”

The wall cracks and soon the gnawing holes eat through the featureless white void. The first beasts, gibbering amorphous blots of incandescent blue and purple flame, flicker on the other side.

Horus's unflinching features never shift, the tension in his form absorbed in a scowl to darken even the white expanse.

“My lord, I merely wish for an audience to presen-”

“If you wanted an audience, Mal would have seen to it. Don't mock me, Erebus.”

Despite the spat response and incriminating glare towards the breaches forming from the void, the response came soft and almost condescendingly. “My lord Warmaster, surely you know that such couldn't be left to lesser men. Even someone such as your equerry would surely-”

“Turn down your ramblings?”

For the first time, Erebus's voice hesitates. The first fiery spirit slipped into their white vault, and with a crack, the wall splits.

“He, like all the others, would understand in time. My Lord Warmaster.” The reply was sharper now, the pomp draining like poison from a wound. “But to suggest that your erstwhile father is at the heart of a conspiracy so dark, so foul.. well, they would make mistakes. And a Warmaster does not make mistakes. You may keep the secret-”

“He has a forked tongue, Horus.”

Luna's interruption was quiet but stern. It was yet heard by Erebus, his breath hitching.

“Be quiet and mind your betters. Your upstart meddling to deny Horus the truth-”

“Why are you consorting with dark spirits, sorcerer?” she queries once again, lofting a brow.

“Lord Warmaster,” the formless voice splutters in rage as more of the kindled spirits leach through and mill around the cracks in the void.

Horus swiftly hides the burgeoning smirk. This little warp-witch had a talent for irritating the Chaplain. But more than that, she had a point.

'What are you playing at, Erebus?'

“Horus, this thing is a damnable warp parasite, an astral witch. It can't be trusted. Especially, not with a matter of this importance. The future of the entire galaxy hangs on your decision!”

Horus shifts, taking a half step closer to Luna and letting his arms drop from his chest to his hips.

“Our little princess here asked you a question, are you going to simply ignore a noble? Just what are you doing consorting with warp-xenos? Are you not one of the Emperor's heralds? And if you won't answer her, then answer me: if I'm not supposed to consort with 'warp parasites', what precisely are you doing?”

The short pause led to more of the ember-like beasts slipping through the festering rift like flies darting to an open wound. Their very presence acts like cinders to paper, turning the pristine white as black as pitch. And there, amidst the swirling blackness on the other side, stands the armored form of the Word Bearer's First Chaplain.

Erebus stood surrounded by a small cabal of the primal simian creatures. And as much as they tried to stay in the shadows, their silhouettes were hardly inconspicuous.

“I am patient, Horus. I am studied. I know the ways of the warp. I can only tell you that this insipid creature that latched on to you means nothing but harm. Harm for you, and harm for humanity.”

“Tis a lie! You would approach him in the darkest hour hoping to catch him un-”

Horus reaches down, pressing the shaking equine's rippling mane and having her unintentionally push back in a degree of subliminal irritation.

His sideways glance had the princess staring up at him with a scrunched muzzle. Her teal eyes search his, asking an unspoken question. 'Why are we talking to him?'

'Because, little horse, I'd rather the serpent tie himself in knots.'

Evidently, Erebus had taken the pause as permission to continue.

“Lord Warmaster, you have seen the truth of your fathers betrayal. The Emperor cares nothing for your well being. He'll use you then dispose of you as soon as it suits him. He can not be trusted, my lord. You know this.”

“You're right, Erebus.” Horus's flinty gaze bores into the man beyond the rift. “My father can't be trusted. And yes, he will dispose of us all if it suits him. He is untrustworthy. I won't stay under the yoke of a lying fraud!”

The chaplain sighs and bows, “I thank-”

“So I damned well won't be under yours, either!”

Amidst the sudden shift, the howl of ephemeral winds span the length and breath of the formless chamber. The wall shudders as more cracks form, and from a dozen meters up, a pair of bestial red claws tear through the forming gap to pry the world asunder.

“I'm not a puppet, Erebus. And I'm certainly no dog that you can command to heel.” Horus balls his fist and locks eyes with the First Chaplain. The warning growl was as deep as a landslide, “But I am Horus Lupercal, Warmaster, the Breaker of Tyrants, and Primarch of the sixteenth legion! I am the Wolf of Ash and Fire! If you want a war, Erebus, I'll let you have the privilege of being its first casualty!”

The room shakes and the jagged tear splits the entire breadth of their chamber. The ground shudders as billowing sulfurous smoke spews from the wound in reality. More of the fiery spirits spill into the enclosed space, turning everything they touch to slopping strands of twisted black ichor.

“No. No, Horus. This war started long ago.” Erebus's haphazard glance back at his simian enclave sends them away. “When your father made a bargain he never fulfilled.”

The sudden quiet musical chime and soft weight on Horus's shoulder was an aberration to him, and he steals a glance down to the creature at his side. It felt like a hand though nothing was there, save for a fading blue glow.

She draws a breath at the same time as the walls tear apart under the grip of a monstrous pair of claws. A bestial muzzle wedges itself into the breach, widening the crack further. Its breath rushes in like a wind from a furnace as its open muzzle reveals rows of razor fangs. The sound of massive wings beat the air as the protective white barriers crumble under its grasp.

Beyond the buckling barriers is a rocky hellscape of boiling blood, molten bronze, and red skies.

"Horus," Luna asks with a deceptive calm, eyes locked on the enormous daemon, "You don't have a blade, do you?"

"No."

"Ceifador!" The halberd materializes into shape, cut from the gathering darkness in crystalline sheets. With a hum, it hovers in front of Horus. "Then you may need this."

He arches a brow before reaching out to take the summoned blade. "I was willing to bet that little needle on your forehead wasn't for show. But Ceifador, 'the reaper'? Really?" He doesn't even try to hide the smirk as he twists the halberd, sending it into a whirring arc as the Princess stiffens. The primarch nearly had to look again when he spotted the fur on her cheeks bristle, exposing a faint ruddy hue. "Now who's the thespian?"

Erebus's sibilant whisper echoes from the hot blast of wind blustering in from the hellscape, “No matter, Horus, you have nine days to see the truth. I am a patient man; and in dreams, a second might seem like a year, and a night might be as a life-age. I have all the time I need.”

Chapter 11: Morning

Yeastwood draws in a deep breath, savouring every moment of the early morning world. The moments just after sunrise were always a magic time of day in the quiet halls of Canterlot Castle. Golden rays of sunlight dance through the marbled canterlotian columns and cast long fingers of darkness in vivid contrast to the vibrant sunlit gilding. It was far from the saturnine gloom of the eternal forests outside Umberfoal back home.

He loved it. The stallion happily hums to himself as he turns a corner while staring up through slitted eyes at the sunshine pouring through the cliffside arcades. His first round of the day was already done, the kilns were lit and the ovens lovingly kindled back to life. He could afford the little break before he went home to get some sleep. He'd been awake all night. But now the veil of shadows was dissolving away to let in the glorious dawn.

Already the soft waft of woodsmoke tantalizes his nostrils, drawing up that niggling temptation to caper back to the kitchens. Turning blindly into the hall, he barely avoids colliding with a gold-clad guard.

Yeastwood quickly looks over the tall lanky colt in thick golden plate, spotting the slight slouch and spear propped up against his shoulder. The royal guard's blue eyes glint, but he does squint despite not looking at the light. It's not anger or agitation, the rapid flutter of his lashes screamed 'I just got up.'

“Oh, hey sorry about that Cart Wright.” The baker smiles and skips to the side, “guess I was a bit distracted. Oh, and morning!”

The younger guard just lets out a huff of amusement and smirks, the 'regal' mein of the Solar guard temporarily cast aside.

“Morning Flint. Keep that smile up, some of us need it today.”

Finally seeing the Guard's weariness for what it was, the cook bobs his head enthusiastically.

“Alright. Hey, if you need something by your first break, stop by and I'll make sure there's coffee and a danish left out for ya. How's that sound?”

“Sounds good, mate. Sounds good.” the Guard flashes a thankful grin.

Yeastwood's smile grew wider as he waves and trots off, hesitating only long enough to have caught Corporal Cart Wright's spear haft tapping against his helmet in friendly salute.

The trip back to the kitchen took only a few more moments, and the warm softness of sunlight streaming through the window slats plunged the world into a homely calm. But somepony had opened one window completely and left a few empty ramekins strewn across the prep island.

Oh well. Probably a few of the maids, likely got scared off when they were loitering down here between rounds. He couldn't fault them for it, they worked hard. His sister was one and got him his job.

He smiles and shakes his head, “Mares.”

Trotting around the side, he glimpsed a few specks of red on the edge of the table. So engrossed, he barely felt his forehooves lift up off the stone and catch on something. He stumbles heavily, landing in a heap on something soft and almost scalding hot.

Looking down, he sees the lump of midnight blue feathers and fur. The colour drains from his face and his voice abandons him completely.

'Bright and cheery, Twilight, bright and cheery.'

The Alicorn mentally fortifies herself as she wearily trots down the mauve marble halls of the freshly dedicated 'school of friendship'. Its halls still smelled of oil paints and the fragrance of stone meal and marble hadn't settled. No finalized student enrollment numbers, a shaky curriculum, all a hall of wondrous opportunities. Though, admittedly, the mare was trying to fix the first two issues at that very moment. Not that the constant hazy fugue of tiredness was helping her in any way.

'Mind over matter, Twilight, bright and cheer-'

She nearly trips over the imperceptible lip of the threshold and stumbles into her headmares office.

'Ponyfeathers!'

The bit back curse nearly slipped unbidden from her lips before she could exert even a modicum of control. It hadn't been the greatest morning, and worse yet, she couldn't quite put a hoof on the cause when she awoke. Ruffling her wings, she stifles another yawn. The Alicorn ambles across the carpeted room and circles around the imposing mahogany desk before collapsing in her comfy chair. Well, there were perks to being a headmare, and the cushiony seat could probably rival a royal throne in size and was far superior in comfort. The Solar throne was surprisingly uncomfortable.

It was a subtle distraction, one of many that morning. Everything felt oppressive from the moment she opened her eyes. A missed breakfast, an exhausted assistant, and the general malaise of some unbidden mood all lingered around her in a cloying miasma of barely subdued irritation.

Hoofsteps in the adjacent room alert her to the presence of somepony else. A sidelong glance forestalls everything else as she squints against the early morning sunlight blazing through the eastern windows. With a muffled tinkle of magic, the floor length burgundy drapes whip back across the rails and dim the world to a more manageable ambiance.

“Hey!” the chime of magic reaches Twilight's ears and they immediately rotate towards the indignant murmur. A sharp turquoise light whips the curtain open again. “I thought I opened, oh. Morning Twilight.”

Starlight Glimmer trots in through the doors to the faculty offices. While her smile might light the room as easily as the too-bright morning sunbeams, it didn't take Sherclop Pones to notice the dark rings around her eyes and unerring tilt to her grin. The Alicorn's irritated sigh barely lasts a moment.

“Morning, Starlight.” it was hard to say there was anything 'good' about it. In fact, she only caught her friend's identical hesitation a few moments later.
“Late night?”

Maybe if she wrangled something fun out of her friend it could help with the morning blues. What she got instead was a heaping stack of papers set just to her left, which promptly shifts to slough across the desk in a bureaucratic landslide.

“Oops. Here, lemme' just-”

Starlight's blush reaches her cheeks a half second before she gathers the papers and evens out the sides with a little tap on the desktop. The Unicorn sets them down with a little more care this time before seizing an elaborate swept back waiting chair from its spot near the door. Pulling it right up to the desk like it was a dining room table, Starlight smiles and hops up, settling her rump down with a little squeak of new material.

Twilight's chuckle cuts the awkward lull, “I was hoping you might have learned a new card trick or something. It would have livened up the morning a bit.”

After a polite laugh, Starlight's smile takes on a more healthy warmth and she shrugs.

“I hadn't planned on it, buuuuut if it'll help...”

Her smile becomes a smirk, and the stack of paperwork is nudged to the side again so it evenly spreads itself across the table. A chime accompanies a ripple as the stack of sheets are each turned over in a theatrical wave. Like a Las Pegasus card shark, Starlight fans the papers out, shuffles them, and spins it into a rosette circle with a smirk.

“Now, pick a paper, any paper, and the magnificent mare, Starlight the Spectacular, shall read your mind and divine the contents.” she screws her eyes shut and lifts a hoof to her temple.

Twilight plucks a paper form the slowly rotating carousel. With a smile, she glances at the sheet and floats it back into the slowly whirling mass of paperwork.

With a snap, Starlight reforms them all into a single neat stack, taps them on the table, and forms a neat bridge-shuffle before setting them down. Her smile was far more genuine now.

“You...” Starlight dramatically points a hoof in her direction, “got a permission slip for Rainbow Dash's fieldtrip!”

“Why, Starlight, how did you know.” she deadpans, trying to hold a stony neutrality. It fails with a faint scrunch of her muzzle and twitch of her ear.

“Because Starlight the Spectacular knows all.”

“They're all permission slips for Rainbow's fieldtrip, aren't they?”

“No.” Starlight tilts her muzzle up, smiling more openly. She dismissively waves a hoof, “Just most of them, so I hedged my bets.”

Both mares break out into a chorus of giggles. Even suppressed by weariness, it was a rich and honest expression that let the Alicorn show a far more genuine smile.

“Thanks. I needed that, Starlight.”

“Mmm, hmm. I bet I can guess what else you need this morning.” Starlight quickly turns back to her adjacent room.

“Another trick courtesy of Starlight the Spectacular?” She leans on her desk and stretches her wings, not feeling more awake but better.

“Hush.” Starlight’s wane smile accompanies the chime of magic as two mugs of steaming hot coffee drift into the room and settle on the desk.

Twilight's thankful nod precedes the quick pull of a drawer and clack of two coasters being set down. After all, there's no need to get rings on the desk.

Most of her work tables, not to mention her personal desk and the library’s filing cabinet, all had the telltale markings of water damage from too many hot drinks.. She was fairly certain it wouldn’t reflect well on her if dignitaries or indignant parents came in to see such careless behaviour. The action might have drawn a slightly exasperated look from Starlight, but she said nothing. Taking a sip, the school's guidance counselor holds her tongue for as long as she can.

It's a lull of maybe three seconds.

"So... why does Rainbow have field trip forms when we don't even have a student list nailed down?"

Twilight cradles the mug and takes a sip, ignoring the question for the time being. Black, bitter, strong, and slightly salty.

“Perfect.” she hisses in approval, wings stretching wide as she works out the tension. A cocky grin flashes her way as Starlight shifts in her seat. Twilight's glance back at the Unicorn still caught the glint that said she wanted an answer to her question.

"Because I think one field trip and her half written syllabus is about the only thing she's got planned so far. I'd ask but you know her, she'll just wing it. Besides, we still have two days until the first official day of school. The students will arrive, and everything will be up and running."

“Uh-huh. Well, that does sound like her. Bet the field trip is somewhere not exactly 'classically educational'." she manages a pair of air-quotes with her hooves. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

That interminable gap in the conversation re-emerges, plunging the room into a series of awkward pauses and noisy sips of coffee. Seeing nothing else forthcoming, Starlight rolls a hoof in the Alicorn's direction, “Soooo, what's got your hackles up this morning, Twi?”

“I just didn't sleep well.” She shrugs weakly and pulls another slurp from her mug.

“Penpal problems and overthinking your latest Daring Do fanfic rewrite? Or just stressing out about Rainbow's inevitable antics?”

‘Well, at least she did get the coffee.’

“Ha-ha.” She blinks, and with a blush, turns to her friend. The mauve mare wore a slight smirk barely hidden behind her upraised mug. “Wait, how did you know about the fan- you know what, nevermind.”

It was better to play it off than actually try to relate the series of barely recalled dreams. They had plagued her, dogged her, and worse yet, she couldn't even remember exactly what they were. But she had woken up in a sweat, trembling, heart beating wildly and gasping for breath. Dread slunk around every corner and she'd even glanced around the room looking for something in the shadows.

“Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

“It wasn't just staying up late, and it wasn't insomnia before you ask.”

With a moody sigh and clatter of porcelain on the silver etched coasters, Starlight glances up. The good humours rapidly fade once her lips purse into a tight scowl.

“I'm not exactly sure I like what you're implying, Twilight.”

“I kept waking up in the middle of the night and didn't get any rest. I'm sorry if you thought I was somehow implying anything.” She shot back more brusquely than she intended.

“I call horse apples, Twilight. We both knew what you meant. I'm not a filly, I can handle this.”

Drawing in a breath, the Alicorn centres herself, but her concentration was still trying to slip away. But for everything that she felt, the testiness and agitation, things suddenly felt worse for her friend. The dark rings and bloodshot eyes, the forced poise, even her mane wasn't quite as lively as it usually was. Like a lightbulb, it clicked.

“I'm sorry Starlight, I really didn't mean anything by it.” it was a white lie, but she put any of her wheedling aside and plastered a malformed grin on her muzzle. “I suppose it's just one of those mornings. Is there something wrong?”

With a sigh, Starlight shrugs disarmingly and takes a deep unladylike draught of the coffee. She drains most of it in one gulp, though a solitary dribble trickles down from the corner of her mouth. With a satisfied gasp, she swiftly shakes her head and mops at her lips with the back of a hoof. It wouldn't really wake her up, Twilight was certain of that as something of an expert in the matter.

Her Unicorn friend finally begins after another sigh. “Not really. There's just a lot of half formed dreams floating around that kept me up. Then when I passed by Trixie's wagon, she said she had a 'great and powerful headache' and wasn't in the mood to talk. So I came in early, got coffee, checked the paperwork, and spoke with the mailpony on the way here. It's just a busy morning when you aren't feeling at your best, y'know? And... sorry for snapping at you.”

It was understandable to the Alicorn. Shunting aside her discomfort, she finds that thread of compassion inside her as she looks at Starlight’s less than stellar appearance. She wasn't at her best, but the genuine smile plastered on her muzzle was heartening, “So any plans for today?”

“Work, checking to make sure that all the regulations for one of Applejack's class ideas are double checked, too. The last thing we need is some botany related disaster with pony pouncing plants.” She cackles lightly, running her hoof along the rim of her mug, “then dinner with Trixie and home.”

Twilight barely had time to fix a wry grin on her muzzle before her friend shot her a half-serious glare, “Hey, you know how she is; if I didn't check in on her she'd stuff herself with stale trail mix and snack cakes because they were close at hoof. That mare really doesn't have the best habits.”

“I didn't say a word, Starlight.” she smirks and tilts the mug back, draining the last dregs of the somewhat invigorating elixir. Not a moment after her satisfied gasp the faintest echoes of voices prick the Alicorn's ears. Starlight's turn in concert towards the door where a raspy, irritable, unmistakable tone filters in from the still morning air.

Starlight huffs, “There's an east wind coming, such a wind as never blew on Equestria yet. It will be cold and bitter, Twilight, and a good many of us may wither before its blast.”

The Alicorn's ears twitch as she hears a very loud and very uncouth obscenity echo off the school's marble walls in the distance. “On one hoof, I commend your literary choice. On the other, you know better than to mention such an un-scientific old mares tale.”

Her friend chuckles and levitates both empty mugs off her desk, “You're welcome.” A swift turn and quick trot leaves Twilight alone in her office.
Twilight nods and stares straight ahead, folding her forehooves as she awaits the inevitable. The sound of hoofsteps slowly approaches, as does the scratchy coltish voice of her friend.

'Just keep it together, you can do this. Don't blow up on her.'

Her hooves quickly reach to her muzzle, massaging her cheeks, before she paints on a wide and decidedly fake smile.

“-in the buck did you expect me to say? Should I just roll over and take it?! Pffft, then you don't know the Dash!”

'Oh Celestia, help me, third-pony Rainbow. Oh, this is going to be a loooong day.'

Another equally familiar voice pips up.

“Didn't say that, ah just said calling 'im a skinflint muff-muzzled lickspit diamond dog in a cheap one piece suit with fake mane extensions wasn't a good route if'n you were angling for a refund. Gotta admit, I'm almost impressed that you came up with that'n. Or that y'knew what lickspit meant.”

"WHAT?!"

Applejack’s hoofsteps and the pair’s bullhorn voices echo on the other side of the office doors, stirring the maelstrom of inevitable problems and confrontations. Another office door to her right rocks back on its hinges with an audible bang, jolting Twilight from her hastily prepared posture.

“Twilight!” a tiny dragon rushes in, tongue lolling from his maw as he waggles a gold bound scroll in front of her face. “Urgent… message… Celestia… ugh.”

“Spike, not...” Twilight's irritation boils away as she catches the golden glint of her mentor's seal. Plucking the scroll from his claws, the Alicorn retrieves the missive the same moment the main doors rock back on their well oiled hinges to admit a bickering pair of ponies.

“Whatever, one stuck up stallion's self esteem isn't my problem.”

“Awww, so you do feel bad about that, dontcha Sugarcube?”

Rainbow flaps into the room, barely paying attention to Twilight. With her forehooves folded over her chest, the Pegasus glares at the smug farmpony trotting in right behind her.

“Hey, polk-a-dot mare? Shut up.”

Spike waggles his claws defensively, backing out while avoiding scrutiny. “Iiiii'll just get out of your manes then.”

'Oooooh of course, leaving me alone with them. Self-preserving little drake.'

He was definitely the smart one, and in a paltry second, he darts back into the adjacent office and closes the door. All without drawing the attention of either new arrival.

Applejack's smugness rapidly distills into into vitriol, “Hey, Rainbow,” her voice as smooth as oil, “why dontcha come down here for a second.”

“Girls, girls, yeash...” Twilight shoves her mentor's missive to the side for a moment. “Do I have to send you to Starlight for a session?”

“Pfft, you wish. I don't have a problem, she does.”

'I swear it's like mid-cycle angst for those two'

Twilight whisks the sensation away, realizing her thoughts had escaped her and now she just wanted to be back home curled up in bed for a few more hours. Snapping back into focus, she cringes while glancing at the pair: they were still staring holes in one another. The Pegasus clicks her tongue and runs it along her teeth while the stony faced Earth mare glares impassively at the out-of-reach flyer.

It was probably saving the mare from a trip to the hospital, so it was best she stayed up there for now.

“Twi, if'n ya could, mind tellin' this here filly that just because she couldn't argue a stallion down a bit on a bushel, that it sure as shootin' ain't okay to take it out on her friends.”

“Hey, Twi, mind telling fruit flank here instead of laughing like a loon from across the street, she should just keep her snout out of my business and stick to farming, wrangling, and whatever it is that she's supposed to be up to in her classes.”

Twilight's ears perk up, “Is this school rela-”

“Oh yeah, well tell thunder thighs that if she thinks she can tell me what to do, she'll have to come down from her cloud of hot air an' stale sweat and actually do something about it.”

“Girls-”

“What, think I can't?”

“Girls-”

“Don't let your mouth make cheques yer hooves can't cash.”

“GIRLS!”

Both mares shot Twilight their near-identical death glare, but it quailed in comparison to the narrow eyed glower of the Alicorn. Everything Starlight tried to cultivate and contain that morning was dashed in an instant. Her nostrils flare and wings flick, tail swatting in irritation, even her hooves quake as she folds them across the desk and tried to keep her posture as prim and proper as a headmare should.

By the lull and slight defensive step back from the pair, she looked less like the controlled matriarch of a school and more like a thunderhead about to burst.

“What has gotten into you two? You're both rash, headstrong, and stubborn, but never this snippy.” She restrains the sigh, drawing in just a breath and holding it as her mind calms. “You sound like a pair of bickering old nags, pardon my Prench.”

“... Better watch your language, we're in a school, Twi. There might be foals present and we can't afford to set a bad example.” Rainbow's smarmy grin mirrors Applejack's. She'd intentionally parroted Twilight's own words from a few moons back.

It gets a guffaw as Twilight's ear and eye twitch in concert.

'Keep this up and you'll be in bows and berets by the end of the day. So help me Rarity, I will make you suffer.'

Eyes practically bulging, Twilight bites her tongue and counts backwards from ten.

Rainbow's gaze didn't falter, but she does grin wanly and lifts a wing to her muzzle. Whatever passes between her and the farm-pony was lost to the wind and the thundering beat of blood in Twilight's ears.

“What was that?”

Applejack grins as Rainbow bites her lip to stifle her cackle. “Ain't nothing Twi.”

“I swear, you two.” Twilight let it hang in the air before letting out a shuddering breath. “It just gets worse.”

“Worse, or better?” Rainbow's wry grin fades as the Alicorn lazily swings her head to fix her with her deathglare.

“But seriously, we've got a problem.” Rainbow continues uncowed. She nods to Applejack, “We have an overlap with classes and I've got a, well, scheduling issue that just came up.” At the sound of silence, Rainbow took it as a cue to continue. “Me and Applejack-"

"Applejack and I."

"... seriously?" Rainbow's face falls to an unamused glower, "Look, me and Applejack both have things we kinda wanted to do with our classes on in the afternoon."

"That second day fieldtrip to Heller's Falls?"

"Yeah. Anyway, it doesn't look like it'll work for both of us, and, well, the Wonderbolts just put out an alert for today."

A bubbling irritation rises in the Alicorn as another wrench was thrown into her plans. There was always another complication, yet staring at the cross-hooved Pegasus just hovering five paces in front of her was somehow even more frustrating. "So, you're going to miss the rest of the prep time today right before our first day of classes? Hmmm, we're going to have to go with the back up plan if this lasts more than a day or two.”

"Well it's not the first day of classes." Rainbow shrugs lightly, "It'll work out."

“Well, ah got some of the same students, and it just ain't gonna work if they're gone the whole afternoon. The whole consarn west field is s'possed to be properly set out so we can line up crops, flowers, wildflowers, and show'em the differences. If we keep puttin' this off it won't have the same meanin' and weather schedule ain't all that forgivin'. Blame the weather teams.”

“Hey,” Rainbow puffs out her cheeks, “It's not my fault!”

“Didn't say it was, but if it were, I'd-”

“Girls...” Twilight's warning growl draws both of her friends' attention. “I'll reschedule everything I can, Rainbow, find out exactly how long you're going to be absent so I can get Starlight to cover your classes and bring in somepony else if your leave is significant. AJ, was there anything else?”

“Nah, that's it.” her smile lights up her slightly lean face. Red lined eyes stand out...

'Hold it.'

Twilight hadn't noticed it before, but both mares looked a little worse for wear. AJ's mane tie was gathered more loosely than normal, her eyes red-veined, but it just looked inattentive rather than exhausted. Rainbow, well, she seemed alright aside from the prickling sensitivity and slight narrowing of her vision like she was squinting. She knew when her friend would rather be dozing, and despite it being first thing in the morning, it was definitely approaching that 'lull'.

“-there, Twi?” AJ's waving hoof snaps her out of it more than anything else.

'Oh, just great filly. Zoning out. Okay. Okay, bright and cheery, Twilight.'

“Yeah. Sorry AJ, I guess I just drifted for a moment there. I didn't get a lot of sleep and I guess it's back to bite me.”

Rainbow opens her mouth, hesitates, and smirks. More carefully, she gestures at the Alicorn with a little nod of her head, “Looks like miss All-nighter is back at it. Studies or experiments?”

The headmare's expression dips back to blasè.

“I'm not the irresponsible filly I used to be, Rainbow. Not on school nights, anyway.” It got a laugh and a hoof gesture to say 'touchè' from the Pegasus. Applejack's smirk suddenly did look a lot more affable rather than just teasing.

With a sigh, Twilight conceded that perhaps some of the hostility was just in her head. Her friends were almost always like this, so why would today be any different? Perhaps she was the pony that was more testy than normal.

“I guess it's my turn to say 'sorry'. Rainbow, Applejack, I apologize. And I'll make sure to sort out the scheduling, even if I have to make a special weather request.”

Abashed and somewhat deflated, the Alicorn nods weakly, eyes sliding down to her tabletop and away from what felt like the scrutinizing glare of her friends.

“Pfft, hey, no worries Twi. Pretty sure I can still pull some strings with the weather team to get that fast-tracked. If you wanna draw up some papers, then go for it. But I'll stop in before I take off. So, we all good here?”

She sets down in front of the desk, smiling at Twilight and looking down, catching the mare's gaze. The marish smirk, the cocksure head tilt, even the smarmy 'ocool' pose slouched against the mahogany desk said it all. 'We good?'

Twilight just nods. “Alright, I'll be sure to get everything ready. Go on, Rainbow. I don't want to keep you waiting. AJ, did you need anything else at all?”
With a pensive tap of a hoof to her chin, the farmpony shrugs, “Nah. I just wanted to be here to keep in the loop... and to keep Rainbow from biting anypony. She's in a bit of a funk this mornin'.” A jab to her friends ribs had the fellow athlete playfully shove the Earth Pony back.

The Alicorn nods, drawing up parchment and quill in her magical grasp. But she came up with Celestia's scroll. Something almost felt off, and the momentary squint at it seemed to draw both her friends attentions.

The stamp was right: shining golden wax, her mentor's personal sigil, crimson band, but something just felt off. The wax had splattered, stamped too early, the band sloppy and not perfectly overlapped. Twilight snaps the seal with an arcane stroke, and unrolls the parchment.

“Twi?” Rainbow ventures.

“Sugarcube?” Applejack caught the look as well.

Twilight spread the scroll across the desk, and in nearly the same moment, hops from her chair. There were just 4 words.

Come to Canterlot immediately.

Author's Notes:

Alright, so, bit of the 'next part' and I guess I had to set a timestamp on when this happens MLP wise. So we went with that. Pre-school of friendship is kinda like a Windows Restore point, always good to have a safe enough starting point without wiping out too much information.

Chapter 12: On Time

The ride on the Canterlot express had been more grating than usual for the Alicorn, and more than once she'd flirted with the idea of using her privilege to get a better seat. Or rather, a quiet seat. Foals were cranky and vocal, parents tried to sooth them and grew ever more frustrated, and working mares shuffled back and forth pretending to read newspapers or straining for any way to ignore the scenes around them.

By the time Twilight had stepped off the platform into Canterlot's Hearthrow station, she had endured more jostling and uncomfortable noise than she would wish on anypony else. Ever.

Thanks to the ominous four word message summoning her to the capital, she'd only managed to lightly skim through a novel rather than accomplishing anything productive. Turns out even her method of escapism hadn't helped after she'd read the same passage three times in a row, and she retained about as much as a rusty sieve.

“Princess Spackle, ma'am.”

An unfamiliar mare's voice jolts Twilight from her mental diatribe. The dialect twanged Sparkle into Spackle, a Trottingham trait as sure as unfortunately named foods. Even as she analyzes the tone, Twilight step falters and she quickly moves to adopt a straight and proper posture.

A Unicorn guardsmare quickly hops up the steps to the marbled platform just as the train disgorged its passengers. Trotting behind her is a detail of six other ponies, four mares and two stallions.

'Odd.'

Two of the mares came clad in the lacquered indigo plate of the Royal Night Guard. Sure, It was strange to see them in daylight, but not unprecedented. Admittedly, the sight of them made her heart beat with an arrhythmic patter that she was sure couldn't be healthy.

Whether that skip was her anxiety acting up, or the four cups of coffee on the way to the station was another matter.

As her mind hypothesized and conjectured the tableau of events that might necessitate both Day and Night guard detail, the Unicorn mare parades up in front of her before bringing herself to attention. With a quick stop, little stamp, and stiff salute she addresses the somewhat awkward Alicorn princess.

“Sergeant Torchstar, at'chor service, ma'am. We're 'ere to escort you directly to the castle. We'll get'chor baggage presently. Corporal Cart Wright, on point. Guardsmare Vert Gallant!”

'Brisk, brusque, and thoroughly presumptuous. This is why I don't have guards.'

“Thank you,” Twilight tries to politely interject, “but I'm g-”

“Yes, sergeant.” The mare's tone rings professional and sharp.

Twilight's gaze wanders between the slightly taller than normal Unicorn sergeant and the second Solar Guardsmare. The whole detail had lined up in a neat little knot, staring just slightly above her head like she'd gotten a cherry stuck to her horn and they were just being too polite to mention it.

It had happened before.

“Get the Princess's bags and fall in line!”

Stepping forward, this 'Guardsmare Gallant' halts just a hoofs length from Twilight. Even for an Earth mare she was tall, muscled more like of the Expeditionary soldiers and frontier guards than parade or garrison ponies, and possessing the kind of hard slate grey stare that scared foals. It was a little intimidating to be close enough to see where the lines of armour enchantment bleached her coat white, but couldn't disguise a craggy pink scar that parted the fur on her muzzle.

Unfortunately for both mares, Twilight had packed light, and with some hesitance, lifts her pannier over to the earth mare. Three books, a sandwich, quill, ink, parchment, and a whole lot of empty space fill the bags.

“Um... thanks.”

Twilight flashes the guardsmare a weak but sincere smile before the soldier returns to the formation.

“Sergeant Torchstar, can you tell me what exactly is going on?”

The Unicorn purses her lips into what might be misconstrued as a pout. “Fraid not, ma'am. Very hush-hush, Princess Celestia's orders. Right, column, about face!”

'Not usually something shouted out loud.'

The column turns towards the exit back to the main station. And sure enough, other passengers were milling about, looking at the larger and more peculiar than normal detail of guards. Twilight slips into their midst in what had become a practiced but still unfamiliar routine.

She eyes each guardspony, trying to catch a familiar face. Thanks to Shining Armor's previous work as the captain of the guard, and her own time passing through more sensitive wings of the Canterlot palace, she'd grown at least familiar with many guardsponies. But she didn't recognize anypony at all.

“Whenever you're ready, ma'am.”

Brought back to attention, Twilight nods and follows in lockstep.

Down the marble steps, into the main station, past the throngs of morning commuters and tourists, the bustling metropolitan station still held that grandeur of Canterlotian panache. But something was different.

The great clock still looked out over the arrival and departure lounge with its massive bronze etchings and faded facade hanging like an indoor star. The great arching vaults and glass panes let in what light they could, but a faint drizzle marks the mountain city's late morning. Dribbling water forms into rivulets and streams, flowing through the station's estuary flutes and subtle drains. Those became elegant waterfalls outside of some of the tall arched windows and their stained glass panes. Water and glass alike twinkle in the rythmic flicker of arcane lit lanterns while the great station, but most of the daytime ambiance still came from another source. Somewhat appropriately for the station's wagonwheel-like layout, an enormous multi-tiered mandala chandelier at its center casts pale amber light that glints from focal decor accents and brass plate. Even for a workday the station was packed with hundreds of ponies, and even some non ponies busied themselves as they all seek out their connections and transfers through Central Equestria's primary transit hub.

While the soft and comfortable orange ambiance almost always put travelers at ease, there was none of the quiet rumble of the citizen masses here. The helpful haze of folksy comfort and Canterlotian grandeur didn't calm the antsy crowds, it was both a roiling sea of pastel frustration and more than a bit of confusion.

The guard detail has to gently nudge aside one or two ponies that backstepped into the formation. The thin line around Twilight never broke, but here and there the spearhead softened as ponies were made to gingerly move aside for the group. The cry of unhappy foals and raised tones of one or two arguments bubbled up among the general clamour. A large mass milled around the departures and arrivals signs held high overhead, ticketmasters below dealing with what looked like a larger than average crowd.

“Has this been going on long?” Twilight asked the lead Unicorn.

Torchstar's neck pulls back, and though Twilight couldn't catch much more than a view of her armoured flank and short bobbing tail, the Alicorn bet that she was making that same pouting face.

“Hard to say, ma'am. Foals can be whinging things after all. But no, not in general.”

Her quick halt said that was probably the end to that line of questioning. And as more ponies trotted in from the four massive street-side gates, their pathway only got more clogged by soggy unhappy souls.

The crackle of the loudspeakers heralding the imminent departure of one line to Dodge Junction provided just enough of a lull for them to slip out through one of the main gates and into the dreary Canterlotian morning.

Hooves kick up spattering droplets of water as the rain gathers in pools on the steps of the grand train station. Ponies made their way up and down those weather worn stairs in a constant stream, heads bowed to the soft winds that brought with it hazy mists from the streets. But that same fresh air whisked by tender breezes energized Twilight better than coffee.

Taking a whiff, she lets the rain pour down her mane, the waft of moisture on stone so different than the familiar scent of Ponyville after a storm. Or, for that matter, Rainbow after a shower.

Dingy grey haze cloak the distant turreted towers of the Hightown district while the two and three story abodes of Rosedale appeared little better. The swirling patterns of pastel radiance painted on the strips of shops and cafès were faded into near-monochromatic hues by the sombre morning rain.

“Sorry we don't have quicker transport, ma'am.”

Torchstar's apology came nearly out of nowhere when they'd set hoof on the bottom step.

Twilight suddenly realized that she'd momentarily stopped in the lee of one of three grand Equestrian tribal statues dominating the bottom of the broad stairway. They'd been meant to represent the unity of the capital city, despite its very notable Unicorn population.

Perhaps that little hesitation and tilt of the head had been thought of as waiting for a carriage? Instead of whatever reproach could have been leveled at them, Twilight lifts her muzzle up and breathes in the fresh air more obviously.

“Mmm, it's okay. If it was that pressing, Celestia would have made sure to arrange it.”

It would make sense, but it was add odds with the insistent tone of the letter. Had things been resolved? Had they deteriorated? She didn't expect a guard squad to be waiting for her at the station. And she certainly didn't expect one made up of both day and night guards.

The group of seven trots up the winding cobblestone streets towards the distant peaks of the rain shrouded palatial district.

Canterlot Castle, the royal residence, centre for many of the most high cultured events in Equestria's social season. Canterlot Castle.

The normally wide open doors and airy halls were all sealed by thick decorative doors, giving it a labyrinthine air. The familiar landmarks and sights were nowhere to be seen, obscured and contained into vaguely recognizable blocks. Even the towering windows were shuttered to hold back the outside world. Not since the days immediately after Chrysalis's invasion had that happened.

The marks of militarism sloughed off every surface, and Twilight was forced to admit, she hadn't seen how she'd missed it before. Perhaps that was one of the great works of the princesses, it was miraculous that the Canterlot palace could be so welcoming to guests and yet remain a fortress.

The roving patrols of both Solar and Lunar guard seemed to note their presence, but none broke off to greet her. She was certain she saw her brother's friend Broadsword and Spearhead, but passed them by while hastening her trot.

'Didn't they both retire last year? Broadsword got married to Old Battleaxe. Hmm, and Spearhead was featuring at the performing arts gallery in Fillydelphia a month ago.'

The little Fillydelphia arts exhibit had been her distraction when pulled along by Starlight to one of Trixie's stage shows. So, what were they doing back in the guard?

Had the reserves been activated? The thought, like a myriad of others before it, disappeared among the clatter of plate mail and metal shoes on marble floors.

Twilight wasn't sure where Celestia was, and more than that, no one would tell her. Everything was done professionally. While Twilight herself felt she should have been delighted that the proper procedure was being followed to the letter, she had to restrain from simply teleporting to the throne room.

The sound of rain didn't penetrate this far in, there was only the sound of roving guards and her own hooves. But in that gulf between hoofbeats and clanking metal, was silence. A deep, awkward, impenetrable nothingness. And as she passed by another long colonnaded hall, she recognized why: day court wasn't in session.

Day court wasn't just suspended without good reason or plenty of notice. It was serious. The pit in her stomach only grew as empty lower halls give way to equally empty upper chambers. The meeting rooms and conference centres, practice rooms, and patron studios were all empty save for the ever present guard.

Once, she was even ushered up a rarely used scullery stairwell and to the royal residence towers. But it wasn't Celestia's tower, she knew the bright tapestry room and solarium annex better than almost anyone, except perhaps Raven Inkwell. Part of her mind chimed in 'Sunset Shimmer' though that was, admittedly, an assumption. Neither was it the student annex that she called home for almost a decade.

No, instead there was an empty hall with brass braziers leading to a lavender hued stairwell stretching off in either direction. The marble floor was a softer shade of grey, and everything felt infused with the floral scent of lavender.

'Luna's Tower'.

It was directly next to the observatory. The pieces fit. Her hooves wanted to take her in this general direction but avoid this particular path. After all, the ancient bastion had been nothing more than a repository for uncurated curios when she had taken up residence here.

As they crossed the smoothed and polished floor, she felt the slight tacky sensation on her frogs. They were planning to redo this wing, and a quick glance confirms everything: the outline of Luna's cutie mark lays etched in white wax upon the tiles, almost certainly awaiting renovation.

“Oh Stars.” she quietly whispers aloud with a breathless rattle of unrestrained anxiety.

No reply from Torchstar, but she caught a movement in her peripherals. It was almost certainly a nod from the Royal Night Guardsmare to her left. She's led up the steps and through a climbing spiral of dusk hued halls A pair of pony voices prick her ears, carrying through the stillness of the empty expanse.

“-going to be alright?”

a soft feminine voice carries a tone of worry.

“We don't know. So far, we don't have a prognosis.”

A single word could strike with the force of a tidal wave. The Alicorn stops cold, hoof hanging in mid-step, shaking. The words echo in her mind.

Prognosis.

A rasping wet wheeze reaches Twilight's ears, and while her neck stiffens and ears pivot and twitch to find the source, it didn't come from the guards. It came from her. Its her own hyperventilating gasps that close in around her, setting her on edge as icy tines edging up her hooves. The sound reaches Twilight's ears but as they twitch and flop against her skull, it's all so detached.

Every attempt to speak results in a thick sandy lump in her throat, a raspy squeak, or an indistinct whine. After a moment, she bolts forward, shouldering the Night Guardsmare aside.

The edges of her vision pulse black, her ears ring with the thunderous pounding of blood, and her stomach churns.

'Prognosis.'

Fear.

It could only be fear. Not fear for herself, not the uncomfortable adrenal push when in danger, but the sickly sense of dread that something had just changed. Something would never be the same.

“Have any results come-”

Hooves on marble stop the conversation dead as Twilight rounds the bend. She looks on at the third story landing beneath the new portrait of the princess of the night.

A yellow and orange stallion with a white medical smock and surgeons bag conversed in somewhat hushed tones with a periwinkle mare dressed much the same. Both were doctors, part of Twilight's mind knew them, she had spoken to them. She fumbled for names but she only could remember 'Barn'-something. She careens forward, hooves skittering over the newly polished stone, but caught enough resistance in the clopping of hooves to stop a pace from the pair, who had shied back instructively from the collision.

“Oh, m-miss Sparkle. I, uh, didn't see you there.”

The stallion babbles, eyes widening before darting to the floor, biting his lip and shying away. His companion took a step forward and turned, managing a little bow.

“Miss-”

“Doctor Barnyard? What's happened?”

The research physician's name flowed from her lips before her mind consciously brought it to the forefront.

Looking at her colleague, the mare glances back up with a line of frustration on her brow.

The pull of a scowl only grew deeper on the Alicorn's face as the mare glanced past her at the rapidly approaching entourage.

“By order of Princess Celestia, myself and doctor Meadowsweet are forbidden to speak of our patients condition to anypony. She was very, very insistent, miss Sparkle. I am sorry.”

The Alicorn pauses, hesitating on three hooves as if to reach out and shake some sense into her. But her mind cobbles something together.

'By Celestia's order?'

Luna's wing of the castle, Celestia's order, it was almost certainly nothing to do with the solar diarch. Doctor Barnyard may have been a one cart town doctor for some time, but as a research scientist at Canterlot University and lecturer at the School for Gifted Unicorns, Twilight had corresponded with her before. She knew her, if only as an acquaintance.

“Oh. Oh ponyfeathers, no.” Twilight's gaze shoots up the stairwell as Torchlight's voice reaches her ears.

“Wait ma'am, we're s'possed to escort you!”

She wasn't listening. Twilight's hooves leave little divots and bunches in the carpet as she darts up the stairs. Protocol be damned, the air itself had changed worryingly the moment she reached the top of the steps. It was charged and tasted of copper and burnt ozone, like magical backwash. Something was wrong. More over, a small shiver jitters down her spine unbidden.

The Alicorn only had to ascend that last spiraling stairwell before even her pounding eardrums could make out the sound of her mentor's voice. Admittedly, it took her a heartbeat more to recognize it.

“I know that my duties are important, Kibitz. I raised the sun, I named an interim executive council, I did everything I was required to do.... no I will NOT keep my voice down!” The sudden explosive tone shakes the halls, cracking plaster and unsettling a layer of dust that rains from the vaulted ceilings.

Twilight's skittering stop in the middle of the hall was reflexive.

The warble of Celestia's voice, the sharpness and quavering frustration rarely ever leached out of her studied mien. The 'princess mask' was a hoofstep from sacred, the mark of a ruler, and Twilight found herself unexpectedly frozen in a hall thirty steps from Luna's chambers listening to it fall away in a series of sharp breaths and hitched gasps.

“Please, your majesty." An elderly stllion's raspy voice barely bubbles up from behind a closed door, "There's nothing that can be done, and it's likely better if the public didn't know for the time being. Or, at least, until we can make a more informed public statement. I'm sure the common pony would panic, they are, after all, just ponies. My lady, I suggest you clean up, make yourself presentable, and continue on with the day's rather busy schedule. It may do undue duress to this week's meetings.”

“A-and why would I give a flying feather about this week's meetings? If you haven't noticed, and I sincerely hope you haven't rather than being indifferent, we still have no idea what happened.”

At last, the Alicorn princess unintentionally eavesdropping in the hallway eases her way forward. It took that long for her muscles start to respond. Her escorts, however, didn't so much as poke a muzzle up the stairwell.

She weakly plods forward, unabashedly treading across the carpet and keeping her head down like a scolded filly.

“Princess Celestia?”

Her voice barely carries to the front of her muzzle, let along to her friend and mentor.

“Please understand, your highness, it is for the best. We should stay calm and treat this like any other event-”

“No. You might be able to stay calm, but you weren't the one who saw her lying on the fl-” a rough hiccup and throaty wheeze bleeds from her throat, “In, in a pool...”

Wet uncontrolled sniffles wash away whatever else she might have tried to say.

Even with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Twilight found herself drawn forward. Each tentative step brings her closer to the enormous doorway flanked in Equestria's heraldic tapestries.

The carpet scratched her frogs, each step was too loud, each breath too irregular. An acidic bite wets the back of her mouth as Twilight, in a fugue of her own, slips into the antechamber of Luna's quarters.

She had been here quite infrequently, and always through teleportation, but the massive onyx doors to the main chamber were never shut. They had always been open, creating an free flowing line through the main chamber to the tower's halls. Now, it was walled off and turned into a sealed cloister.

It made the chamber little more than a glorified mud room that just so happened to display royal finery. Rich oil paintings of conquests long past hang on the walls, a crystal display holds the Night regent's set of lacquered midnight armour, and none of that mattered in the least.

Kibitz stands silently in one corner. The majordomo fumbles with the breast pocket of his red waistcoat, the arcane grasp rifling overlooked by something far more distressing.

Celestia. Her pure ivory coat was ruffled and matted, a few spots of faded pink blot her chest tuft, and her peytral and hoofshoes were missing. But it wasn't what regalia she lacked that hurt, or the mussed up fur and mane, it was something else.

Twilight caught the glitter of tears coursing down from red rimmed eyes, carving rivulets into Celestia's perfect alabaster cheeks. The thick mucous clotted snorts and dribbling glint of moisture that ran from her nose obliterated the notion of practiced and groomed perfection. She wasn't the perfect princess Twilight had grown to admire, she was just a pony. A pony in pain.

It all should have been disgusting, embarrassing, and the sheer look of discomfort radiating from the prim and proper stallion in front of her echo what Twilight's brain said she should have felt if it were anypony else. But even as Kibitz dug in his breast pocket for something, evidently a distraction, Twilight found she didn't need to will herself forward anymore.

Seeing Celestia, hearing her, Twilight leans forward as if falling towards the elder Alicorn. In the span of a second, she presses her chest into that of her mentor's. The pink stained chest fur stuck to hers as a rapid beat thundered beneath it. Her neck slid over Celestia's, easing the heaving spasms that trembled through the diarch, chin down to her back. And even as she stretched a foreleg over Celestia's withers to draw them closer, she spread her lavender wings over the larger mare and covered her as if offering protection from a storm.

The comfort was received eagerly by the pony. The dam broke as it dissolved into a series of racking sobs. At that moment, she wasn't the sovereign matriarch of a nation, she was just Celestia. She would say what she needed in time. She missed the quiet hoofsteps that made their way out from the antechamber, closing the door to leave the pair alone.

Chapter 13: Clues

The tap of a porcelain cup on serving platter was something almost completely foreign to Twilight. Well, not the sound itself, more of who made it. Celestia only narrowly avoided fumbling the ivory vessel again, placing it down in her arcane grasp with an uneasy breath. It had been fifteen minutes of false starts and incomplete explanations from the solar diarch, each of which had wound up trailing off into sniffles or uncomfortable silence.

“So,” Twilight starts with the lingering warble of hesitance.

'Oh mare, this is awkward.'

“Uh," Twilight ventures softly, "any better?”

Instead of trembling lips and a whisper like last time, Celestia clears her throat and meets Twilight's gaze. There's no words, but Celestia does manage a quick nod.

Celestia tucks her wings against her side and stiffens her spine to gather some degree of composure. “Thank you for the tea, Twilight.”

Then lapses back into deafening silence.

It wasn't her patience failing, Twilight almost sensed herself sliding into the same pit of despair that Celestia had. It wasn't just empathy for her friend and mentor, the cloying air around her was palpable. Although, she did feel pity and a sense of awkwardness as Celestia's eyes dip to take in the tabletop.

“Princess," Twilight licks her suddenly parched lips, "I have to ask, why exactly am I here?”

“Why are you here, Lu...” the rising heat of indignation is quenched the moment Celestia's eyes met her own. “Twilight... I'm sorry.”

Again, silence, but this time an almost companionable one. Celestia's feathers ruffle as a scrunch slides across her muzzle. A sip of tea and deep breath steadies her voice. “As you've no doubt guessed, it's Luna.”

Pausing only long enough for Twilight to nod her confirmation, the diarch continues. “Last night my sister had an… episode.” The word evidently curdles on her tongue as she spat it out with disgust. It didn't escape Twilight's notice, the smaller Alicorn could have tried to read something into it, but Celestia's practiced stoicism had since returned in full force. “Her maids found her delving through the library, researching something. She confided in me that the Nightmare had returned.”

“But the elements-” Twilight's interjection is smothered by Celestia's raised hoof.

“Yes, Twilight. The Elements banished the Nightmare from my sister and returned her to the pony she was before.” Celestia's quickly rattled off response held all the air of a practiced speech, but it was the lifted hoof that halts Twilight’s nascent protest, “She said this was different, it tried to taunt her rather than appeal to her. She was... manic. She ignored her maids and chased the guards out of her study. That's when they asked me to see to her. I normally don't interfere with her responsibilities, but they were insistent." A sigh passes her lips and she steadies herself with another sip of the soft amber liquid.

A thousand questions and as many summations pass through Twilight's mind: 'who, what, when', and most notably 'how'. She fidgets, ears waggling in thought. And just as she tries to form a question, Celestia continues. “It concerned her. I could see it. She insisted she wasn't sick, she wasn't overly stressed, but I could see she was troubled. She insisted that this Nightmare drove her from the dream realm.”

'Drove her... what? She's the Princess of dreams, how is that even possible?!'

The whole thing was bizarre. Something being able to drive Luna out of a dreamscape was unfathomable. Celestia's voice snaps her out of the stream of thoughts. “And something else tried to speak to her. She said this thing wasn't a Nightmare but made of something like it and a dreamer. I just... I tried to say that I could help, or that I would ask you on her behalf, but she insisted on being the pony to ask for help. Well, you know Luna. She's a stubborn pony, so I let it go. But a few hours later I was summoned to the kitchen and...” Celestia's voice trails off into obscurity and tries to return to the calming presence of the tea.

The solar diarch continues after willing her voice back to a more sedate tone. “The Physicians say that she may have just fallen asleep, struck her head and is suffering from a concussion. But she's not waking up. They've tried balms, spells, herbal poultices, everything that can be done. Starswirl is on his way from the Glory Hooves mountains and I have more physicians including several from the crystal empire who should be arriving tomorrow.”

And despite that, Twilight blinks back confusion. “So why would you need- you think this is all because of the Nightmare, not an injury, right?”

It's confirmed in a simple nod, but the pleading glance through shimmering eyes brimming with a fresh wave of tears was enough to convince Twilight. Taking her cup, she drains everything left in it and swills the dregs in her mouth, tasting the slight bitterness. “ I'd like to think I've got a basic understanding of Thaumatalogical medicine but... I may need some help. I'll help in any way I can. But, maybe it would be best to wait? I mean, Starswirl alone probably has forgotten more than I know about it.”

“Twilight," Celestia's hoof stretches across the table and gently rests atop her own. It was soft, certain, everything her tone hadn't been just minutes before. "You know my sister as well as Starswirl ever did. She trusts you, and I trust you. I know it might be exactly what the physicians suspect. But, if it's not, I trust you to find a way to help my sister.” She fixes her gaze on the younger Alicorn and smiles hopefully, “Please.”

It was Celestia asking, and Twilight could only nod, words springing to her mouth unbidden. “Of course, Princess. Anything.”

'Well... I did say anything.'

The first steps of Twilight's plan was the same as any other research project: acquire information.

With the royal archives so close, she'd once more settled back into her study nest and awaited reports, documents, and suppositions from the medical staff. The affidavits, or more accurately, 'half-remembered and terrified recollections' of the kitchen staff that called for Celestia were already categorized and tucked into a folio.

Four candelabras and several arcane lumin orbs cast pale amber light over the scene of scholastic chaos. Open scrolls and heaps of medical textbooks lay around the Alicorn in a pattern so similar to the sun that it could have been mistaken for a convoluted solar summoning circle. Twilights desk stayed a relative island of peace among the apparent mayhem. There's just a single sheet of paper, inkwell, and three tomes laid open to a series of referential charts marked with white linen strips.

Hours has passed, but something was emerging.

"It's just a matter of seeing the pat-"

A knock sounds on the door. Twilight turns just as a familiar lab coated pony peeps inside. “Princess Sparkle?”

Twilight glances up, catching the periwinkle Unicorn mare with short Lemon-yellow locks and a veritable filing cabinet's worth of papers stuffed in her overladen saddle bags.

“Doctor Barnyard, please, come in.” Twilight waves the medical mare inside and gestures towards a maroon crushed velvet cushion just outside her immediate study circle. “Have the test results come in yet?”

“Yes.” Doctor Barnyard gingerly watches her step, careful to avoid the carpet of papers that had been crumpled and discarded. They lay in a heap, partially obscuring the intricate needlework of the Saddle Arabian rug. The Unicorn mare takes a seat, fishing out a series of files from her pannier.

The bags swiftly flicker from Barnyard's teal magical aura to Twilight's bright raspberry. The files are open and parsed out as soon as they leave the doctor's grip. “Hmmph, you're welcome.” She mutters mostly under her breath, but Twilight's ears pivot towards her to show it was heard.

Blushing faintly, the doctor clears her throat and begins in a more professional mien. “As you can see with her urology and toxicology results, the patient is well within the parameters of a normal healthy individual of her genotype. Magical resonance imaging results have also come back as normal.”

“So, for an Alicorn, she's fine.” Twilight mutters absently. The Alicorn flips through the indicated reports, glancing down the page of terms and abbreviations that she'd had to familiarize herself with just hours before. It only takes a quick glance to a scribbled page of medical terminology to cross-referenced what Barnyard was saying. “She wasn't poisoned, there's no toxins, it's not an infection, and the MRI hasn't picked up any other physical problems.”

All of which were affirmed by Barnyard's nod. A pair of tiny wire-framed spectacles levitates out of the doctor's breast pocket and drifts to her muzzle.
“Exactly. But look at the hematology result.”

“Is there a reason I need to see bloodwork before thaumatology?”

With a faint blush again, the doctor squirms in her seat and nods. “Uh-yes, exactly. Look at some of the numbers for hormone levels.”

'Oh... oh, please don't say she's pregna- woah.'

Twilight's voice creeps higher, turning a little more shrill, “W-why is her cortisol levels spiking? Her blood pressure is high. Extremely high.”

'Fight or flight response, adrenal secretion responses. Okay, so, coma patients are supposed to be at rest. Luna's not.... so it's not a medical coma. Wait, is this what a Nightmare incident looks like?'

Despite the doctor casting a sideways glance at the Alicorn, she gives her a little nod as non-verbal permission to continue to the next file folio.

Twilight glances over the far more familiar field that was the study of magic. “Her thaumotology readings are literally off the chart. There's intersecting active waves, cycling patterning and interference results, haptic feedback.... wait, she's having seizures from magic feedback?”

The Alicorn didn't look up for clarification, but confirmation as her eyes widen with a dawning realization.

“She's channeling and somehow using enough magic that I'd be concerned she's trying to kill the sky. And forgive me, Princess Sparkle, but I've been a medical researcher for more than fifty moons and I have seen the medical information of every princess. For science, I assure you. But this is unprecedented in a single individual, it's far closer to the-”

“Elements of harmony.” Twilight interrupts.

With a snort, Barnyard mutters, “We don't have numbers for that, and the field of study is hardly exhaustive. So I thought it more appropriate to use some of the readings recorded from Princess Cadenza's royal wedding incident as a benchmark.”

Twilight looks the numbers over again, and swiftly shuts more than half a dozen tomes before dragging twice as many books over in a rotating circle around her head. “Thank you, doctor. I may have to call on you again soon. But for now it might be best to take a break and get some rest.”

“Your majesty-”

“Please," the Princess flashes a practiced grin meant to be disarming, "just Twilight.”

“Alright. Twilight. I have files on all of the princesses. That includes yourself, of course. Forgive me for saying, but you're about the last pony that should be telling others to 'take a break and get some rest'. We are all professionals and handling this as well as... can be... expected.” The slow, awkward, meandering phrasing finally stops cold when the doctor realizes Twilight had stopped paying attention.

“Ahah!” The Alicorn was already up and moving by the time the doctor's hackles had smoothed back down. “I'll get Pernhurst's Compendium to Mystical and Magical Maladies, and Afflictions ex Infurium in the original Old Ponish, as well as Malestare Crawly’s Message of the Magister Thestrals on Umbral Shadows and Ushering in the Next Aeon! And I know just the pony that can help!"

Twilight flutters around amid a flurry of loose papers and tottering book towers in the appropriated quarters. Even as she shoves papers and folios in her saddle bags, her brisk trot and manic bounce erases all the tiredness of the morning. Collecting her supplies and donning a short magister's robe left out to ward off the rain, she hastily makes her way out the door.

“.. okay, I'll just be in the staff room...” Doctor Barnyard awkwardly looks to and fro as Twilight snuffs the candelebras and douses the arcane light, leaving one confused Unicorn sitting in the dark. With a subtle 'floomph' a slide of scrolls tumbles to the floor. "...Princesses."

The incessant rapping at the front door never slowed, let alone ceased.

“Alright, alright! Calm your teats, I'm coming!” a terse and relatively sharp feminine voice calls from the other side as the lock slides back.

Twilight flares her nostrils and quickly charges her horn. With a noisy crack-pop, the Alicorn swiftly teleports herself from the rainy Canterlot street to the other side of the rickety oak door just as it creaks open.

A cream coated mare stares out on the now vacant Canterlot street corner. Spray from a passing carriage blows in, misting the mare's wide glasses and forming droplets on her scarlet streaked mane. The black scrunchy holding up her bangs soaks in even more, leaving a noticeable rivulet tracing down the spiral of her horn.

“Alright, we have a hundred things to do, Moondancer. The area's already isolated and most of the books and volumes we need are there, but I brought a few myself to see what you think. I figured it would be best if we did a thorough examination, test things ourselves and start fresh. With any luck, we should get it done by this evening and the results back before midnight. The fate of Equestria may be at stake here! Now, do you still have that old complete works of Malestare Crawly?”

The door slams shut, the mare still staring at the back of it for a moment before taking in a deep steadying breath as Twilight's trots from the foyer into the dusty inner sanctum. The mare tries to wipe her glasses off on her still wet sweater, streaking the lenses and drawing out a shaky huff of mounting irritation. “Morning Twilight, how nice of you to send me a letter that you were in town and planned on dropping in."

The only response is Twilight's receding hoofsteps.

“Princesses.”

“Ummm...yep, that's an Alicorn. So, uh, why am I here?”

Twilight's intense glare at Moondancer's flippant muttering does little but get the Unicorn to push her glasses further up her snout. Moondancer patently ignores her in favour of straightening the castle visitor pass looped on a lanyard around her neck. The Unicorn could hardly be bothered as she sweeps her bangs from her face, only for the curtain of hair to bob right back in front of her glasses. She shrugs her pack off and nudges it into the corner.

Her own voice comes out far softer, respectful and perhaps a little numb. "They may have overlooked something."

She turns her attention back to the shrouded form of the dark Alicorn laying on the small medical cot. It still cut a strange sight, one of the regal princesses laying in a tiny bed covered in a lush royal duvet. It was folded twice over yet still draping down to the ground like a star-spangled waterfall. The rest of the room was positively mundane, and the steady series of blips of medical equipment was all there was to distract from the stink of antiseptic clinging to every surface. The walls were bare except for a few Equestrian Health Network posters asking patients to wash their hooves thoroughly.

Twilight catches the image of Moondancer trying to rub her glasses clean on her smudged sweater from the reflection of a glass cabinet. Disposable medical supplies lined the shelves, but the simple granite desk for charts and papers were now crowded with the research books, notes, and writing supplies she had brought. “Look, Twilight, they were professional doctors. This isn't like a one-cart town herbalist down in Hayseed Swamp. They have, you know, degrees. Certificates. Brass plaques with their names on them.”

Part of Twilight knew that her friend was right, they hadn't just elected to miss something that she, in all her amateur knowledge, would discover. But it just felt like she was doing something, at least being there in case whatever it was that could happen, happened. Twilight takes a few steps closer to Luna, silent while her friend meandered off on her own train of thought. She reaches a hoof out to brush against Luna's blanket covered barrel.

'Cold but still sweating.'

The Princess's heart raced as sweat bleeds into the thin sheet. Her body seemed to be trying to shed warmth despite her being clammy to the touch. From that to the little droplets of moisture along the Alicorn's horn, the medical files had been so perfectly impersonal. But being right next to her, seeing the little microspasms, rippling shivers and raised hackles, it was unsettling.

A pit forms in Twilight's stomach: perhaps there was nothing she could do except for, maybe, just being there.

'No, no that's not like you, Twilight!'

With a quick shake of her head, she gathers the blanket up and pulls it further up Luna's body.

“-and finish the prelim notes over a hot trotty. Your treat, because you dragged me away from my studies and all. It's only fair, right? So, can we get out of here?” Moondancer nods expectantly.

Somehow, Twilight had missed the start of her friends apparent rant. Although the idea of a drink was a good one when they were done, they'd barely started. “Sorry, Moondancer. We can't just go yet.”

Moondancer's snort draws Twilight's attention again. Looking back to see the slightly furrowed brow and pinched muzzle, something still felt a little off.

Twilight pensively hums and glances around the spartan room, “We need to look through all of this, did you read all of the medical report?”

“Of course. I had to do something on the way here.” Moondancer sniffs and tilts her head upward, glancing at the few pedestrian posters tacked up on the walls. A suspicion forms in Twilight as Moondancer turns her gaze to the disposable tongue depressors in a jar.

'She's not even looking, is she?'

Twilight canters over to her friend. “Moondancer, you're one of the smartest ponies I know. Please,” she reaching out to brush her hoof over the mare's withers, “help me, help Luna.”

Moondancer finally turns her attention to Twilight, and with a slight shift and gesture, she's redirected to the unresponsive Alicorn. The Unicorn's lower lip trembles for a moment as her voice dips to near inaudibility. “O-okay.”

Twilight cocks her head to the side, staring at Moondancer, forming words on her lips but staying silent. Instead, she tosses a hoof over her withers and sidles up side-to-side before finally adding, “Between us, I'm sure we can figure out what's wrong.”

Moondancer nods silently in reply. Trotting over to her notes, the Unicorn nervously licks her lips, keeping her gaze downcast towards the missives. She pulls free a sheaf and raises her voice a little louder than strictly necessary. “Okay, so, I had a thought about that. A lot of these symptoms are incongruous. It's not toxins, it's not a sickness, it's not physical injury. Right?”

“Right.” Twilight seizes on the sudden mood shift.

“So," Moondancer continues, "I was thinking, if it's not any of those, what else could it be?”

Twilight nods and glances over at Luna. She shivers and twitches, but nothing else, head tucked down against her neck like a curled up bird.

"We should consider that it's not inherently physical in nature. But first-” Letting her own sentence peter out, Moondancer turns to root through her pack. The flaps pop open as she digs through, shifting what sounded like glass and metal around before fetching a neat featherless quill. Placing it aside with a tiny vile of ink, Moondancer drags out a plain platinum rod in her telekenetic grasp. A coiled cord trails down to a meter box with a few adjustable knobs and glass-faced displays. A thaumatology meter.

“Here, hold this.” Moondancer mutters, passing Twilight the meter reader. The Alicorn takes a hold of it, cradling it in her hooves. She knew the procedure. It was an aged, well used, and yet surprisingly heavy device that had seen better days, as evident by the hastily repaired back panel.

Twilight blinks and takes a look at the calibration.

'100 Thaumins!?'

A hundred times the magical potential output of a typical unstressed Unicorn. In Moondancer's arcane grasp, the needle barely moved. It was certainly under 5, probably in the lower half. “What are you doing with an industrial grade thaumometer? Besides, I know this sounds like a good idea, but we already know-”

“Shhhhh.” Moondancer quiets her sharply. “Aren't you always saying we should double check the results?”

Twilight is gently brushed aside as Moondancer trots over to Luna. The guards on the other side of the door would no-doubt have a fit, but Moondancer's inner researcher seemed to have finally taken hold. A little head bob brings Twilight to her side. The lavender Alicorn watches the meter as Moondancer gently presses the rod to Luna's horn. Even before she had made contact, the dial needle shoots up and taps the metal pin past 100.

It wasn't exactly a surprise, but the sound the meter made as it tapped was a little jarring. Twilight takes a breath, lapsing back into her studied mien, “Well we know that Luna has a resting potential of about a hundred and twenty. So, while we know that she isn't- what are you doing?”

Twilight yelps as the meter is snatched from her hooves. She bats at it, trying to catch the device by instinct as it's held in Moondancer's lilac arcane field. With a rusty creak, the back plate pops out and clatters to the floor.

“Hold this,” The Unicorn lazily tosses the rod to Twilight. Caught by instinct, the platinum rod levitates in Twilight's lavender arcane grasp. The meter's pin spikes for a moment, tapping the 100 as Twilight clenches the rod, but it settles back down to 73 with a few little wobbles.

A dawning realization creeps over the Alicorn's face. “Wait, you're using me as a magical load to create a tear yield?”

“Precisely. More power, lets get it up to at least eighty.” Moondancer quickly nods despite a deadpan look from Twilight. The Unicorn blinks and just shrugs, “It's easily hoof dividable and it's the principle that counts. Trust me, it's better this way.”

With a bit of magical effort, Twilight mumbles, “Parrato principle, maybe.”

“Hold it there!” Moondancer replies and quickly turns the back of the meter, grasping a tongue depressor and quickly using it to unscrew something. With another twist and a quick check on the front, she smiles and nods. “ Alright, tear is at eighty RPTE. Lets try this again.”

Twilight nods and they retry their test, the meter in her grasp and Moondancer resting the platinum rod to Luna's horn. And again, the meter needle shoots up with a click, tapping past the 100 in the blink of an eye.

“Ish dat o'r un-eighey?” Speaking around the rod in her mouth, Moondancer glances back over her shoulder before spitting it out and catching it with her own magic.

“Yeah," Twilight stares at the unmoving dial restrained by the simple silver pin. "Way over one-eighty. You know what this means?”

Moondancer nods, “That she's actively stressed and using magic. How much, well, we don't have firm numbers for her anyway so we can only guess.”

A quick glance back at the dark Alicorn quickly turns into a stare. Twilight bites her lip and asks aloud, “do you think that her state is from magic exhaustion?”

“It's looking like that. But magic should just drop back to its resting potential when a Unicorn falls unconscious. Maybe it's different for an Alicorn?”

Looking to Twilight for confirmation only draws a quick shake of her head. “No, no it's still the same. We're still just ponies. Essentially.”

“Twilight,” Moondancer's tone slips into something icy and quiet. “I have a theory, and I don't like it.”

Seeing that there was no response from Twilight, Moondancer pensively nibbles her cheek and begins. “Princess Luna is under strain, so, maybe it's from some magical attack? Her body is exhibiting physiological responses to stress, not sickness or injury. If she's in a coma, it avoids outside stimulation so the magical energy won't fluctuate due to distraction. So, maybe she's like this because she chooses to be?”

"Well," Twilight mulls over what she knew aloud. "Celestia did mention that Luna said there was a Nightmare that drove her out of the dreamscape and something else tried to talk with her. Do you think that's what this could be?"

Deathly, piercing, incomfortable silence greet's Twilight's reply. Moondancer's eyes widen and a twitch creeps up the side of her face. "...what."

Twilight's mind races, hoping for something to refute the concept, to point to an alternative, and yet it was ticking quite a number of mental boxes. "I didn't mention that? Hmm, I guess it might not be in the reports."

Moondancer rubs a hoof to her eyes, shoving her glasses up and over the intruding forelimb. The laugh that bubbles from her throat was mirthless and cold.

Seeing no response, Twilight let her train of thought continue uninterrupted. "Magic is just being used, but we don't know how or why. Still, it has to be affecting something. Simple first law of thaumodynamics. So, we need a way in.” Twilight spoke, not realizing the flat and scholastic tone she had adapted. Luna needed help, and this was a new hypothetical that was coming close to confirmed. Even Moondancer's slightly surprised expression barely registers as Twilight mulls her thoughts over.

"Twilight," the Unicorn says, shooting her an unamused glare. Is there anything else that I should probably know? We're not going to have to venture to Mount Dread to find some magic Alicorn ring that Celestia told you about, or assemble the Justice League of Equestria, right?"

"Hmm, but who else knows dream magic?" Twilight continues, lost in thought and mumbling more to herself by then. Her eyes flit between the Equestrian Health Network and the Alicorn. "Luna mentioned that Celestia wasn't adept at dream magic when we dealt with the Tantabus." Moondancer was saying something that bled into the background hum of the overhead lights. "Hmm, Starlight knows, and a few at the university must have an idea. But they might not know how to create a shared space. If only we knew what we were up against, we might be able to figure out what we need to do. Meaning that if we can get a glimpse of what's going on, maybe-”

A flash of inspiration hits her like a runaway cart.

'An empath. An empath might be able to find out even if she's not awake.'

Moondancer's reply flits off, it takes a faint arcane snap and burst of magic in front of her eyes to get Twilight conscious of the sour, frustrated face just a hooflength away.

“-And furthermore, if we're going to be research partners then we both have to pay attention. If this is about the earlier-”

Twilight bolts up and snatches a quill and ink from the academic heap on the desk. “M-hmm, I'm listening, just gotta write this. Just give me a second.”

Her hoofwriting was messy and remarkably swift, and even as Twilight spun to her hooves and gallops to the door, the parchment was being shaken in the air to dry.

“Write what?” Moondancer calls after her. She was slower on her hooves, and the sound of a rustling bag and clinking equipment says she's collecting her accouterments before following along.

“Don't worry, I'll be right back!" By now, Twilight was shouting as she barrels past the two guards posted outside the door and leaving Moondancer to awkwardly step past them. "I just have to send this letter back to Spike and hope Starlight's not already on the train. I need her to pick up a book for me.” The Unicorn follows after but almost immediately is out of sight as Twilight turns a corner of the stairwell, heading upwards.

The Unicorn's voice reaches her, even if at a distance. “Why would Starlight already be on a train?!”

“Because I wrote her to come here as fast as she could before I left for your pla.... uh...”

“TWILIGHT!”

“I'm sorry!”

Chapter 14: The Mountain

The railway ties clack noisily beneath them as the express pulled away from the station. The shunt and judder of the passenger car normally pulled the Unicorn into a lull as she stared out the window and watched the world pass by. The soft patter of rain on the train's metal roof echoes around the interior, upsetting some foal near the front of the car. Wind twisted and bent the boughs of the trees speed past, their violent sway distorted by the rivulets of water that dance before her eyes. For all the times she'd been on the train, the Unicorn mare would often let herself doze off or curl up with a new book while the soft jostling lulled her into a trance like rest.

But it wasn't to be.

Just as the dreary grey stretch of sodden conifers drifts lazily by the rain slicked window, a glint of movement catches the mare's eye. It wasn't something outside, but the soft reflection behind her, just past her muzzle and pale eyes. A flash of bejewelled metal from a familiar zircon pendant was the only warning she got before the fabric swiped across her face.

“C'mon, Starlight. Trixie called the window seat on this galloping garbage heap before we even left the station.”

Her companion grunts as she turns, settling in to the too-small space between muzzle and glass pane. It shoves the fellow Unicorn further from the window and further rubs the slightly stale cloth in her face. Other scents invaded her nostrils, the pong of alchemical powders mixed with the faintly sour hint of body odours and cooking oil. Wrinkling her nose, she huffs a breath from her nostrils, flicking away a tail hair that got too close in the little spin.

“Trixie, cuddidout. Hey, you're sitting on Twilight's book!”

“Well, Trixie doesn't hear it complaining.” With a harrumph, Trixie wriggles to settle herself in, depriving Starlight of her window seat.

'That mare.'

An unbidden smile rises to her lips only to turn into a slight scowl. She tilts her head up, having to gaze upward at the Unicorn just a touch. It was almost imperceptible, but that smarmy grin said she knew what she did. That extra little bit of height from the book was just enough to make Trixie a hair taller than herself.

'Typical.'

“Well,” Starlight starts with a sigh and gives her friend a once over. “At least you're not wet and soaking the book.”

She knew it was a mistake to say the moment it left her mouth. The predatory curl of her magician friend's lips was the warning that just interrupted the correction. “Now you're lo-”

“Your clothes." Starlight gestures with an irritated grunt, "You're lucky your cloak is just damp and not soaking that book, or Twilight would have a fit.”

Trixie's playful grin collapses immediately at the mention of that name. With a snort, she settles her wide brimmed magician's hat on her head and slumps back in the seat with her forehooves folded across her chest.

'And theeeeere it is, the Great and Petulant Pout.'

Trixie's chin stays dipped to her neck as she glances out the window. But it wasn't hard to see when her gaze momentarily would flicker to the reflection of Starlight, and that little muzzle scrunch and reflexive tail flick of irritation could crop up.

Starlight just purses her lips and remains quiet. And for just a little while a silence passes between them. It wasn't even broken when she casts a sidelong glance at Trixie, realizing it wasn't just Twilight's book that she was sitting on. The mare had inadvertently perched upon the novel Rarity had loaned her as well. Scarlet Hewn Wings was supposed to be a classic, but now it was a literary work acting like a foal's booster seat. A sigh escapes her, and she tries to settle back in the train car.

Several fitful moments pass, a blink then a little more.

Starlight awoke to an empty train car rattling along, the deep chugging rhythm continued unabated as they shuddered down the track. But harsh red and yellow light fell upon her face, and the Unicorn's bleary eyes picked up the stinging tints permeating the sky.

“Trixie?” She calls, staring out the window. Rain had turned to ash, a swirling torrent lanced through with jagged spears of forked lighting. The violent bursts and crackles of yellow and red made Starlight flinch back.

A part of her mind said she'd seen this before. She'd seen the dark billowing wasteland in her unfortunate confrontation with Twilight more than a year ago. She'd seen the strings of eldritch red and yellow fire ripple across the sky like an apocalyptic aurora. When the ash cloud clears, the world that was, is no more.

'It can't be.'

Blackened skeletal sticks erupt up where there should have been verdant copses, little rises staked with torn banners fluttering in the wind. And yet something else beckons her. She turns her gaze towards the bend in the track, looking further than the line of ramshackle train cars and past the belching brass studded engine hurtling down the tracks. Through the spewing incandescent clouds of sparks tossed from the brass-clad smokestack, Starlight catches a glimpse of Mount Canterlot.

The capital city was simply gone aside from a single black tower jutting out into a nebulous black maelstrom whirling across the horizon. It engulfs the whole of the horizon in a scintillating swirl of unnatural colours, like a sickly albeit riotous rainbow of purples, blues, oranges, converting on a single pulsing red blot centered behind an impenetrable black corona. It all revolves around that lone dark tower.

Strings of lightning ripple across the unimaginable horizon, and the welling weight of oppression settles on the Unicorn.

'When?'

“Are we too late?!” she calls, pressing a hoof against the window.

“Twilight? Twilight?! TRIXIE?! Where are you?!”

“You are meat for the table! You are gristle, and bone, and blood! I'll take your skulls and toss your miserable souls into the currents of time! There is no escape, there is only Karskanax! Scion of the Skull Throne! Master of war!”

The caprine-headed daemon stamps its hooves and eagerly flexes its talons around the grip of a horned great axe. The clatter of bones rattles from the long strands of skulls threaded together like macabre windchimes. A scintillating blast of pure white magic blisters across the enormous red-skinned breast's hide, drawing thin crackling fingers of black char and little else. The enormous brass collar at its neck glows with infernal light, leaving only the insensate bellows of the creature amid the lightning crowned cairn. Shattered rocks fall away from its crumbling slopes as the skies boil red.

"Luna, I don't think that works! No magic! This one, well, I'll deal with this one by myself. If it wants to try to claim my title and my head, I would sincerely like to see it try."

Luna's wingbeats fade into the middling distance. Amid the driving sheets of red rain and howling torrents that try to tug the unwary from their feet, a lone figure stands in the arena centre while the towering winged beast stalks the outer reaches of the lonely tower. But as the Bloodthirster bellows and spits sparking cinders, Horus's reply is little more than slightly exasperated.

“How is it possible that some... thing, as wretched and steeped in dark age occultism like yourself, can prattle on worse than an acne riddled whelp of a High Lord? Erebus's drivel already gave me a headache, and now you're making it worse. So listen carefully, goat: I'll tell you only once. Shut. Up. Or I will make you regret every moment of your dismal disappointing parody of a life.”

Horus Lupercal stands defiant, a wry grin on his face as he resettles his grip on the length of thick shattered mooring chain he held coiled like a whip. The seemingly delicate halberd rests jauntily across his shoulder, soft pale blue wisps of light flicking from the charged blade.

A bellow of incandescent rage spews embers across the wind-whipped crest of the ancient structure. Karskanax stamps its hooves and lumbers forward, a sidelong chop of its axe shattering an ancient stone column to dust as it barrels towards the Primarch. The living incarnation of wrath towers three times his height, but despite its maddened rush, the Horus's movements come smooth and deliberate.

The chain rattles in his grasp as he casually flicks the forearm-thick length of cold iron like a wet towel. The masonry weighted tip lashes out, pinging off the daemons axe head with a sharp metallic crack.

The monster deflects the sweeping iron links off the side, though the Primarch spins and puts his entire body into the whirlwind motion that sends the iron chain flailing back to life. It sweeps around at knee-height as the beast closes with axe upraised. Karskanax leaps over the chain with a single mighty flap of its wings. Its axe held in two hands and raised high over its head.

The midnight streak strikes him like a thunderbolt. A shape barrels into him as fast as lightning, throwing the Bloodthirster sideways through a freestanding column.

Horus's lips form a scowl, eyes narrowing as the dark shape flits back from the thrashing mound of taut red muscle, corded sinew, and frothing embers of fury. Luna's few wingbeats brings her right back to the Lupercal's side, smirk clear across her muzzle and tiara only slightly bent from the impact.

“Luna, I thought we had an understanding.” he leans down to be face to face with her.

“But We didn't use magic! Momentum is not magic, it is science.”

Horus's sigh practically breaks the howl of the blustering winds. “That's damnable pedantics and I won't be a part of it. So I'll say it again: I deal with the sheep, you can deal with anything that looks like a bird. We draw lots on whatever is left that they throw at us. Agreed?"

Luna wrinkles her snout and distastefully sticks out her tongue, “Can't We persuade you to deal with the fat slimy green things? They smell.”

“No." Horus fixes her with a golden glare that should conquer planets but is reflected back from cyan pools like light in a mirror. "Now, do be quiet. I wasn't making light earlier, I have a headache.”

Luna's deadpan stare doesn't falter even as the Bloodthirster rights itself, “I swear, that may be the most stallion-like thing I've heard you say so far.”

“Well little moon princess, you've already interfered and ruined my fun." Horus harrumphs and hands the chain over to the Alicorn. "Take this, I assume you can think of something creative to do with it.”

Luna obliges and gathers up the chain in her arcane grasp with a quick bob of her head. She takes flight with a single springing leap, leaving the Primarch to advance on the daemonic beast at a lope.

“You could have been the greatest mortal in history!” Karskanax bellows, “You were given the chance to be the Everchosen of the Primordial Powers, to ascend to the throne of Terra itself and rule the galaxy single-handed! Now look at yourself, Horus of Cthonia. Horus the Sullied. Horus the Horse-Tamed. Horus the Twice-Scorned!”

“I told you do to one thing, goat, and you couldn't even do that!" Horus thrusts a finger at it accusingly with a crooked scowl, "Even in hell you're a miserable disappointment.”

Horus grinds his teeth and redoubles his pace as the Bloodthirster flaps its wings to propelling itself at the demi-god. It's wild axe sweep impacts against Ceifador glossy crystalline metal in a resonant clang that echoes from the circles of stone pillars. The halberd flashing as embers of blue and red burst in a shower of incandescent sparks across the centre of the cairn's flat-top.

Horus reels under the Daemonic might, skidding back a half dozen paces cross the slick stone. Cloaked in ancient furs and leathers like some barbarian king, he gives the beast a toothy grin before thrusting the icicle tip of the halberd. It's parried swiftly, chopping strokes batting the weapon in two hands. But despite the daemons mighty reach and immense strength, the Warmaster counters time and time again. Each opening letting in a probing thrust, each recovering swing taken in kind to add even more momentum to a harsh chop.

Karskanax holds his ground as the Warmaster circles, and suddenly pauses as a lightning strike cracks directly overhead with a thunderous clap.

The creature redoubles its efforts, lashing out in a flurry of blows barely turned aside by the questing halberd tip. Several jabs and hasty hooked cuts sliced deep furrows in the daemons leathery red hide, but nothing stops its forward movement. In the blink of an eye, Horus is driven back step by step under the beast's furious onslaught.

The daemon howls its rage, axe gripped in both hands, swinging again and again in murderous overhead strikes. Each stroke batters the arcane halberd lower and lower, nearer to the snarling Lupercal's face. He's driven to the edge of the cairn near the outlying columns marking the temples weathered heights.

Horus quickly sidesteps, turning away from the edge and tumbling to avoid a side-ways stroke of the Bloodthirster's blade. The Primarch props himself up on one knee, the halberd heft outstretched in defense while the slender tip presses to the ground.

It exhorts only a single bellowing roar as the daemon screams its rage to the blackened stars and winds up and arches its axe high overhead for a single murderous strike.

A rattling snap and crack of metal halts the axe at its apex, a length of cold iron wrapping around Karskanax's wrist. Its glance to the side to spot a smirking Luna hovering in mid-air, the links of chain shimmering a soft blue outline where they connect to a mighty pillar it had turned its back on.

It barely had a chance to glimpse the glitter of blue steel as the halbard's keening wail cuts the silence. Then it slices through daemonic flesh like a razor as its searing after image burns a pale half-moon swathe through the air.

Karskanax's wail of fury turns to shock and surprise as its dead limb drops to the rain soaked ground, still chained to the pillar. The axe clatters to the stone leaving the one-armed Bloodthirster to clutch at the molten bronze pouring from its severed stump.

Ceifador's pick embeds itself in the creature's ankle and, with a yank, drags the beast to one knee. Its leathery bat wings flap, trying to get it to rise as Horus lifts the halberd like a spear and hurls it at the flapping wing. The arcane blade shears through the membrane like sail cloth, and it fades from existence amid a bellowing roar of insensate rage.

Horus reaches for the Bloodthirster's fallen axe only for Karskanax to sweep its ruined wing forward, creating a momentary barrier.

“I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET YOUR LACK OF VISION!”

It reaches for the axe while Horus seizes its wing joint and flexes. The steely bones contort and bow under the strain. Stretching out, the Bloodthirster's talon curls around the axe haft.

A shrill howl from the heavens heralds a wet splatter as the Bloodthirster stops cold. An icicle tip digs into the cairn's solid stone, driven straight through the top of the daemon's skull and out through the ragged wound under its chin. Molten blood slops onto the stone as it twitches in its spastic death throes, but the beast is held in place by the Alicorn still clutching the heft of the arcane halberd.

“Horus? Are you okay?”

A blood spattered Alicorn pants lightly, looking out from her perch atop the base of the Bloodthirster's skull.

“Fine, Little Moon. Just fine.”

She wiggles the halberd for a moment, making the beast's wing spasm as it starts to dissolve. But the blade lodged fast in both the Bloodthirster and the ground. Instead, she sighs and once more dismisses the blade before hopping off from between Karskanax's curled ram horns.

“Good... and thanks for letting me have that one.”

Horus arches a brow, “And what makes you think I 'let you' have it?”

The Alicorn vaults the creature's now cracked and shredded wing to stand next to Horus. The rain peters out after a few moments, leaving only the whistling howl of the mournful winds through the remaining columns.

“You're not panting and you deliberately paused. But, We thank thee for attempting to sate our rampant vanity, it was hardly noticeable my pet. But in truth, We are thankful for thy timely assistance as a distraction, allowing Us to best vanquish such a loathsome foe. Verily, thou art welcome.”

She strikes a regal pose and proffers a lifted forehoof. The dispassionate gaze Horus shoots her is nothing short of contemptuous.

Luna lets her forehoof drop to the ground and scrunches her muzzle, “Oh come now, don't be a spoil-sport. It will make a grand painting! Nay, a grand mosaic for the hall!”

“Neigh?” Horus's slow smirk draws a slow forming scowl from Luna. A few seconds of silence lets the Warmaster brush past her, striding past the slowly dissolving daemonic corpse.

“Not funny.”

“It is, just a little.” he looks back over his shoulder, showing a flash of teeth as his voice rises a measure, “Or am I in the company of a spoil-sport?”

An unexpected snort leaves the Princess at the mocking imitation, leaving the Warmaster to stop. He didn't turn, and all the better for it as the Princess's cheeks bristles with embarrassed indignation. Waiting for just a few seconds, he starts walking again. "Come along, little princess. I think we're done here."

“...Horus, w-” The Alicorn quickly canters forward, easing her stride to a trot when she pulls alongside him then stumbles as a rippling cry echoes through her mind. Luna shakes her head violently to clear the cacophonous wail. "Wait where were... whuh." Her pupils dilate, part of her suddenly feeling a tug from something as hard to grasp as smoke.

The sideways stagger sends her crashing into Horus's thigh, getting an immediate glance from the Primarch. His voice dips to a gravely hiss, "Are you quite alright, Luna?"

The Alicorn's mind barely registers the cautious flicker of concern in that somber growl. She gasps at the air greedily, swallowing back a bitter tang creeping up her throat. "I thought I heard something."

"Like?" Horus probes, glancing at the shattered columns around them and glaring at some bat-winged lesser daemonic spawn cowering in the recesses.

"Like somepony screaming in my ear."

"Someone?"

"No, somepony."

“Woah, hey. Starlight? Starry? Glim? Glimmy Gal, a-are you okay?”

Starlight's breath came in ragged spurts and huffs. Perspiration that had beaded on her brow suddenly dribbled down as she swung her heard, stinging her eyes. It hurt, and her breath still escaped her despite the Unicorn's best efforts. She still tasted ash on her tongue. Yet the palpitations and flutter in her chest drew the most attention. Pressing a hoof to her breast, the thunderous beat still wasn't subsiding.

“Hey, hey... Look here.” Trixie's forehooves press against her shoulders as she's pulled in close to look at her companion, nose to nose. Her mind still thrums, parsing the images it had taken as real together. Her eyes dart back and forth, drinking in the detail of the cabin. Wooden benches, soft cotton seat covers, well used but polished floor, and the window behind Trixie, blurred with raindrops.

Trixie.

The blue Unicorn mare's intense gaze rested squarely on her own eyes. Each time Starlight's head tried to jerk to the side, the pale blue mare's hock would slide to her chin and direct her gaze right back to herself. And after a few moments of staring, Starlight saw that smug and self-assured grin slowly return to her best friend's features. She was still here. Still there. That pang of worry about her sudden absence, sudden disappearance in fact, dissipated.

“Are you okay, Starlight?”

Trixie's question is answered with a sharp nod even before Starlight can put her words in order. “I-I'm okay. I'm okay now.”

Her heart still beat at a league a minute, but the sharp scent and bitter taste had left her. "Of course you are" Trixie replies with a breath of relief. She stares for a moment, then cranes her neck and presses her nose to Starlight's before sliding a hoof to her rapidly warming cheek. The arrhythmic strum of her heart started to ease into the more well known beat of embarrassment. “You have the Great and Powerful Trixie right here, and she wouldn't let anything happen to you.”

A shaky smile forms on Starlight's muzzle.

“Besides," The pale blue mare continues, "Trixie's quite sure that she wouldn't want to have to run errands for that Pesky Purple Princess. Though, Trixie did find that book that seemed ever so important, and so we stopped poor... What's his name from having to catch the next train to Canterlot.”

“Spike," Starlight rolls her eyes, unable to hide the only marginally suppressed irritation, "his name is Spike.”

Starlight catches the wane smirk a half-second later, and by then a similar dumb smile melds with a mock-judgemental glare on her own muzzle.

“Ah, of course." Trixie inclines her head just enough to miss tapping her horn against Starlight's, but she had that same smug self-satisfied grin plastered across her face. "The dragon-ling, how silly of Trixie to forget. But yes, no thanks needed. The empathic and understanding Trixie is there to help. You're welcome.”

Still muzzle to muzzle, Starlight's grin fades into a moment of relief, even shaded by the brim of the magician's hat. “Alright, fair point. If you're disorganized flank hadn't been so late getting everything ready, we likely would have missed Spike's letter and left without getting the book.”

Trixie smirk never falters as she pulls away. “Trixie knew you would see it her way. That's why we get along so well, compromise.”

Starlight had to bite her lip to keep down the cackling laugh of disbelief. And even then, it only sorta worked with a snort and little whimper that her friend graciously decided to ignore. Whatever Trixie said, she felt better in moments, and part of her really did thank the Unicorn. “Yeah. Sure, Trixie. What would I do without you hounding my every step, hmm?”

Trixie hops to her hooves, relinquishing her seat and thus custody of the pair of books that had made her temporarily taller than her friend. She smiles, turning to look back over her shoulder, “Why, the Great and Powerful Trixie knows that you need her there for moral support. And who else would leave you so tongue tied and speechless? Princess Sparklebutt?”

A wink from her meets a roll of Starlight's eyes. It still didn't change the resigned smirk plastered on Starlight's face, or the now steady pace of her heart.

“Trixie," Starlight huffs in renewed irritation and gestures incredulously with a hoof, "you tagged along despite Twilight telling me to come here, then told me to wait for you, and then made me buy your ticket because you left your bit bag in the wagon.”

“Ah-ah," Trixie presses a hoof to Starlight's lips, silencing her mouth but not disarming the slightly miffed stare directed at her. "No need to thank Trixie. She knows that she sacrifices much for the good of all ponykind in these, our grand endeavors. Now, sit your pretty little rump down and Trixie will get you something to drink. Don't worry, you can thank Trixie later.”

And with that, Starlight watched her friend leave their seat, her own cutie marked bit bag levitating away in Trixie's pale magenta aura. Sure, she could have stopped it, but what was the point? The pony slumps back in her seat, massaging her eyes with her hooves and grumbling mostly under her breath now that her companion was out of earshot,

“You're lucky you're cute.”

Author's Notes:

Alright, now you know one of my OTP's. Ain't gonna push it too hard, but it'll be a thing going forward. I might need it for a hook later on. Much later on. But I don't want it to come out of nowhere and it's more fun to write than it has any right to be. As are Moony and Trixie.

Chapter 15: Mad Lab

“Here, Twilight. The Great and Powerful Trixie hopes you appreciate the painstaking efforts it took for us to fetch your forgotten valuables.” a pale magenta arcane glow levitates the aged tome teasingly under Twilight's nose.

Said Alicorn's carefully curated 'princess face' was on full display. But with as much time as she had spent with her friend and mentor, Starlight could spot the facade. Well, admittedly the irritable wing twitch that swiped the Alicorn's pinions across her rain-soaked saddle bags was another giveaway.

Canterlot's Hearthrow station was just as busy as ever despite it being well past the mid-day rush. So the quartet of ponies found a semi-secluded spot in the lee of a great brass clock just a little ways from the departure ticketbooths. The time piece's rhythmic tap competes with the howling winds and pattering rains in a vain attempt to drown out the hubbub of the crowds.

Twilight's measured tone emerges with a warble, “T-thank you very mu-”

“Yeah, it must have been quite a struggle to go fetch a book from Twilight's room in the same building you were supposed to be in. Yep, quite the effort." There's a short snort as the unfamiliar voice behind Twilight curtly continues, "Twilight, it's not impossible that I'm wrong, but a travelling magician doesn't sound like the kind of scholastic talent we need to solve our problems. Or any problems that concern us, actually.”

'Oh buck.'

Starlight's eyes lock with Twilight's. The princess's gaze slowly pans back as if afraid that any sudden movement would somehow bring everything crashing down.

Starlight spots the other pony, muzzle mostly buried in a hefty medical journal. Cream coated, unkempt mane, dark glasses, enormous scratchy charcoal sweater with a stretched collar. Yep. The mare was the spitting parody of the Canterlotian gifted Unicorn graduate student.

The pale mare peeks over the edge of the page, showing the epitome of disinterest after looking Trixie, then herself, up and down. The blasè expression looked almost permanently acid-etched onto her face.

While Starlight was fairly certain her own too-wide grin at least resembled something close enough to a 'smile', Trixie's face visibly contorts. The scowl of anger and irritated eye twitch combine with an indignant half-snort. If the stage-mare's face hadn't turned an unhealthy shade of scarlet, it might have looked more like she was fighting back a sneeze. But the awkward expression soon melts into a narrow eyed stare and a crooked grin.

Trixie's smile never makes it to her eyes. “So, the Great and Powerful Trixie's reputation precedes her. Really, was there any doubt? It's nice to meet a pony that can recognize a star. It must be what her talent is. It sounds a lot nicer than being some bit-a-bushel magic student who stays up late with her school textbooks every night. Alone.” She steps in closer, smirking as she gazed up slightly into the pale eggshell coloured Unicorn mare's unflinching features, “But, my preciously portly little pony, of the great and many things that Trixie knows that could help with your multitude of problems, she didn't bring her grooming kit to shave those bushy little caterpillars crawling on your face. Or pack any extra deodor-”

A pink hoof quickly covers Trixie's muzzle. Starlight's toothy grin stops only a few degrees short of full-manic. “H'okay, that's great. How about we call a truce, it's a lovely day in Canterlot and we wouldn't want to say anything that could spoil it. Right?”

As if intentionally trying to make her a liar, the low rumble of thunder heralds the blustering winds whipped into a frenzy by the miserable storm. The massive doors on the far side of the station even groan in harmony with the creaking roof as breathy tendrils of mist and spray billow in from the outside world.

“Soooo... Uhhh, who's your friend, Twilight?” Starlight's voice crept up almost a full octave as the wane grin on her muzzle stretches well past the 'sane' threshold. Those sweat droplets slowly beading on her nose tip didn't help the image, either.

“Moondancer, grad student and research assistant for Canterlot U's theoretical magic department. I take it you're Starlight Glimmer, then.” The strange mare dispassionately mutters as she levitates her glasses from her muzzle and tries to wipe them off on her slightly damp sweater. All it did was smudge the haze across the lenses.

“Yes, that's me. And this is Trixie, as I guess you're aware. Nice to meet you.” Still keeping a hoof across Trixie's muzzle, Starlight didn't dare offer it to shake.

Moondancer flicks her snout in irritation while lofting a very noticeable eyebrow. “I'm sure. Alright, lets get this over quickly so we can go back to work. Twilight, you have the book, what's next? I'm sure these two would like to be done here, get their tickets, and be on their way back to wherever as soon as possible.”

Twilight swallows and takes a step in front of her associate while digging a folio from her bag, "Starlight, could you maybe take a look at this? I'd like to get your opinion."

A fleeting flash of reproach crosses Moondancer's features, prompting a wince and wordless plea for understanding from the princess. Moondancer relents, withers slumping as she takes a half step forward to look at the book now held in Twilight's arcane grasp.

“I'd be glad t-Yueeeelgh.” Starlight withdraws her now wet hoof and waggles it a little, unsilencing a now grinning Trixie.

Thankfully, the stagemare holds her silence, though the smirk said she wasn't done with her fun. But with a sharp warning glare and noticeable muzzle scrunch, any further incident seemed curtailed as Trixie slips back alongside Starlight. The latter Unicorn neatly plucks the folder from the air and starts to shuffle the papers before Moondancer clears her throat.

Twilight spots the momentary glare of disapproval and turns back to Starlight, “Maybe we shouldn't do that here in public. I have a royal carriage just outside that will take us to the castle.”

A throaty scoff follows the statement. Moondancer slips her glasses back on and mumbles more to herself than anypony else. “I had to make sure you didn't gallop here in the rain. And yes, this is somewhat sensitive, which is why I thought we were trying to keep this mostly on a need-to-know basis.”

Starlight patently ignores it as she slips the plain manila folder into her travel bag. “I understand. But you are gonna' tell us what this is about, right?”

Twilight swiftly bobs her head as she cracks open the new tome. “Of course. Sorry, it's just sensitive. Like Moondancer said.” She keeps the book open but turns and trots towards the ticket booth queues and seating accommodations under the rotating schedule. This time, without the aid of a cohort of royal guards, nopony seemed to pay them any mind as they head towards the exit.

Getting through the thinning crowd of ponies took some effort. A few bumps and muttered curses saw them delayed several more moments before Moondancer takes up the lead and gracelessly starts to push past the host of travelers. Many were soaked through by the rainstorm, making the air stifling, warm, and pungent.

“Ey, watch it, mare!” A harsh Los Pegasus drawl confronts Moondancer as she shoulders past a grey pegasus stallion.

He turns to shoot her a harsh glare, only to find it met with an equally irritable scowl. “Stop standing around like a gormless yak. Princess business.”

“Pffft, in your dreams.”

That raises a brow as she goes to turn, figuring Twilight was right behind her. Instead, she finds nopony, “Twilight?” She calls out, only getting a muted derogatory curse from the stallion as she wanders back the way she came. “Twi?" Moondancer flares her nostrils and sets about muttering to herself as she stamps back towards where she last saw their group, "I turn my back for five seconds and what do I get? Ugh, I swear if you decided to wander off after your little minion and her half-baked bedmare I'm done helping you on research projects. And you can forget me sharing credit for this one.”

Stumbling gracelessly through a line of ponies waiting for a ticket booth, she spots the Alicorn standing stock still in the middle of the floor.

“There you are.” Moondancer sighs with a grunt of irritation. Twilight and Starlight both crowed around the open book. The latter casts a quick glance to Trixie who had recoiled from the levitating tome. “Twilight, keep up. You made me look like a mule back there. I thought we were headed for the carr-”

Twilight doesn't look up, her eyes stare at her book, a quill held just above the paper.

“Twi?” Moondancer approaches, and for a moment, she swore she could hear the clock grinding and tick far louder than usual.

“Has this ever happened before?” Starlight's voice barely crests above the general hubbub of the station. She gets a mere headshake in reply.

“Something wrong?” Moondancer peers over Twilight's shoulder at the book.

The ink ran from Ponish script in rivulets as if written on baking paper. Black lines flow down the page in spidering veins, somehow obscene and organic before stretching across in long, neat, discernible, and subtly wrong script. Strange glyphs and sigils still spread across an empty page in the centre of the simple faux-leather bound tome. But one by one the ink blobs coalesce onto the adjacent page, flowing over the divot on the spine, and creating contrasting shapes: squares and rectangles form in some while lavish spirals and curvatures appear in others. Slowly, in the center of it all, the ink itself shifts colours as if on a whim. Black turns to blue, and green, and red as it traces out an impossible maze surmounted by an eight pointed star. The shimmering ink gathers at the top of the page as something else drips from the center margin to the station's slab floor.

"T-twilight," Trixie stares wide eyed at the little blot of red on cold grey stone, voice creeping up to a hoarse stage whisper, "why is your stupid book bleeding?!"

From immediately above them, the great brass-clad clock tolls.

"...Never?"

"Starlight, do you really think I wouldn't record something like that? No, I've never seen anything like that. Ever." Twilight's voice races up her vocal register again before crackling with an uncomfortable gurgle. Her hooves tap a nervous tattoo on the cold stone floor and only stops when Moondancer presses a hoof to her withers.

"Okay okay, yeah... then, what about the medical numbers? You're sure that these are all right too?" Starlight intentionally looks away from the now-shunned tome laying on a chair they'd shunted away in a corner. She busies herself leafing through the papers from the medical folio and lets her eyes dance over the hastily scrawled numbers that seemed impossible.

“Within a reasonable margin of error, yes.” Twilight swallows awkwardly as she nervously grinds a hoof into the stone floor of the occupied medical suite.

Starlight licks her lips, not feeling tremendously better than Twilight by the look of it. Her friends pacing stopped only so long as Moondancer put pressure on her back, like some sort of spring toy. She tries to ignore the awkwardness of the compact room and the slightly raised voices on the other side of the hallway door. But no matter the subject or the distraction, Starlight couldn't help steal a glance at the proverbial giant in the room.

The unconscious Princess of the Night still lay covered by a thin green medical blanket.

Luna remains outwardly the same as she was all morning, at least according to Moondancer. The princess twitches and fidgets, little spasms coursing through her hooves and wings as she lays on the cot. A few home-made contraptions hang from the beds unfurnished wooden frame and flash odd sequences of lights across a battered instrument panel. Absolutely nothing about it betrays its supposed purpose. The only difference had been changing a cold compress that Starlight herself had thought to apply to Luna's forehead, much to Twilight and Moondancer's shared chagrin.

Honestly, that last little bit had given her some stomach to endure the intolerable awkwardness of seeing a princess vulnerable. So she shuffles the papers in her arcane grasp and glances up to a distracted Twilight, “And they were independently checked?”

“hmm?" Twilight's gaze shoots back as she sharply bobs her head, "Oh, yes.”

“Double checked?”

“Starlight,” Moondancer finally breaks the stuttering discourse that had pervaded the room for the past five minutes, “Those are Twilight's notes. Do you honestly think she'd ramble off numbers without having made us runt he numbers three times and then test the devices twice more to ensure it was accurate?” Another painfully awkward silence greets the scholarly mare.

'She's kinda scary. And a little mean.'

Moondancer's stare was intense and just as chilly as before. It was getting difficult to meet her gaze even at the best of times. And every single moment with Trixie had been an exercise in patience. Part of Starlight was happy that Trixie wasn't there at the moment, and the other part knew she'd have to deal with her sooner than later.

“Ooookay," Starlight tucks her muzzle further into the paper and mumbles, "Point for Moondancer. So what was the final numb-”

Raised noises from the outside draws the attention of everypony present. Trixie's indignant voice, muffled as it was, could still be picked out in each churlish vitriol powered sentence. But all three return to the documents being freely shared between the erudites. Charts, numbers, and even several books make their rounds.

Starlight glances back and forth, Twilight's worried ear flicks and anxious lip gnawing were pretty obvious. But where Twilight looked barely able to stop her front hooves from tapping in anxiety, Moondancer's furrowed brow had barely changed since the moment they'd met at the station. The Unicorn clears her throat again, "Twi, Moondancer, I have to ask: greater than four hundred and twenty thaumins?"

“Yes.” Both Alicorn and Unicorn reply at the same time. No, there was no doubt in that. She could only shuffle the impossible number to the back of the pile.

“So, Starlight.” Twilight fidgets and takes a breath. Both of them knew what was coming, “We were hoping that you might have a theory.”

“Magical attack." she said nearly instantly. From all the evidence and notations given, even from the little spasms and the blip of the cardiograph, Starlight was happy she had looked everything over in the carriage. "It has to be. With that kind of arcane output, she has to be dealing with something that put her body into shock. Perhaps just to keep her from seeking aid, though if she was attacked in her sleep then that might account for it too.”

Twilight bobs her head and glances over to her associate, “Moondancer said the same thing.”

“Well,” Moondancer interrupts, and for a moment, she flashes what could be considered a smile. Or at least a far less intense scowl. “More or less. Part of the biorhythms line up with extreme stress, so I had hypothesized it was a nightmare or came in the form of one. But it had to be a different mechanism or vector, y'know, given that-”

“-she's the originator of most of the dream school of magic. And she should be at base RPTE, not elevated.” Starlight finishes the thought, and while others might have been irritated, all three seemed to be operating on the same wavelength.

Then the door burst open with a huffing blue Unicorn affixing a gaudy yellow 'visitor' tag to her cloak front. “You would not believe what they wanted to search of Trixie. The absolute hoofsy little wretches. Trixie swears that Canterlot guards are all absolute desperate males that all joined in the hopes that Princess Celestia would notice them. Or that the armour would get them mares, but they All. Look. The. Same.” She sidles up next to Starlight, still glancing back at the door with an indignant muzzle scrunch.

The added warmth of a body through a layer of equally familiar cloth was a little more steadying given the gravity of the subject at hoof. “Insisted on searching your hat and cape again, right?” Starlight absently mutters in familiar sympathy.

“I can see why" Moondancer mutters without even glancing at Trixie. Not that the pale blue Unicorn mare in stage cloak and wizarding hat didn't return the favour and glare daggers at her. But while searching one of the more outlandish of the sorcerer Crawley's tomes, Moondancer continues to dig herself into a hole, "A mare that crosses boarders and travels the countryside, talking in third pony perspective and wearing that, is kind of the sort of pony that draws a guard's attention.”

Trixie bites her own lip before shooting a glare at the cream coated mare. "Well, at least Trixie can draw a pony's attention. And she can, and does, hold it. Meanwhile, the last thing you held was that niggling sense of insecurity.”

'And there's a point for Trixie.'

Moondancer visibly pales beneath her already pale coat, but it didn't stop the slight flush from forming in her cheeks. It was just hard to tell if that was embarrassment or anger.

“Trixie, that wasn't very nice.” Twilight scrunches her muzzle and narrows her gaze at Trixie, who merely raises a hoof to her chest as if to ask 'who, me?' But the Alicorn princess takes a short breath, "We're all on the same team. Now, apologize.”

Starlight knew when her friend's gaze was drawn to her, and the only reply she would find would be convenient distraction. Starlight's nose was pushed so far in the medical sheet's that she could smell the hours hold ink.

“Trixie apologizes.” The reply came and went with a lingering sigh from the pale Unicorn mare. Nevertheless, it would be enough for the time being. Maybe they could fix things with Moondancer later on.

“There. Now, back to the issue at hoof.” Twilight meanders over to the medical side table, now heaped and laden with books and spidery esoteric contraptions. “Princess Luna. Now, we seem to have come to a consensus that the most likely cause is a powerful and consistent magical attack. But how can we diagnose the cause?”

"Given the vector, a physical examination likely wouldn't do it." Starlight's found she'd spoken as fast as her agile mind could race. She was just dealing with the section detailing the physicians attempts to cure their unresponsive Alicorn patient. “If we had an empath or other psychonaut pony, we could get down to- That's what the book is for, Isn't it? I knew that book looked familiar." Starlight huffs and looks up over the papers to fix Twilight a questioning expression, "You wanted to bring Sunset into this?”

Twilight nods, once more focusing on the 'banished' book in the corner. “Yes, but we obviously have a problem. I thought it would be best if we didn't have too many other ponies knowledgeable about this situation, and Sunset is one of the most talented empaths I know. But the book isn't working like it's supposed too. And it's never done anything remotely like that before.”

“Did you ask Celestia?” Starlight's forward question meets with silence, and even a little incredulity from Trixie.

The question lingers for a moment, and Twilight replies with a lilting hesitation, “Celestia... isn't the best equipped to deal with this particular issue right now. I'd rather not burden her. Okay, so-” Twilight continues with a sharp intake of breath, pacing the length of the tiny room and tearing free a small sheet of disposable medical paper from the bed. “On its own the book may freely transmit and receive messages to its counterpart, regardless of distance or time. But at the moment, the book's counterpart is tangentially connected to a separate world through a mirror portal that opens every thirty moons on its own. However, my trans-dimensional point-to-point gate bypassed the latent rhythms by altering the resting thaumic power-”

“In common Ponish, Twilight.” Trixie interjects with a bored stare.

“Twilight copied a mirror gate without the glass and rigged it to work whenever she wants.” Moondancer offers, nearly spitting the explanation out as she stares daggers at Trixie.

And, surprisingly, the pale magician smiles and holds a hoof out. “See, Twilight, Crusty there got that done in one sentence.”

Starlight chokes back a gasp 'Oh my Celestia, I'm not going to have enough bits for a make up present if she keeps this up.'

“You c-”

“Trixie!” Twilight's raised tone prompts the required response.

“Trixie apologies again, she meant it in only the most flattering way.” Not exactly accepted, but not against it, Starlight leans her body into Trixie's to deliver a sharp nudge to her barrel with her elbow. It draws a little gasp of pain, but it was probably did the trick of warning her. “Trixie's treatment by the Guards have made her more sharp and acrid as a result, she didn't mean to take it out on you, Moondancer. Trixie is sorry.”

Lowering her head and awkwardly rubbing her foreleg, Trixie's pathetic looking glance up from under the rim of her hat would have almost certainly looked sincere if Starlight hadn't been the recipient of it dozens of times in the pa-

'The mare is serious... huh.'

Even Trixie saw she went too far. Part of Starlight was proud of her for that, and the lean in and slight press of a forehoof to the side of hers was meant as a comfort. And after a non-committal grunt from Moondancer, it seemed that the apology was accepted after all.

Seeing some manner of detente restored, Twilight fetches an inked quill and the book in her telekinetic grasp. "What I was considering was a test. We need an empath, so we need Sunset. If the book doesn't work, the mirror might, or the gate might if we absolutely have to go back to Ponyville. But just to be sure, lets test the book again.” And with that, Twilight let the quill scuff the surface of an unmarked page in the tome.

The ink blots, and once again runs in rivulets down the page, swirling and then forming wiggling lines like veins before seeping across the paper. Once again, when it crosses the spine, the ink separates into separate colours and begins to draw out harsh angular patterns and swirls, tracing inwards. And again, lines trace upwards against the forces of gravity, forming an eight pointed star.

"Trixie can't believe she sat on that thing most of the ride here..." The magician squeaks uncomfortably and shimmies back.

All the while Starlight's throat tightens as she watches the display, and Moondancer's breath grew more shallow with every passing second. But after a thoughtful hum, Twilight levitates the book and flips it on its side. The ink still draws itself across the page regardless of angle. The spiraling maze continues, stretching itself in monochrome lines all the way across the little square. It radiates off, forming separate junctures and spaces, before layering more detail onto the sketch.

'That's impossible'

Starlight continues her thought with a gesture to the book, "Anti-gravity ink isn't a thing. And it should have run out well before it hit the bottom of the first page!”

The lavender Alicorn says nothing, but takes the torn corner of medical parchment and eases into the way of the strange inkblot. It dribbles along the edge, soaking into the fibers and slowly spreading up the parchment. But as Twilight pulls the sheet from the book, the ink disappears with an audible hiss. The scent of scorched parchment reaches their nostrils at once, and where it had bled through now flake off in wisps of purple, green, and black smoke.

“Dark magic.” Twilight whispers to herself. After a pause that had caught everypony offguard, she looks to each of the other three. "If it's connected, we have to inspect the mirror.”

“It might not be related.” Starlight offers with a shrug of her withers and upturned hoof. “If it's just a matter of getting someone who can work dream magic, I could just see about switching Twilight and Luna's cutie marks-”

“NO!” Twilight's shout actually shook the room. Starlight's ears fold back flat against her skull as the sound wave dislodges a thin sheet of dust from the ceiling tiles. The door creaks open, the stallion Solar Guard looking inside to cast a stern glance at a sheepish Twilight and a still unresponsive Luna. The shuffle of more guards heralds additional issues. “It's fine, it's fine... just... a scholastic disagreement between mares.”

Taking the cue, and a last glance at Luna, the guard taps his teeth and ducks out.

“Sorry, it just doesn't sound like a good idea when Luna's in a state like this.” Twilight swallows, looking apologetic but firm. It wasn't exactly a pleasant look but it did soften from the panic that had bled through.

Moondancer carefully levitates the small flakes of scorched paper in front of her eyes, squinting and nudging her glasses up with a hoof. “It's not a good idea. With the kind of stress the Princess is under, any change could result in far more severe reactions. It's far too risky. Twilight is right, we need an empath or somepony skilled with telepathy delving, a psychonaut. If this Sunset is necessary, then we have the added complication of determining what's wrong with the mirror. Besides,“ Moondancer glances at the door and starts to quickly stuff some of the books into her saddle bags, “I have a feeling we might be getting moved out of here soon enough. So, lend me a hoof and lets get the important stuff packed up.”

The quartet of ponies had adjourned from the Princess's room just ahead of two Night Guard officers and three doctors. The four trekked through the nearly deserted halls of Canterlot's castle, meandering through darkened hallways meeting only wandering patrols who seemed to give them some space after spotting Twilight.

But the little party eventually left the grandeur of the more visited halls and descended the spiraling staircase into the bowels of the diarchy's personal archives. And amid one almost non-descript granite hall lit by the steady thrum of arcane lumin orbs, their quarry lay in stately grace. The granite vault door that sat in the middle was large, banded with bronzed beams etched with arcane wardings. While the Elements of Harmony had been kept in one such room not too long ago, it was a repository in a place of honour.

Starlight knew what everypony else did just by the halls haunting absence: this was a place to forget.

The door wasn't particularly difficult to open; a steady hoof and awkward press of Twilight's horn into a divot in the center of the granite saw it swing back on counterbalanced hinges. Pale white light filters in from the hallway to cast eerie pony-shaped shadows across the floor while the vault itself was only lit by soft moonbeams streaking down from arcane glass fixtures on the ceiling. They fall across a single tall object standing in the centre of a small circular room while the rest of the chamber is plunged into darkness. Aside from the white sheet draped across the object, the chamber was silent and empty.

"I still seriously can't believe that you have this in an unmarked room in the basement of a castle." Moondancer's whisper breaks the silence.

Twilight merely follows up a little louder and more confidently, "It's kinda marked, those warding spells aren't on every door down here. Just most of them. And think of it this way, Moondancer: what pony is going to stumble across it?"

Moondancer cringes sharply. The scholastic mare's muzzle contorts like she was trying to formulate a reasonable reply, failed, then came up with a half dozen more. In the end, she sighs while placing a forehoof to the bridge of her muzzle.

Early onset headaches were definitely a thing around both Twilight and Trixie, Starlight could vouch for that personally. So she herself cautiously steps towards the cloth covered device standing alone in the middle of the room. Her own uncommonly silent companion in lockstep beside her by the sound of matching hoofsteps and the press of fabric between bodies. It was a comfortable sensation in stark contrast to the tall covered object that radiates a sense of dread and awe. "Alright, alright. But if it's magic, why's the sheet over it?"

"Trixie bets it's for protection from the other side. Just like closing the curtains stops lightning."

With her muzzle still mostly covered, Moondancer lets out a pained groan that couldn't have been all that different than if she'd been shot, "Oh. My. Celestia. Starlight, she better be amazing at hornjobs because she's dumb as a bri-"

"Hey!"

Starlight's face flushes like it was on fire. Words failed, though she was sure the spluttering mess and hiccuped gasps were from her. She couldn't lock eyes with anypony else, she just stared at the sheet and tried to forget that somepony had just said that.

“Moondancer.” Twilight's warning growl fills the gap left in conversation.

Edging further inside, the door slowly swings closed with a final squeak and resonant thump. The unexpected noise did make Starlight's heart skip a beat, but Trixie spins to face the now-sealed exit. With the door shut and little left to bar their access, the chamber felt more threatening than ever. Dust motes float in the pale light, illuminating the white sheet and falling across her own body. The monochromatic scene should have been soothing, but the towering mirror felt 'wrong' even from here.

With a chime of magic, the white sheet is caught in Twilight's grasp and carefully folded up and over the object. There is no flex, no wobble, just a single stately mirror framed in a thick boarder of garnet studded opalite and supported by stanchions of twisting black platinum filigree.

The mystic appearance is all but undermined by a single wooden plank hanging from the crown-shaped keystone of the frame. On the plank is a simple message is written in dribbling daubs of red paint.

OUT OF ORDER

Author's Notes:

Mang, Trixie's sheer presence does help cut down on arcano-medical mumbo jumbo to some extent. And she's pretty fun to write with foils.

Chapter 16: New Event Horizons

“Is this a joke?” Moondancer grumbles, staring impassively at the crudely painted 'Out of Order' sign hanging in front of the elaborate baroque mirror. That single piece of unfinished, uneven wood was something more at home on an outhouse at a wilderness summer camp than stretched across a platinum mirror in the basement of Canterlot castle. Twilight's uncomprehending blink gives just enough time for Moondancer's question to drift awkwardly through the air. Starlight and Trixie's shared wordless glance only adds to the stewing apprehension. “Because this feels like that trick Twinkleshine played at my ninth birthday party all over again.” Moondancer mutters.

“Yes,” Trixie sighs and stiffly trots up to the mirror, “And Trixie is certain that you still have the night light on because of mean mean Twinklewhoever.”

'Pony pies, was that out loud?' Moondancer's mouth moves even as her mind told her to just shut up and be quiet. “That's.... Unrelated.”

“Mmm-hmm.” The pale blue mare reaches the mirror, and before Twilight's babbled 'wait' could stop her, she reaches up to sharply tap a hoof on the opalite frame. “Discord!” she calls and raps her hoof against the frame far more insistently.

'What are you doing, filly?' Moondancer sucks in a wheezing breath of surprise. But despite her deadpan blink, everypony else seemed glued to the spot.

And that pale nag just calls out in her obnoxious falsetto. “Get your skinny rump out here and stop trying to pull your pathetic pranks!” Trixie scrunches up her muzzle and stares just above her own reflection in the mirror. As her chin tilts up, searching the frame, her reflection merely sighs, slumping its shoulders and rolling her eyes independently of the mare herself.

'What... Was... That?'

Something that Trixie said was trying to worm into Moondancer's mind, something important, but she'd already come to the conclusion that listening to the mare was a tremendous waste of brain power. The Unicorn catches the discrepancy for just a second before sliding a little behind Twilight, using the taller Alicorn's frame as a very convenient shield between herself and the Bloody Merry-esque thing in the mirror. Oh sure, that mirror didn't move, but Trixie still just kept her stare directed above her reflection that, in turn, stuck its tongue out at her.

But the mare's head jerks back as a male's ephemeral voice whispers from the corners of the room in a mocking lilt. “Don't come in, I'm not quite decent.” Moondancer's hooves simply freeze in place with one stuck up in mid air and wobbling. Tines of electricity and a certain 'wrongness' washes from the mirror in an airy winter blast.

“Discord.” Starlight trots up to her friends side. “We were trying to get a hold of somepony through this. Is there any reason you're... Doing whatever it is that you're doing?”

'Discord? No. Nononono-impossible.'

The serpentine voice scoffs, almost in time with Trixie's reflection shooting an unimpressed glance to Starlight. “Well of course.” Then nothing.

“Care to elaborate?” Starlight's deadpan meets with a slight swirl of her hoof to coax the voice further.

“My show's on, and I don't feel like getting all primped and prettied up to greet company. How about you come back later? And maybe bring some of those little fruit chocolate things, hmm?” The discordant chime of his magic lets a low immaterial groan drift through the supposedly protected room.

Moondancer's ears twist as she looks around, trying to sense where the voice was echoing from. It was useless, only serving to elevate her heart rate into an unhealthy staccato and her breath to hitch.

'Not normal, filly. This is something you do not want to be around. Turn your flank, go upstairs, find a bar, drink and drink and just bucking drink. This isn't happening, none of this is happening.'

“Fluttershy brought yaklava.” Starlight quickly interjects.

A serpentine head pops through the mirror, little liquid metal ripples flowing across its surface. The head twists around unnaturally, amber sclera and ruby red pupils shining like a torch in the darkness. “Hmm, no Fluttershy and no yaklava. Starlight, I thought you were reformed. That’s just cruel.”

'HOLY SUN, WHAT IS THAT?!'

Moondancer's mouth opens, chest heaving in an asthmatic rasp as the Prince of Chaos half-emerges from the mirror. Oh sure, she'd seen illustrations, and Draconequus had come up in her O&O monster manuals since second edition at least, but every story had always felt like just that: a story. Now the feather-flicking spawn of Disharmony was only a few hooflengths away from her. The tendrils of fear trace up and down her spine, raising her hackles and sending spasms across her entire body. That sharply sour taste of bile creeps up her throat as a keening wheeze forces its way from her muzzle.

The vaguely equine face of the lord of chaos looks back and forth before he settles his gaze on a slightly chagrined Starlight Glimmer. “Sorry, but it's important.”

Starlight smiles and glances back over her withers at Twilight. Discord's gaze follows, an ear-flick and low harumph breaking a slightly awkward pause. “My my, if it isn't the public's purple pony princess. Twilight, while I'd say it's absolutely lovely to see you again... Even without yaklava, or any other host treats, I'm sure you of all ponies can appreciate my busy schedule.” an arm slips through the rippling silver surface clutching a scroll. It unrolls, spilling across the floor and unfolding before her hooves. “So if you'll just excuse-”

Twilight cuts him off sharply. “Discord, Princess Luna is in trouble. She's asleep, or unconscious, or in a coma and it looks like she's under some magical attack that we can't detect. We think it might be the Nightmare again, so we have to get to the other side of that portal and get Sunset Shimmer. And you're in the way.”

Discord's fanged smirk lights up, the pale light casting his face in stark malicious relief. “Oh Princess Purple, you have no idea how right you are. Why, I'm just so tremendously inconsiderate. But, should I just hold the door open to everyone that wants to come in here? What am I, one of Celestia's little golden goons?” He smirks, the reflection of a portcullis and unfurling banners snapping shut behind the party getting Moondancer to whirl around, tail tucked and body still shaking like a newborn foal.

Discord, ignoring her, continues after reaching forward with a sharp blackened talon, “As for our favourite nightly neighsayer, I wouldn't worry about her. Luna just needs her beauty sleep and she'll be back in no time whatsoever... Although,” the spirit of chaos smiles. A toothsome fanged grin traverses his lips as his eyes flicker with an inner flame, “it'll feel like an eternity.”

Twilight's gaze focuses squarely on the chimeric prince. So caught up in studying his features and watching Starlight trying to hold her forced scowl, she doesn't really register Moondancer. The mare turns again and presses her flank up against Twilight with her chest mostly hidden behind the folded wing. If she was any closer she'd be welded to the Alicorn princess, at least, until Twilight took a step forward and off-set Moondancer's balance.

The sweater clad mare whinnies as she pitches awkwardly to her side. Stumbling legs akimbo and shaking as every other pony turns back to look at her. That was awkward, but the enormous head that swung fluidly on its scaled and furred neck pivot fixed her its infernal glare. She was suddenly quite happy she'd used the fillies room before they left her home.

'They're staring, they're staring, oh buck it's eyes are the size of my head!'

Moondancer's raspy spittle chocked voice bubbles out her own greeting, “H-hido?”

'Hi-WHAT?! Hi, hello, or how do you do, PICK ONE, FILLY!'

Mouth hanging open, Moondancer wasn't sure whether or not she could make a run for the door or not. The portcullis wasn't there, after all. Or it hadn't been. But once the Draconequus set his piercing gaze on her, she knew she might be able to babble out an apology and that was about it. The golden sclera whirls in a metallic dance so distinctly unequine that the studious mare's mouth dried up like a desert. The vague sound of chattering teeth came from somewhere else that she couldn't...

Nope, that was her too.

“Ooooh, so it looks like the Princess of Friendship found a real challenge this time. So, Twilight, who's this little ray ban of sunshine?” Discord leans from the mirror, elbow settled on the lower portion of the frame, resting his chin on a paw as the talon reaches out as it to tap Moondancer's nose. It was longer than a short sword, gnarled black and, perhaps it was just her imagination, glittering as it came to a razor tip.

'Words, Moondancer! You've stood at lecterns in front of a dozen senior professors and defended yourself, and you've addressed lecture halls with scores of ponies. You can do-'

Teeth, the teeth were throwing her. Flesh-tearing, pony-eating predator teeth! Were they getting closer, or wider? Discord cranes his neck in her direction, all but overhanging the poor mare who remains frozen.

“Oh, her?” Trixie sighs, “The book louse is... Unimportant.”

“Trixie.” Starlight seethes, getting the magician mare to flash a glance at the still paralyzed pony, then waggling her eyebrows with a little head-tilt.

“Apologies,” Trixie smiles, “The book louse is Moonprancer.”

“Dancer!”

“It's practically the same, Starlight! And she didn't correct Trixie, so why are you?” Trixie waggles a hoof back and forth between Starlight on her one side, and Moondancer a short distance now on the other side of Twilight thanks to the awkward tumble.

Twilight shakes her head and lets out a long-suffering sigh as she wearily rubs her eyes. While Moondancer couldn't see it from that angle, the soft clop of hooves and warmth of another body against her heralded the princess's returning support. The nervous mare takes her first regulated breath and licks her parched lips, but a jittery nod at least was a reply of sorts. Of course, her slicked back ears and cowed hunch was still something else despite her friend's reassuring presence.

“Hmm...” Discord lofts a brow, a clawed hand twisting his goatee absent mindedly as he looks this way and that, inspecting her. “She does look like the 'midnight oil' type of mare.”

“She's very studious.” Twilight swiftly interjects, “But that's not why we're here.”

“Are you saying we're not here to make new friends?” Discord's predatory smirk turns more mocking. A paw flicks to his narrow chest, “I, frankly, am shocked and appalled. Why, I have half a mind to just take that delicious yaklava you promised, and go home.” With a swipe of his talons, he splits his own head down to his neck, neatly bisecting the amorphous flesh until it forms two identical heads. Moondancer's wide eyes and nasally whine fights with a certain reeking stink of sweat as she shivers uncontrollably.

Seeing Twilight's displeased glower, and finding himself evidently not the topic of Starlight and Trixie's hushed discussion, the Draconequus sighs and resumes his previous shape. As he starts to duck back in, Twilight throws up a hoof. “Wait! I'll owe you one if you help us!”

And with that, the Lord of Disharmony slowly pans his his gaze back to the Alicorn. The smug grin and glittering eyes that very literally sparkle with delight were all the answer Twilight needed . “'Owe me one' hmmmm? Well, we aaaaare friends, aren't we?”

A roiling, howling screech of brushed steel bristles on a chalkboard echoes from the mirror. The horrific undulating cry kills the conversation in the room as Discord looks back over his shoulder. He twists so while his head pokes back through the mirror, his chest and upper body remain jutting out on their side. They could all hear the resultant snort.

His face swiftly re-emerges from the rippling silver pool again for a moment. “Oh the neighbor's dog is always asking for trouble. I wish Fluttershy was here, maybe she could talk some sense into it. But,” the Draconequus's mouth seems to migrate and meld across his muzzle, all sliding to the left hand side. “At the risk of talking out the other side of my face, C'mon in and hurry up. But next time, get a better host present.”

The Draconequus stretches up, removing the crudely painted sign and tosses it in the mirror before slipping back in. Trixie and Starlight don't even hesitate as they trot right up and in-through the mirror, leaving the pair alone.

With a hasty gasp, Moondancer swishes her tail and gulps down several sharp breaths. Twilight merely slips fully next to her, unfurling her wing and draping it like a warm downy blanket over the Unicorn's back. An over the neck hug and the slow steady pulse of the Alicorn's heart started to regulate her own.

Moondancer glances warily at the mirror, then around the darkened room they were now left alone in, “S-shouldn't we-”

Twilight interrupts her with a nuzzle that quiets the quivering mare. “Only when you're ready, Moony. It'll be okay. I promise. Discord is a little odd, and he can look a little frightening, but he's reformed. He won't hurt you. I won't let anypony or anything hurt you. It's going to be fine.”

There's a few long moments as the Unicorn's heart matches the rhythm next to her own. Finally, Moondancer takes in a few breaths and, despite her trembling limbs, asks, “Twilight, please don't tell me he's THAT Discord. The one the Royal sisters had to fight to keep us free from the powers of chaos more than a thousand years ago?”

The Alicorn's pause and awkward lip nibble forms a wane grin. “Well, um, if it helps then lets put it this way: you know a Draconequus's O&O stats and ecology, right?”

It gets a snort, “What do you think?"

Twilight's grin doesn't quite disappear, “Lets just say it's not quite right. They're more amiable to friendship and some tea cakes than O&O ever mentioned, and they're definitely not challenge rating twenty-one. Now come on, you'll be just fine Moony. Just think of this as a social sciences experiment.” She gives her friend a little pat and reassuring nuzzle before gesturing towards the mirror.

Moondancer's attention snaps to Twilight's hoof, then the mirror, and back as wide as saucers. “The social sciences aren't real sciences... Twilight. My experiments are ideally done from behind arcane-resistant glass. Twilight... Twilight IDON'TWANNAGOINTHEMIRROR!”

With a little push, the still stumbling mare is gently nudged into the mirror, an Alicorn wing draped around her as the world swirls into an incomprehensible metallic torrent.

Moondancer's keening screech may have ended at the portal, but through the tumultuous whirlpool of eldritch colours, they disintegrated in a discordant fractal blurt of sound.

Shot through to the other side, Twilight had already prepared herself to step through as some animate biped. But with a sickening lurch and bend, the teleportation magic veered wildly off course and vomited them somewhere else. Tossed through the silver amalgam into something unfamiliar, she flails and tries to remain standing with Moondancer's shivering form under-wing. But everything's just 'off' enough to send her tumbling to the cold hardpan, the Unicorn flopping down next to her with a breathless whoosh of air.

“... E find that stallion and wring his neck!”

Something crackles overhead, overwhelming the sudden echoing voice. It prickles the Alicorn's back with electric motes that drift through darkened air. The blinding shine of a rippling lightning bolt snapping at about head-height made Twilight keep Moondancer pressed to the rocky ground. Her friend came first.

“Moondancer, are you alright?” She asks, gently rippling her wing as if she were patting the mare on the back. It gets a groan as the mare wearily nod and adjusts the glasses perched askew on her muzzle. Muzzle. Hooves, they both still had them.

Shakily rising, Twilight's ears flick with the scintillating static crack of magical discharge. For an instant, all her senses scream 'failed experiment'. A suspicion not helped by the stink of ozone and burnt copper. But even the ground was wrong; a cold blue surface stretched beneath her, awash in bands of winding aquamarine copuscant rippling like sand in the desert. It felt frozen and entirely dustless. Sure, the ground had grit, but only as wind abrasion rasped stone moulded into shape. It was just another thing to add to a long list of discrepancies.

“Mmmph, Starlight... Trixie dosn't feel well.” the stage mare's warble listlessly trails off from only a few paces away to her left. As Twilight looks towards the mare's muted groan by instinct, she catches a glimpse of the lightning that constantly crackles overhead, whipping the wandering bands of copuscant up and whisking them along in an eldretch breeze. It billows towards a tall grey rise.

“Trixie, Trixie stay down!” Twilight calls and scotches out from beneath the crackling beam. She chances a single glance back to confirm that, yes, the beam emerged from the centre of the mirror. The Alicorn turns, seizing Moondancer's scruff in her teeth. The mare freezes, eyes widening before the tug pulls her into an awkward roll to get out of the way.

Sidling up closer to Trixie, Twilight blinks away the solid black after-image burned into her eyes. “Everypony alright? Moony?”

“I n-nev. Never... Mmph, want to do that a-again.” a series of hiccups racks her form. Her shivering doesn't stop, but at least she seems to have found her hooves as she raises herself back to standing.

“Starlight?” Trixie's call rises. There's no reply, though Twilight was still trying to rid herself of the black blot in her vision, though her ears flipped this way and that. Trixie's voice next to her was strange, not just worried, there was an edge to it. “Star?! Starlight, this isn't funny!”

That worried edge slips further from the Showmare's voice to her erratic breaths. And for the first time in quite a while, a pang of sympathy spikes into Twilight's chest. Trixie scuffs her hooves on the stony ground, scraping against the grin as she turns, taking a shuddering breath. They were in some sort of depression, a sharp narrow valley running parallel to the mirror. But up at the lip of the wadi, a few dozen hoofsteps ahead of them, she caught an outline mostly blotted out by the blinding blue light.

Trixie's voice shatters Twilight's concentration, “Starliiiiiiight, can you hear m-”

“We're up here!” Starlight answers. Sure enough, as Twilight squints, she can just barely make out the silhouette turn and carefully make its way down the steep slope with the sound of scraping hooves on solid stone.

Until that moment, Twilight hadn't noticed that the winding bands of corpuscent had been the only sound aside from the arcane crackle. For a moment, a shape flits by in the scorching blue ray, a blue aurora like a tail or mane, a flicker of an equine body.

That same ephemeral voice rasps in her right ear. “Take Ceifador and shove it down her throat. Just don't be upset that-”

Twilight's attention swiftly refocuses on the scraping sound as Starlight skids to a stop with a little hop-step. Almost immediately, she's bowled over by a flying blue missile. Trixie all but tackles her, hat flopping off and completely forgotten while wrapping Starlight in a hug, “When I call you in a creepy new place, you had better answer. You scared me half to death!”

Starlight stiffens awkwardly, looking around to the other two and hesitantly lifting a hoof to pat her friend on the withers. Though the lingering muzzle scrunch and questing eyes said she didn't understand. “Umm... Trixie, I've been like sixty feet away and gone for maybe a minute.”

“Too long, Starlight. You shall stand by Trixie's side and don't you even think about leaving! Or else... Or else... There will be consequences, that the merciful but firm Trixie shall inflict!”

“O...kay? I'm sorry?” the rhythmic pat-pat tap on Trixie's back continues for a few seconds more before Starlight turns her attention to Twilight. “C'mon, you have to see this. Something's... Well, something weird is going on.” She nods back up the escarpment's steep slope. “Discords just over there and so is a big spiraling... Thing.”

Twilight licks her lips, turning back to press her side to Moondancer for a moment. “Just follow me.” Then gives Starlight and her Unicorn limpet a bright smile. “Lead the way. I'm sure we can figure out what's going on. Starlight, you're okay, right?”

After another pat and no sign of Trixie releasing her, the Unicorn mare has to squirm and wriggle free of the embrace. “Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I'm just not exactly sure what to make of this.”

And after a moment and a thought to pop Trixie's all-but discarded hat back on her head, the pink Unicorn mare leads them up the slope. It only takes about a minute, but as they crest the top of the horizon, the 'this' became apparent. The arcane beam didn't follow the rise, it bored straight through the escarpment leaving a single groove where the stone had either melted or been completely obliterated.

Twilight couldn't even call that 'strange' by the time she got to the top of the rise just a tail length behind Starlight. The sky was a single swirling vortex, spiraling around a single pinprick of blue light. That point streams from nearly under her hooves from the blue beam that lanced from the portal. It streaks out into the boiling, swirling maelstrom, forming massive corona of utter blackness.

The world seemed to tilt, spinning too drunkenly fast and shifting the very horizon around that one central point. The sky darkens with no sign of stars, just a perpetual twilight dominated by a dark and swirling black corona crowned by an eclipse's anteumbral ring. The roiling vortex swirls blots of blue, purple, and green that transitions to a sickly mass of oranges, reds, and yellows around that singular blue focal point. The more Twilight stares, the more apparent it becomes.

“It's a vortex.” Twilight breathlessly gasps, realizing just the enormity of it. The entire sky was moving to the sound of distant discordant harmonics.

“I know... Twilight?” Starlight looks back, her aqua eyes sparkling, reflecting the electric tines of the arcane beam, “I saw this. I was asleep and saw this, or something like this on the train.” Wordlessly, Trixie clings tighter again, nearly tripping up her friend who wobbles precariously at the summit.

Moondancer twitches and turns at every errant crackle and pop, but the low yowling howl of wild chaos magic's makes her tense again. A little nuzzle gets her to finally meet Twilight's gaze, letting the Alicorn stare into the wide and uncomprehending purple pools. “It'll be okay, Moony, we just need to go over there and figure out where 'here' is.”

They descend the far more gradual slope of the escarpment just as Twilight fully crests the top of the ridge. And from the corner of her eye, again, she spots the shape in the blue beam. It layers itself in the core of the constant bolt of blue lightning, a curling mane and shifting pony shape of impressive frame with massive wings. And for an instant, Twilight caught the pinprick eyes of pure white light. It was wild, primal, imposing, with a voice hard and feminine. But it was definitely the same as before, “Always. I'll make you a promise, if that helps.”

“Princess Celestia?” Twilight hesitantly asks, though the image was gone in a blink.

“Celestia?” Moondancer softly asks, Twilight having missed where she'd once again slipped under her wing as an aegis against the world around them.

Even Starlight looks back, but Trixie just mutters something and points to a far more certain figure just a short distance away at the base of the depression where hill met wide open plain. The lithe form of the Draconequus rests a dozen meters in front of them, lazily lounging on a fold up lawn chair with a cooler to his near side. An angled patio umbrella stuck into the rock at a jaunty angle to block out some of the glare from the too-close beam of energy.

“Well, about time you showed up. We've been waiting.” Discord lazily waves a paw, summoning them over with a simple gesture as he decidedly remains staring out across the blasted abyssal plane.

“We?” Twilight blurts out, redoubling her pace leaving Moondancer to awkwardly try to match the Alicorn's longer strides.

And as Twilight approaches, Discord's errant finger-snap materializes another purple and crimson lawnchair on his right, even closer to the beam. “Well of course. I said I didn't have company but that may have been a teeny tiny little white lie. Come on, take a seat, kick your hooves up. I've got cold cider.” He fishes a claw into the ice box and pulls out a long necked bottle.

But as she warily approaches, a buzz of energy reaches her ears akin to a swarm of angry hornets. Moondancer may have balked for a second, but with another gentle brush, the nearly mute pony continues under her guidance.

A shrill metallic howl freezes her to the spot, hackles prickling and eyes dilating. The sound was mournful, loud, and piercing with the edge of some unequine scream. The horizon squirmed with motion, causing just a momentary blip of the eclipse's luminescent ring. It was a massive loping shape on all fours, lupine, or vaguely so. It was big, easily the size of a Timberwolf Alpha if her mind calculated the distance to the horizon properly. It was a huge gap, but the creature was still easily seen.

Discord sighs unhappily and leans back further into his chair. “There's one of the neighbors dogs again.” With an indignant snort, Discord slips a pair of over-sized sunglasses from his brow and perches them on his muzzle. The 'relaxed' atmosphere didn't translate whatsoever, even when a snap of his fingers blasts the approaching shape into incandescent dust.

“What... Was that...” Twilight's voice crept up her vocal register, turning shrill and tense even in her ears.

The Draconequus smiles weakly, “A hound. Forget about it, you can play fetch later if you really want, but right now the commercials are almost done. Sit, sit!” he pats the lawnchair

“What did you do to it?” Twilight asks sharply.

“Why, I sent him home, of course. Seriously, I thought worrying about pets was a Fluttershy thing, not a Twilight Sparkle thing.” Again, he pats the seat.

Twilight carefully crosses closer to him and the indicated seat, but more shapes seem to flicker in the arcane beam. And while Twilight hears her name being calls by both Starlight and Moondancer, the shape in the centre of the haze starts to gain some definition.

“Truly, I don't mind.” The voice says, “Though can you please deal with the slimy toad-things from now on?”

The ephemeral figure is a pony, there's no doubt, complete with a horn, wings, and impressive features. But it's not Celestia. Neither is it Luna. But a mark on its flank starts to emerge, and Twilight's eyes widen as she spots the crescent moon. She notices the thick armoured plates, the lambent aurora, it was the outline of Nightmare Moon. Or, at least, somepony unerringly close. In her emerging recollection, Twilight didn't notice that her slow gait had become a swift trot, nearly breaking into a full gallop that left her friends needing to canter to keep up.

“P-princess Luna!?”

Twilight's agile mind finds the missing pieces. An astral projection, not flesh and bone but spirit and raw arcane might. Nightmare Moon's lips peel back, fangs showing, eyes still blazing white. For a moment, Twilight heard another voice mingled in the cacophony of buzzing and arcane snaps.

Luna's voice was growing more consistent. But the other voice was a stallion's, no question, “You're going to keep asking me until I say yes, won't you? Well, too bad. You may be a princess, but I am the Warmaster. That, little horse, outranks princess.”

The closer she drew to the insubstantial outline of the Luna, the louder a buzzing grew in Twilight's ears. Her stomach began to churn as she drew a half dozen steps from the princess. And finally she stops when the throbbing pulse of pure arcane energy overwhelms her senses. “Help her!”

“Help her do what? She's already got a big help, literally. And besides, I am helping her: I'm making sure her little long-distance call isn't interrupted. There's nothing worse than getting a busy signal.” Discord grins, “Besides, I had to reorganize my whole schedule for this. And honestly-” he pulls up the cider bottle from the ice box, now sporting a picture of Applejack. The little image says in her own friend's voice, “This dun candies mah apples.”

'He's a spirit of chaos, he knew. He knew all along and didn't offer to help at all!' After a few breaths from flared nostrils, the Alicorn closes her eyes and counts, letting her breath out. 'Complacency isn't complicity.'

Slowly, cautiously, she shuffles towards the Draconequus who spares her a glance back over his shoulders. His attention quickly refocuses on the darkness, and it's only as she draws closer that she can see a peculiar boxy contraption seated on his lap. “There we go. Now, while you may be a poor house guest, I'm committed to being a wonderful host. Can I get you a drink? A bite to eat? Perhaps I should close the blinds a little more.”

The smirk that forms doesn't wear off even as silence seems to be his only answer. “What are you doing here, and where is here?” Twilight quietly probes, voice soft and weak as her mind races.

It was hard to take in the utterly alien world and the realization that Luna was somehow, at least in part, here. “Why Twilight, what if I told you that ponies are a lot closer to seaponies than they'd want to believe? We're swimming around here in the deep end and avoiding that stormy surface part. But what am I doing? Well, I'll have you know, I was waiting for a call just like Luna got last night.” He smiles and holds up the device. “Aaaaaany second now.”

Both Pony and Draconequus stare at the ancient looking rotary phone, complete with a little novelty Discord shaped receiver that lies sprawled across a couch with another tiny phone in its hand. With a sharp sigh, Discord mumbles glumly, “Fine, I guess I'll have to call collect. How very rude.”

With a few flicks of his eagle talons, he dials some eleven-part number as the rotary makes a little click-whine sound each time. The whirling maelstrom crackles and the undulating ribbons of cold fire flicker across the landscape in a lambent torrent.

“Discord, what are-” Starlight's voice this time pipes up as the trio converge around the two lawnchairs, but a padded finger reaches out blindly to press on the Unicorn's lips.

That Draconequus smirks. “It's ringing.” With a burst of sound and shriek of monstrous voices, a crackle of arcane discharge. The tinny babble of chaos roils from the receiver and despite its piercing notes, Discord doesn't flinch. “Hello? Is Kairos there?”

Twilight furrows her brow at the introduction of some other party she didn't know. “Who's Kai-”

Discord shushes her. “He's an intern of a former colleague.” There was no voice on the other side, just a melodic hum interspersed with blurts of violent noise. “No? Hmmm, how about Luna?”

More reflexively than anything else, Twilight leans towards the phone. The sound of hoofsteps behind her barely register as she strains to hear something on the other side. Something was babbling in a tongue that she was just at the edge of hearing. It was some form of chanting deep speak, an elemental language though not one the Alicorn actually understood.

“Here, just a second, I'll put us on video-chat.” Discord hovers a talon over the rotary phone, then flips it upside down and presses a big red button on the underside. With a crackle, a rift opens in the centre of the bleak eclipse from the point where the energy stream pierces the event horizon.

“Twilight, are you okay?” Starlight asks softly in her ear, but by now the unfolding geometries of an unfathomable arcane construct were unfolding before her. Nine layers of intricately built latticework, leagues of space held together by precision bands of magic, and the arcing ribbon of power sundered through it all. But there was movement in the layered and latticed structure hovering in the swirling blackness. Twilight lets her eyes wander, then focus. And like binoculars, she sees every minute detail.

Blank hallways of shining black obsidian empty into callous vistas of nothingness. Shimmering waterways spew toxic mires that lay waste to stone and form tangled masses of slopping fungi growths. Hundreds of year old structures crumble while alien buildings of pure gleaming white metal, present thoroughfares at every turn. New items, old worlds, all caught up in their own cycles of disaster and ruin. And through the halls, flowing as blood through veins, were creatures.

Twilight recognizes precious few: bestial and constantly changing, vultures, drakes, and skinless savage monsters dart run to and fro in immense anarchistic bands. More of those enormous dogs loom up, and she recoils at the sight. They were skinless, lipless, with immense quills and bone growths jutting from through dense muscle fibres. The predatory sparks in their eyes were unnatural, definitely non-pony, but all she could see was limitless hunger. But something else moves along the animalistic beings stalking the halls.

Red wolves, sleek and lean, eyes brimming with pale blue balefire. They were nothing like the muscle bound flesh-hounds. Each of their strides appear planned as they speed through corridors with unnatural grace. She watches two small packs split up, flowing around a frothing group of horned monsters wielding jagged blades, and reform like mountain streams. The constant relentless pace unbroken and undeterred. Something about them, while far from civil, lacked the raw savagery around them. They didn't belong.

“What is this?” Starlight's voice breaks the silence that had formed with the light buzzing in Twilight's skull.

“I don't know. Discord?” Twilight looks to the only authority on the subject.

“Hmm?” The Draconequus merely hums, “This? It's someone's attempt at a good idea. And no, I had nothing to do with it. Absolutely nothing. But, it was too good of a show to miss, so this counts as my vacation.”

The Alicorn continues undeterred, “But why is it here? This mirror goes to-”

The cheshire smirk crossing the Draconequus's asymmetrical face slowly halts the Alicorn. She swiftly rethinks what she knows. 'It does just go to that other Equestria, right?' Her experiments had copied the magical flux, stabilized the arcane cyclical periods, but she hadn't been inventive when it came to creating her own gateway. It was merely copying from what worked.

Lapsing into silence, her mind rewound everything she knew about point-to-point teleportation, permanency, and arcane cycles. So focused on threading through the notion that it could be something more than a simple artifact, she partially misses a weary and slightly shaking voice.

“-demands to know why you brought us here!” Trixie huffs, trotting in place by Starlight's side. Her friend was staring into the labyrinth like Twilight herself had. But the pale blue magician-mare focuses on the grinning Draconequus, though she holds a fraction of his attention.

“What would make you think I did anything?” he lofts a brow, “Honestly, I think you're just projecting.” He reaches out to tap her shoulder, making her eyes flicker with a click of a film reel, throwing images of several little transparent mares across the blue-tinged hardpan.

“Quit it!” Trixie pulls away, circling over to Starlight's other side to use her as a shield before poking out her tongue and blowing a petulant raspberry.

“Discord's right, Trixie.” Starlight shifts just enough, weight evenly balanced between them as they stood behind a still silent Twilight. “He wouldn't hurt us, so that means whatever he did, if he did anything at all, was to keep us safe. Or, safe enough.”

A hopeful grin fills the mauve mare's face, blue eyes glittering in hope. It seemed even brighter than normal, and the Draconequus lets out a laborious sigh. “Yes yes, for you all are my very best friends, blah-blah-blah.”

Starlight's hopeful smile shifts to a knowing one. “So you did it to keep us safe, and you know from what.”

Discord tenses for a second before craning his neck towards an unwavering Starlight. A claw picks at a stray strand of her mane and flicks her ear. “Well look at little miss know-it-all here. Taking up Twilight's old mantle. Oh, your dam must be so proud. I can just see the big feathery wings poofing up now. All hail the princess of Interior Ministries and Investigations.” popping a finger on her nose, the pony's ears wiggle and her eyes cross before a violent sneeze racks her body.

“If we're here, then this is a stop gap. The book didn't send the message through, it got stuck in that maze, didn't it?” Twilight's somber tone pulls Discord's attention back to the energy stream. She doesn't even fidget, instead, she casts a wary glance back at the ephemeral transparent figure of the corrupted Moon Princess. “Just like she is.”

With a resounding golf-clap that sounds like it's from dozens of ponies, Discord stands. “Oh bravo, but only half marks, Twilight. Little Lulu isn't in the maze. But that doesn't mean others aren't. You know what they say: your princess is in another castle. Don't worry, she'll be fiiiiiine. Just keep her nice and cozy and warm in her royal bed, and in a few days time, give her a kiss to wake the sleeping princess. Symbolism is very important, I'm sure somepony like her would appreciate it. And because I already know that you're going to go charging valiantly off to save her: make sure she hears that too. Say it after me, Twilight-” a very literal sock-puppet version of Twilight is held up in his hand, “Symbolism is very important.” sock-puppet Twilight bobs her head and looks at Discord who nods his own approval.

The suggestion's mock-humour washes off Twilight almost visibly. The Alicorn's steely gaze hardens as she focuses on the chaos spirit. “So, she'll be fine?”

“Yeeeeeess Twilight. She'll be fine. Probably.” Discord gestures airily, rolling his eyes. “Do you question every professional you know? I'll have you know I'm the foremost authority in my field, I have a diploma and everything.”

The corona of darkness seems to pulse again, more forms shimmering into existence, torn from the blasted landscape on the horizon. Fat towering monstrosities festooned with tubular growths and lashing tentacles parody some deep sea creature.

“Ooops, they're back again. Well, princess, it's been a lovely chat, but it's probably time for you to go trot off now. It's teatime somewhere in the kingdom, right? And you have to take your mute little friend-ling home.” Discord gestures to the glassy-eyed Moondancer looking around, her shaking fits coming less often now.

“No.” Twilight rears up out of her seat. She leans on the armrest, putting her nearly muzzle to muzzle with the Draconequus, taking in the scent of copper that trembles down her spine like a spell gone wrong.

“We came here to make sure, and while I trust you not to lie about something like this, we're going to get Sunset Shimmer. We need someone who can look into her mind. And you said there's ponies trapped in that maze with those... Things.” She gestures wildly to the horizon.

“Did I say ponies?” Discord taps his chest and reaches up to rest his sunglasses on his brow. “I don't remember saying anything like that. But if you need an empath, try Fluttershy.... Actually, don't try Fluttershy. The Flesh Hounds wouldn't respond well, and I don't want to be the one to listen to her blame herself for not being able to settle them down.”

“Discord.” the Alicorn's warning growl says it all.

This time, the Draconequus just smiles, not moving any closer but relishing it by the glint in his eyes. “Princess, are you making a royal demand?”

Twilight hesitates, then looks back at her friends. Moondancer's dumb gaze stares into her, Starlight flashes a smile, roguish and fearless. Trixie... Well, the scowl was still directed at Discord, but despite her panicky and unreliable ways, she and Starlight had accomplished amazing things. “Yes. We'll get to Princess Luna, make sure she's okay, and help anypony stuck in that maze. Luna has always had to deal with these things alone, but if we can help, we should. So let us through, we need to talk to Sunset Shimmer.”

The Draconequus's smile grows to a grotesque degree. “Oooooh, oh I guess it is time. Little Twiggly-wiggly Sparkles is growing up to be the big scary princess she always could be. Trust me... You'll need that confidence. After all, decisions made here may be more important than you could realize. After all, you little ponies aren’t just adorable-” Discord reaches for her cheek, pinching it like an old dam would her grandfoals, “You’re positively unique in a way you could never know. And They hate that.”

Discord seizes her in a one armed hug and gestures to the horizon, past the shambling beasts and towards the maze. “But, oh, lookie here, now I get to be your personal purveyor of dreams and portents. Why, I should just slap a moon on my rump and grow my bangs out.” He mimes doing just that, a shaggy patently false Luna coloured mop head lumped over his horns. But he grins in a far more predatory manner while leaning in, serpentine tongue all but tickling the Alicorn’s ear-fluff, “Just let me give you a little bit of advice: not everything is as it seems. Follow your heart... But don't expect to be able to click your heels three times and say 'there's no place like home'.”

“Heels?”

The Draconequus shrugs before picking her up by the shoulders. “Off you go, o' valiant princess. Second door to the right, straight on till morning.” With a snap, a freestanding door appears and opens into a more familiar swirling miasma of riotous colours, “Come back when you're sure your party wants to venture forth, oh high and mighty wizard.”

“This isn't O&Ooooooooh!” With a wink, the Alicorn is tossed through the doorway into the swirling miasma and disappears. The door slams shut, and the Draconequus dusts his mismatched hands before glancing back. Three other ponies stare straight at him as he turns.

“Oh... Almost forgot you were there.” He shrugs and hops back onto his lawn chair, “Twilight will be a few minutes. So, can I get you a drink? Cider, juice, anything?”

“Well, I mean, if you're offering I'd love some pineapple or grape.” Starlight smiles, and with a little nudge on the rump, pushes a shaking Moondancer forward towards the now abandoned second lawn chair.

With a weary sigh, the stagemare grumbles, “Trixie will have orange.” then hops up on the chair while Starlight stares on in disapproval. The latter Unicorn unceremoniously tips it sideways, sending Trixie tumbling. She smiles encouragingly at Moondancer before giving the seat a little pat. All eyes settle on the near-silent mare who hesitantly takes the seat as Starlight settles in next to an indignant Trixie.

After a gentle pat on her withers, Starlight asks her softly, “How about you, Moondancer?”

“...P-peach?”

Author's Notes:

Well, before I'm off on a 450km drive for Northern Thanksgiving, figured I'd leave you all on this day of auspicious pony days with another chapter. Don't worry, already seen it here and got most of my screaming done about a month ago with the first leaks.

Chapter 17: Quiet at Sunset

Light filters through a window left ajar, catching drifting dust motes in their lambent spotlight and turning them into scintillating flakes of softly falling gold. The late day breeze whips up even more of the glittering sparks and twists them in an intrinsic dance on the window sill. Silently they float back down in comfortable silence. Jangling of keys disturbs the quiet, and the scrape of an unoiled bolt retracting mars the stilness further. The front door buckles swings inward with a rasp against the floorboards as the mistress of the home slips inside with a heady sigh of contentment.

Shoes are carelessly tossed to the rubber boot tray and a hefty canvas bag plops down next to the kitchenette's countertop just a few feet away. A sock covered foot shunts the door closed moments before that frayed covering is torn off and lazily pitched onto the worn green fabric of a kitchen chair. Sunset Shimmer sighs and combs a hand through her messy mop of red and gold hair, slipping into the townhouse with all the assurance of long-standing familiarity. Her fist clenches her old olive drab field jacket in one hand for just a moment longer before she drapes it over the back of the same chair. Her weary sigh echoes with the soft padding of her feet as she meanders toward the refrigerator at the back of the kitchenette.

With a hollow thump, Sunset peers inside at the perhaps too-empty shelves. “Mmmph, Thursday night, Thursday night, pizza and streaming night.” she smirks to herself before rising up on her toes in a stretch that would make a cat envious. Feeling both the warmth of the late day sunshine beaming down through the front windows and the slight chill of the refrigerator, she lets out a breathy groan of satisfaction as that last frustrating knot in her shoulder pops with the stretch.

Breathing a sigh of contentment, she peeks inside for a closer inspection as her front jacket pocket buzzes noisily on the chair back. That same sigh of contentment turns to one of irritation, and Sunset rubs her eyes before confronting the intruder, “Why is it always just as I get inside?” Her friends had an unerring ability to text her at some of the most inopportune times.

The fiery haired girl sighs, tensing and glancing back at the hanging coat. She flashes it a look of annoyance before it turns into a smirk, a can of grapefruit soda plucked from a second-shelf condiment bin as she returns to her phone. She upends the can once, then brings it to her lips before cracking it open and sucking up the fizz. With a noisy slurp she reaches for the inside pocket of her coat and pops it out. A text from Pinkie pops up, 'Sup Shimmies? Felt that doozy yet?'

While she knew better than to just ignore one of Pinkie's inexplicable... things, she couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't told her in person. “Spend the afternoon hanging out at the mall, and in half an hour she's bored again. Figures.” And yet, it was hard to be truly angry at her. She puts the drink on the table and starts meandering aimlessly around her little townhouse kitchen while tapping out a message.

The front door rocks inward on its hinges with a colossal bang, startling the girl as she fumbles with her phone. “B-by Celestia what?!” Sunset summons up every reserve to keep the shriek of surprise in her throat. It probably sounded a lot more angry than she intended, but her thundering heartbeat wasn't allowing her the luxury of even hearing a reply.

There, in the center of the doorway, was Twilight. Her chest heaves as she pants with effort, her eyes look glassy and dull as her tongue lolls from her mouth. But what drew Sunset's attention is the unsightly sprigs of hair stuck out every which-way, like she'd been blinded by a windstorm.

“Yeash, Twi, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She clutches her chest and unsteadily plants the phone on the kitchen table. But something was wrong, and it just seemed to strike her. Twilight was missing her glasses.

“Don't tell me, Rainbow troub-hey!”

Twilight's sudden lurch forward catches Sunset by surprise. It was like a zombie flick in real life, and even as Twilight's hand clamps down by her wrist and feebly tugs, Sunset couldn't help but think that she should be covering her neck... Or forearm. The last one was forearm, even as it called for 'brains'. Zombie movies were kinda dumb, now that the thought bounced around in her head. But it did help settle her down a little bit.

“N-no. Tih... Time.” Twilight gasps for breath.

And despite the manic shiver coursing over her frame, it took little effort for Sunset to reflexively wrench her hand away. “Hey hey, yo, calm down. Calm down, Twi. Just tell me What's-”

Her hand had stopped right over her friend's shoulder on its own accord. As if by instinct, it never touched. A wellspring of cold radiates from her like she was covered in dry ice. And as her voice hitches, she could hear it: a slow, unnerving ring like blood pounding in her ears. The sickening lurch in her stomach might have been from surprise, but a bitter tang in the back of her mouth felt different.

What would make her friend cross town...

It wasn't Twilight from across town. No. The little wrist curl, the lack of glasses, she was even a little taller than before, though it was hard to tell with her awkward slouch.

“Relax. Take a breath. Here.” Sunset reaches for the can of soda on the table and firmly presses it into Twilight's hand. Her friend grips it shakily and takes a deep gulping draught. “Uuuuh Twi, you might-” Twilight cackles, splutters, and after an awkward hesitation, lets out a rather unladylike belch. The little whine of pain coaxes a suppressed chuckle from Sunset. “Y- ahem. You might want to take it easy there. Hey, c'mon, sit down and tell me what's wrong.”

Sunset gestures to her friend and pulls out a chair, trying to coax her friend to take a seat at the table in the centre of the kitchen. But a teary-eyed Twilight waves her off. Still recovering, Twilight pushes the drink back into Sunset's grip and gasps, “Gotta... Go... 'questria. Now.” Again, she reaches over to clasp Sunset's arm where that prickling cold sweeps over her whole limb, dragging an unconscious shiver from her.

“Wait wait, what's-” The insistent tug got a breath. “Twilight, slow down. Alright, we'll go. Why don't you tell me what's going on and I'll get ready?” Sunset reaches back to the chair to fetch her socks. All the while, she cast hasty glances back at the obviously distraught Twilight. If this was one of her manic fits, a little bit of time and an explanation was a good starting point. She'd dealt with 'their' Twilight long enough to know the signs of her usual fits: she would often lapses into her moods, ignoring people or getting too worked up, overly tired, or obsessed. It wasn't healthy, and she definitely didn't like to talk about it much.

Princess Twilight seemed much the same, but this was unlike her. She was a friend and mentor, a confidante that she confided in even more than her friends. Perhaps it was the safety of distance, but there had always been a degree of awe about her. That simply disappeared looking at the trembling, panting figure sat awkwardly in her kitchen.

'If she had a problem, why not use the book?'

“Twilight?” She waits until she had her friend's attention. “Should I just... Y'know?” she held a hand out, smiling and knowing that the princess knew what it would mean.

And with a nod, Twilight let her. Putting the soda can on the table and gulping away a sudden welling hesitation, Sunset's hand clasps Twilight's shoulder, but the warning her own senses scream at her started even before that touch.

Shooting pangs of despair and apprehension race through her hand and run like fire through her veins. The anxious nausea swells up deeper and more intense than any sensation she'd known. It was no juvenile anxiety of test week, not finals, not deadlines of any kind, or even her own sensations of breaking into Canterlot Castle. It was pure unadulterated apprehension. Existence itself was holding its breath.

Flickering images of Ponyville and Canterlot race by in a blistering myriad of kaleidoscopic ruin. And it all settles on Luna. The crackling blue aspect of the Alicorn, the racking spasms in her comatose shape, covered in a sheet... No. Covered in a shroud. The grey black funerary processions, the trepidation of discovery, the pit of grief from loss, and the untapped ocean of rage that fights against it.

Blotted visions of baleful Thestrals clad in black plate adorned with a crimson cats-eye prowl the waking and sleeping worlds. Their shadowy forms hang chains laden with corpse meat from towers in the name of the slain prin- Sunset's mind revolts against the grotesque image.

It stares; something like a raven peers at her from atop the rotting corpse of a diamond dog strung between the bladed spires of Canterlot Castle. It knew. It had caught a vision of her as something more sibilant and slithering squirmed from the canid's corpse to fix her in its gaze.

All was touched by fear.

Fueled by fear.

Steeped in fear.

And the brass bell tolls, nine flat chimes roll through the unfathomable deep.

The rasping breath was her own, and Sunset Shimmer knew it. She lets go of Twilight and reels back, nearly tumbling to her kitchen table. Her elbow scrapes painfully against the sharp corner. But it isn't the pain that strikes her, but the sudden stink of offal and rot clogging her nostrils. Sunset's breath dissolves into a series of gagging, hacking sounds as she snaps a hand to cover her mouth in the vain hopes of stymieing the rising tide of bile. But that crushing weight disappeared the moment she'd staggered back from Twilight.

Sunset looks up at the princess as if for the first time, a paleness stealing the colour from her cheeks. 'Filly, what have you gotten yourself into?' It was like Twilight was swimming in pure undiluted fear.

Twilight glances up, reaching out again to steady her. And she flinched. Twilight saw. The Alicorn-turned-girl draws back with a pained expression flashing across her face before letting her gaze fall to her feet. “S-sorry.” It wasn't needed. Instead, Sunset lurches forward, wrapping her arms around her friend in a crushing hug. Twilight's tears well up moments later and dissolve into the embrace.

The hug was broken after a few more moments when Twilight's breathing returns to normal. “Feel better?” Sunset asks with a light smile, receiving a nod in return. “Good, so, why'd you decide to come all the way here to get me?”

Twilight finally meets her gaze, eyes showing the pain and fear but in far lesser amounts than the sickly pall that had hovered around her not long before. “That's just it. I didn't have a choice. Every time I tried to use the book, it kept... well... deviating.” Sunset's brow arches in confusion, and sensing her friend's imminent question, Twilight waves her off and lets go. “It's hard to explain. You have yours here, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Sunset affirms and draws back, taking more than just a gulp of the grapefruit soda to clear her mouth of the offensive taste. “Let me go get it. Just, y'know, take a breath, get something to drink. Did you run here all the way from the school?”

Twilight did as she was bidden, collapsing in the chair and flopping face down onto the tabletop with a nod. She turns her head, probably savouring the sensation of the cool surface on her flushed cheek.

“Wow. Alright, just gimme a second.” Sunset flashes a somewhat forced smile and palms her phone before quickly heading upstairs. Along the way she taps a little reply to Pinkie, 'brb' then a quick follow up, 'something came up and might have to sort something out. Don't worry and back soon.' She quickly forwards the message to her entire cadre of friends. The Pinkie-sense was never wrong, even if she dearly wished it was.

Climbing the steps blind as she texted was easy. Rounding the corner and striding into her bedroom, she flings the phone to her somewhat messy sheets and quickly fetches the precious book from her top dresser. She quickly snaps up a ballpoint pen from next to the laptop on her paper strewn desk and disregards the rest of her somewhat messy abode.
Twilight was more important, and in her haste, she takes the stairs three at a time. The girl returns to find Twilight sipping gingerly from the grapefruit drink. After another sour 'bleck' face and a head shake, the can is pushed back towards the center of the table but not quite out of reach.

Sunset weakly grins and spins the seat opposite of Twilight around, sitting in it and resting one arm on the chair back. Catching Twilight's attention, she clicks the pen and offers them both to her. “So, what's up? Want to start from the beginning?”

Twilight takes both, saying just one word as she cracks the book open, each page blank and fresh. “This.” The moment the ballpoint touches the paper, the ink runs in dark blue rivulets. When Twilight holds it at the center of the page, the ink keeps running.

“Woah.” The lines spider in front of Sunset's eyes. An elaborate series of geometric designs and swirls form from the ribbons of blue sliding across the page by their own volition. In the center of the second page, bleeding over the margin, is an eight-pointed star.

The girls' eyes meet as the ink begins to dry and the colours begin to change. "Now, from the beginning." Sunset licks her lips and hesitantly reaches out for Twilight's hand.

“Oh, hey Starlight!” Though it's quick and a little forced, Sunset embraces the lilac coated Unicorn with a breath of familiarity. Still, having found her somewhat unfamiliar hooves again, Sunset Shimmer flashes a more genuine smile of both friendship and apology. “Nice to see you again, sorry it couldn't have been under better circumstances.”

That shared embrace outside Luna's heavily guarded hospital room drew some attention. The eyes of the guards may have been directed down the poorly lit evening corridors and into the unknown, but the dead-eyed stare shared by Trixie and Moondancer fell on to the pair.

“Starlight,” Trixie's voice lingers just long enough to catch her friend's attention, “Who is this mare and how do you know her?” It was impossible to miss the pale blue mare's too-even voice. The tone was so far outside her usual smarmy comfort zone that even Twilight shot a momentary glance between Trixie and Starlight, questioning if she too had missed something important.

The pair separates and turns back to regard the others. “Oh,” Starlight's gentle laugh and hoof wave were both cheery and dismissive, “we met a little while ago when Twilight was busy and Sunset here needed a hoof with something. So, I asked if I could help, and I might have visited for a bit.”

Twilight's surprised 'huh?' dies in her throat with some other half-formed sentence.

The cream-coated Unicorn mare just looks between Sunset and Starlight. “That is a remarkably vague reply for what sounds like an in depth story that I... frankly don't care about.” While Twilight's reply was cut short, Moondancer's blase mien had evidently returned in full force, perhaps aided by the peach juicebox currently levitating in her arcane grasp.

Sunset trots over, the little unsteady wobble disappearing after one or two steps. She merely squares herself off and holds out a hoof. “Sunset Shimmer, nice to meet you.”

Trixie's swift deathglare all but bounces off her stony exterior as the scholarly mare cranes her neck out a little and flashes an equally hurried and uncompelling smile at Starlight. “Moondancer, Canterlot U grad student and researcher. So, you're our supposed empath psychonaut?”

Sunset smiles a little, though the shine had dimmed. She lowers her offered hoof and just bobs her head. “Straight to the point. Yeah, it seems to be something I picked up over there.”

“Over th... anyway.” Moondancer's hesitation mixes with a certain squint that betrays more curiosity than she'd meant to let on. She studies Sunset for a moment, turning the nearly muzzle-to-muzzle gap a little awkward for both as silence hung on the stale air.

“So, um, yeah I heard. Or, well, I saw a bit of the problem. I just expected to meet you over with Discord and we'd go from there.” Sunset awkwardly looks away, ignoring the feeling of Moondancer's breath being far-too-close for such new acquaintances. But glancing over her own withers at Twilight, her mentor and friend replies with only a bit of a shrug.

“We appeared right back at the mirror in the basement.” Twilight nods and looks around the room, “But the dimensional shift was also a lot more calm than before. I suppose Discord didn't see a need to stop us?”

“Calm, yeah, but... it almost felt like being in a box.” Sunset hums a little. And while she might not have meant it, that caught everypony's attention. Feeling three pairs of eyes on her, Sunset continues after a hiccuped hesitation. “I-I mean, like. You know, it's kinda like looking at a landscape shot on TV, you kinda just know it's fake."

The blank faces of three ponies greet her. Sunset draws in an awkward breath, “Oooookay, bad example. Uh... Ever held a painting in front of a window?” That's met with a chorus of 'oh's. “So, yeah. It felt like that.”

“Well,” Twilight nods trots over to the room's door before pausing to glance at the pair of stony Thestral guards posted to either side of the entrance, spears in hoof. “Whatever the case, this is just the first logical step.” She quickly opens the Twilight quickly opens the door to the room and ushers everypony inside unchallenged.

Sunset follows Twilight, with Moondancer scampering inside just behind them. The other pair takes up the rear, with the pale blue mare still staring harshly at an awkwardly grinning Starlight who keeps her own suspiciously silent counsel. A sharp glare from Trixie gets a defensive shrug and mouthed 'please, not now' that only Trixie and the pair of Thestral guards were privy to. Trixie still stares, and Starlight slips inside the Princess's medical room only to hear Moondancer's question.

“So, you gave her the full briefing?” Moondancer asks, getting a nod from both Sunset and Twilight.

“Everything that...” Sunset's voice wavers. Her eyes locked to the huddled form on the simple cot pressed up against the tiled wall. Only the sound of two ponies hooves and the slowly creaking door breaks a sudden intense pall of silence.

Sunset freezes, then slowly approaches the incapacitated princess of the Night, glancing over the narrow frame and matted hair of the Alicorn. Her hoofsteps echo in the soft green-grey room, the tap of keratin on marble deafening in the lull. The Unicorn mare sidles up along the bed, ears slowly folding back as she looks over one of Equestria's immortal diarchs. Rearing up to softly settle on the bedside, creasing the cloth and letting her frogs feel the soft radiating warmth of the still living Alicorn.

“Sorry.” Sunset whispers. “It.. All felt real when Twilight showed me. But now it's surreal. I just hope I can do what she needs me to.” A pregnant pause lingers in the room now devoid of any sound at all. “I've never actually met Luna. Celestia, though...” An unexpected sigh slips free. “I'll do everything I can.”

“Thank you, Sunset.” Twilight quietly intones. The weight of Sunset's words had subdued even Moondancer's scholarly mien. She holds her tongue while Twilight sidles up beside Starlight and gingerly reaches out to place a wing on her back. A quick backwards glance from Sunset lets her take in Twilight's confident smile, “We'll be right here if you need anything, okay?”

The fiery Unicorn regard her friends and acquaintances with a sincere smile of gratitude. There's a solemn nod, a weakening of the smile as she reaches up to nudge the blankets down just far enough so that she could lay her hooves on Luna's withers.

But even then there was a pause, much more visible this time as Sunset hesitates almost a full hoof-span from Luna's body. “Cold.” the empath whispers to herself, then shuts her eyes and lays her hoof on Luna. Sunset's world swiftly blurs, melting into an all consuming snowstorm of blinding white static and torrential shrieking noise.

Chapter 18: Princess Dreams

The expanse that stretches out before Sunset bleeds into existence piece by piece. Pulling themselves from a vast abyssal darkness, inky blobs congeal into vague rust and purple swatches of colour smeared like an artists paint across a canvas of impenetrable blackness. Something felt... different. This wasn't entirely a memory, and if it was, it was beyond comprehension. The universe seemed to come into being around her, winking lights sparking to life in the deep. Empty abyssal plains sparkle to beautiful life as the soft dots and warm lights spiral into being, unveiled by silently whirling nebulae that shine with a wine-red light both haunting and beautiful. And soon, despite the deepest silence in a star-spangled void, the song of the cosmos rang in Sunset's ears.

Sunset wills herself forward, feeling like she was swimming in her pony-form. And as her forelegs kick out, one strikes something with a crystalline 'ping' that resonates to infinity. Her eyes open, and after the tip of her hoof scrapes off whatever object it was, she tries again, and manages to land her forehooves directly on cold black stone. Pulling herself forward, all four hooves came to a rest on a nearly invisible trail more detected by the absence of stars than any true form.

The vertigo was immense for a moment, realizing there was no ground, no anything: an endless expanse above and below her where stars were so distant that they twinkled despite the immensity of their size. And as she stumbles forward in mesmerized silence, that haunting cosmic song at the edge of hearing, vanishes.

Part of her knew she could just turn back, the same sensation that told her that she shouldn't dare to enter the mind of a ruler of Equestria. It wasn't some magic: this was Luna, somehow. How far down this road could she travel before genuine concern turned to unrestrained curiosity? And yet, another part of her was darkly curious about what wonders and secrets she had locked away through countless life-ages. But all that apprehension bleeds together with one overwhelming sensation: hope. She could help. Deep in her bones the Unicorn could feel that, at least in part, she could aid the princess. Maybe in that, she could make some sort of overture to mend her relationship with Celestia.

All she had to do was help Luna. She could do that. Or at least, she was fairly certain she could, though now the question revolves around 'how.' “Hello?” Sunset calls into the starry expanse. She carefully edges forward, practically inching over the invisible pathway that suspends her in the starry firmament. The stretch was awkward, rump up and forehoof slowly scraping across the glassy stone until it skids off into nothingness. “Freaky.”

She wasn't puled anywhere, the thoughts and feelings of the Princess of the Night didn't play like a movie in front of her eyes. No, it was just a long glass road suspended over a yawning abyssal plain.

Slowly but surely, Sunset quickens her pace, sliding along the pathway with that constant rasp like she was skating. The twinkling lights and softly chiming vastness of space was cool but not cold, chilly and perhaps a little refreshing. It could almost be seen as pleasant so long as the crushing fear of endlessly falling into nothingness didn't rear its ugly head. Sunset hadn't been worried about heights before, but it turns out that looking into infinity and realizing there was a 'down', wasn't remotely comforting. As such, she cleaves closely to what she's fairly certain is the center of the path.

Up ahead, Sunset spots a glitter in what she had once took for a distant nebula. But as she draws closer, she spots the whirring cloud of scintillating aquamarine sparks. They buzz like fireflies, but the sound is a high pitched bubbling, airy and energetic.

“Hello?” The sparks slow for a moment, then slowly circle her, illuminating the Unicorn who smiles at the little flickers of playful light. They dart down, whisking through her mane and dancing in little circles in front of her eyes. “Hey there, so what exactly are you little guys?”

Sure enough, the tiny sparks of light make a noise. Their foalish babble sounds like it was words made from the tap of a dozen xylophones, and they slowly seem to migrate away from her, following the path.

“You want me to follow you, is that it?” The excited circuits and swirling bands that tug her towards the edge is her only answer. But she does follow until she reaches the ledge, hoof brushing just over the sheer cliff and feeling the gaping maw of the void perilously close. But staring out into endless space, it's hard to sense anything but the little fire-fly sparks dancing in front of her eyes. They hover just in front of her, almost beyond reach unless she was to stretch out over the abyss. Sunset sees them start to twist, a cloud of perhaps two or three dozen wheeling more excitedly than before. “Wait wait, are you su-”

The first zips down and touches her hoof.

'See reason, Ahriman. I need your Cult of Time or this entire endeavor is in vain. You'll have no need for the Black Library if we smother this mistake in its cradle. Now, tell me: is the Obsidian Mirror real? Will it work?'

Voices, non-pony voices. Deep and metallic, they echo in Sunset's mind as a dream within a vision. The ember turns pale white and dolefully drifts off like a speck of dust into the endless depths of space. A second mote of light drifts against her nose.

'Gulliman's forces have departed from Manatax Prime. Order all legion discretionary assets to Eskrador. Draw them away from Manatax Secundus.'

More sparks surround her, more metallic voices assault Sunset, and none of them are Luna's. And now, she knew full well they weren't friendly wisps. The cosmic song was gone, and slowly but surely, Sunset spots the soft nebulae breaking apart and wheeling into psychedelic colours both sickly and riotous.

'Harrowmaster, I don't give a damn about casualty projections. The individual is unimportant. If we achieve operational success, we could lose everyone, and it will still be worth it.'

Flashes of memories, of violence, of blackened tunnels and screaming caverns of lit vats. Sunset watches through green- wire frame displays as black armoured figures sprint through the dark. They're shorter than herself, but they all move with unnatural speed. Blossoms of ephemeral flame light darkened corridors, and liquid splatters across ugly gunmetal grey walls. Illuminated vats pulled from her friends darkest movie-night films well up before her in startling clarity, and the ink-black armoured figures shatter the sickly squelching tank. One among thousands. An emaciated shaven-headed girl is pulled free of the amnion slick.

'Target acquired, returning to the Omega.'

Another flash, lights dim and go extinct in the abyss beneath her hooves.

'Damn you, land us there! It's so close... it's so damned close. And take down that sentry tower!'

The groaning of the abyss replaces that gentle song, like heavy air whipped to a frenzied tempest before a storm.

'Focus, Strider.'

Blots of concussive colour impact in the back of her eyes as the motes of light assail her. She can hear the pained gasp from her lungs, but the same voice doesn't stop.

'I have. I've seen it in my dreams. I've seen this in legends, and then in schematics. Now I see it with my own two eyes and still wonder if I'm asleep. You know this feeling, don't you?'

Now the stars start to disappear from all around her. The nebulae spinning and wheeling out tendrils like some monstrous spider of voracious appetites that devours the panoply of Luna's night-time masterpiece.

'No time. Six-six-six, Hydra Dominatus. Truth is a matter of perspectives so do not trust your eyes. Find it at all costs. Find Horus Lupercal. Go!'

And in a flash, she feels it. It's not Luna. Somehow, amidst the little motes of light she had the memories of another. Another... something, she wanted to say Human but part of her knew that was wrong.

“Luna, what's going on?” whatever presence was there had lingered in the smallest part, self contained, and lay just off the 'beaten path' of her conscience. One by one they had flashed before her very eyes as voices or hastily conjured up memories, and she smells the confusing stink of dust and smoke mingling with the warm waft of a kitchen. It was confused, half-melding two very different places. Perhaps it was just a repressed memory of the Princess.

And perhaps not.

In a burst of colour, the scintillating lights flash, forming a ghostly aquamarine specter. He's tall, a human of enormous size, clad in bulky armour inlaid with scales and crested with a three headed serpent. The gaunt face and bald head looks ageless, but definitely dangerous as his eyes lock with hers. This being wasn't Luna, but it was stuck in her head.

“Speak the words.” his voice is strong, no echo of a memory but one addressing Sunset here and now. She stares blankly for a moment, wondering what came next. But his eyes glint in a truthful intellect even in ephemeral shades. Sunset licks her lips, looking around and realizing full well that the figure was slowly reaching for a sheathed blade.

'Think, Sunset, THINK!'

“S-six-six-six Hydra Dominatus?” the words tumble from her lips almost unbidden, thinking of the only thing that held some relevance. And as she holds her breath, the figure stops.

He stares for a moment and nods. “You unwittingly led her here, but it's too late for the Lurker to do anything. Give it nothing of what you now know. Do. Not. Forget.”

In a low threatening howl, the edges of the heavens roll up like a scroll leaving only the void. The universe, as she felt it, breathed its last cosmic breath.

Sunset's heart thunders in her chest, feeling that encroaching 'end'. “You mean M-”

The shimmering form reaches out, placing a palm scant millimetres from her muzzle, “Knowledge is power and truth commands a price more dear than that of a soul. I've spent mine to get us this far, do not squander it. You bear the wealth of hindsight bought by the greatest of catastrophes.”

The soft chill that had been so refreshing drops to a frost. And sure enough, like a shadow cast over her back, the temperature plummets further while the man in front of her stares up and over Sunset's head.

The shadow was a black abyss, lithe and enormous, outlined in the faintest trace of purple. It towers over them both, a form able to extinguish stars and swallow suns. The faintest smirk forms as an incandescent nebula where the silhouette of its face should be. It was vaguely equine, with a crown of curving horns atop its head. A mocking, sibilant hiss forms from everywhere and nowhere. “Weeeeeeell well, what have we here? The Serpent King. Seems I've finally run you to ground inside little Luna's head.”

The human, or near-human, keeps his gaze without flinching at the eldritch abomination towering above them to the stars. “You're too late, daemon. She'll know you for what you really are the moment you rear your head. Obliterate the spark that I gave to Luna willingly if you wish, Horus is known to her. And now she knows what to look for to find her own. You've failed, you and Erebus both.” The man replies, the smirk on his face guarded but still mocking. “You've lost and you know it.”

“Not quite yet. Mmmm, now that I look at you... yes, this will do nicely." The shadow whispers, and with a hand greater than anything Sunset could try to comprehend, it descends with impossible speed, plunging her into an inky torrent of shrieks and screams. The Serpent King disappears in a flash of aquamarine with the sound of broken glass, swallowed up by the eldritch shade.

It might have been moments, hours, or days, the shrieking assault on Sunset's senses muddled every moment as scratching screams claw relentlessly at her ears, sickly perfumed odors plug her nostrils, and shimmering varieties of impossible non-coloured flashes assault her eyes.

“This is dangerous, Horus.”

“And only now the princess of darkness is afraid? Well, I won't hold your hoof, this was your idea. Live with it, little moon horse. But feel free to step out of the way.”

“I told y-” she draws a steadying breath, looking up at the smirking face of a blood drenched Lupercal in his gore clotted dregs. Wind whistles past, sending scraps of cloth billowing in the breeze as he leans on Ceifador's haft. The lauding mass of mankind knelt before the corpse strewn escarpment, polearms and chain-teeth glinting in the mid-day sun. Yet Horus's attention stuck to Luna like glue. His golden eyes appear like glittering sundiscs. By now she could read him like a book, his eyes said it all: 'I deserve this.'

'Lupercal! Lupercal! Lupercal!'

Thousands of voices rise into the air as the Warrior god stands atop his vanquished foe.

Horus was a night terror in and of himself. After the latest warlord had challenged his right to rule, he'd physically torn the impertinent barbarian apart after plunging into the head of his huscarls. Augmented cyber-warriors wielding slabs of lightning imbued iron had tried to throw the Primarch back, and the glaives welded to the servo-actuated limbs screamed as they sought out yielding flesh. All proved less than worthless.

Even now, Luna couldn't shake the impression that for all their power, it had been little more than a fully grown warrior batting aside foals.

The hulking brute of a techno-barbarian warlord, body a hissing mass of pipes and cabling, had fared little better. His labyrinth of twisting mechanical limbs adorned with arcane cutting torches and mulching drills had been dismantled, then torn to scraps just as readily as his retainers, his household, and his pack of cyber-mastiffs.

Thousands of mortal soldiers had knelt down once the warlord's head had separated from his shoulders. Horus had tossed it to the clambering crowds like a Wonderbolt tossing a pair of flight goggles into the stands after a show.

'How dark is his kind when they mill about to claim such a prize?'

And Horus still smiles, the glint of recognition in his eyes. His gaze may have stayed on her, but the howl of his name had him rest so jauntily and effortlessly on his quarry.

'Well, enough of that.'

“Horus.” Luna calls.

Horus's jubilant visage wavers for just an instant, “In front of others, I am still Warmaster, Luna.”

“Horus Sedecim Lupercal!” The name rolls off her tongue, and immediately the Lupercal's eyes turn flinty. “Get your head out of your rump, we do NOT have time for this.” her stamp on the ground echoes with the sound of distant thunder.

The Warmaster scoffs, “I wish I'd never told you that-”

Even as the noise tore itself from her throat, she hated how puny her growl could sound next to the Primarch's. “That's enough, Horus! Don't get off-track!”

The Lupercal holds up a hand, and the crowd falls silent as if by magic. “Luna, we've conquered every challenge Erebus crafted. We've put their leaders to the flame and shattered their armies. Nothing he can do can bring us to our knees. No Daemon, no warlord, no xeno. Luna, you and I have carved through his whole damned plan and set his own misbegotten filth calling out my name! We own them, I have earned this little indulgence.”

Luna bristles, and the little hop up on the escarpment ledge overlooking the horde of mankind finally let her take to the air. She soars upwards, flapping in front of Horus's face. “Think, think, think! It doesn't matter. Erebus let you win!”

Lupercal snorts. “He let nothing happen, we defied him. He is a troublesome child playing with fire. Did you ever wonder why he stopped taunting us, Luna? Because he can't hurt us. Not here, not now.”

The Alicorn snorts, “Are you truly that blind?”

“Not blind enough to miss that symbolism has power, Luna.” He pulls in close, nearly nose to nose with her now. And it took a moment of true concentration to let the Alicorn not wipe his face with a hoof like a mother would to a foal at the dinner table. But it wasn't food spattered onto his cheek and chin. And the Primarchs golden eyes break from hers with a slight nod of his chin to indicate the crowds, “Symbolism enough to say that when we take from Erebus's dream, we take from his influence. If he thinks we can be conquered, what does it do to him when we destroy his traps? What use is his threats of violence or meandering psychotic plots when we raze every fane and fortress he builds? It grates him, Luna. It grates him. He's a desperate man, and a persistent one. But every failure compounds more, and more, and more! His failures are piling up while we grow ever stronger! Soon, all that will be left is dust. And then we will pull him up by the neck and break him. Then, then... you and I, Princess, we'll see vengeance done.” He smiles down at her, a grin to say 'I'm not as stupid as you thought.'

And, in some cases, he was right. Erebus was likely weakening. It was stress, strain, and yet something raised her hackles. “Horus, you're grandstanding in front of a crowd of sycophantic puppets. They're illusions. Not to mention, they're still Erebus's pawns, and here you are, content to stand there lapping up praises from phantoms!”

With a twist of her head, light spirals along the grooves of her horn and lances out in a wide beam across the assembled multitudes. And after a single ringing second, all that's left is an empty field of scattered banners and churned up soil.

Horus's breath rings like a snort from his nostrils, and glancing back around, she was all but face to face with the glowering Warmaster. “You tread a very fine line, princess.”

Luna leans up, now physically nose to nose with the towering demigod. Her muzzle scrunches. And though part of her instinct said 'look away' from the fiery-eyed predator whose breath washed across her muzzle like a furnace, she didn't. She stares straight back, matching his glare. “When did the human competition start?”

That catches him offguard as the tiny pause gives way to a dismissive snort, “Does it ma-”

“When, Horus?! When?” she presses.

Horus takes a breath, and while the glower is still there, he leans back a fraction. “Two weeks.”

The Princess of the moon sighs and wrenches her eyes shut, massaging her brow. “It's been probably fifteen hours since Erebus taunted you.”

“I think I can read a chronometer, Luna.” he replies with a deadened blink.

She sighs in frustration, holding back her temper while chewing on the inside of her cheek. Circling around in mid air, she holds out a hoof for emphasis. “Time dilation, Horus. It took us that long here.”

“Well, I'd say that's impressive enough to bring a realm to hee-”

“You conquered nothing!” she bellows into his right ear. “This was a pointless errand meant to waste our time, nothing more! Nothing we've done up until now has mattered, and you can't think straight.” Luna snaps and with another errant pop of magic, the desert landscapes and distant mess of tangled hive spires fades away to a fragrant green countryside. Dusty blood soaked dunes melt into soft rolling hillocks. Luna might have been embarrassed that she was just replicating the world outside her bedroom window that overlooked the Unicorn range, but it wasn't like he'd ever know.

“Luna.” Horus's growl had reverted to the deep impenetrable landslide of warning, “Do I look like I have a ring in my nose? Remember what I said to Erebus, I will not be led around like a dog.”

She looks up, catching the haughty glint of rising anger. “I..” she sees it, the little flexed grip around Ceifador. Part of her says 'take it away from him', but she sighs and sits in front of him before gingerly reaches out a hoof. He stares, but allows her to brush his thigh. “We.... I'm sorry. Horus, please, will you forgive me?”

It was a quick enough touch before that she hadn't noticed the reaction against his rock hard musculature. But he'd tensed. And now it eases, drawing a slow noncommittal sigh.

It lasts for a moment before the Primarch nods.

“Horus,” she continues more subdued than before, “You're important. I can see that... just don't over extend yourself. Save your strength for the end. It's always going well, until it's not. Erebus switched tactics: did you notice when he stopped throwing dark spirits at you? Now they're mortal warlords from different worlds, your words, not mine. So, why? Why would he unless he was trying something else?”

Horus kneels, putting himself on the same level as the Alicorn. “I'm not so foolish as to dismiss someone who wishes me dead, or at least wants to make me into some fawning domestic pet. I am Horus Lupercal, and I've dealt with smarter men in the past two hundred years than Erebus of Colchis. I've never failed, and I've never met someone I couldn't fight and win. So Luna, have a little faith, hmm?” He reaches up and traces his fingers under her chin so she was forced to meet his fiery gaze.

“Never?” Luna asks.

And the facade flickers. A twitch in his smooth brow, the slightest furrow at the corners of his mouth from a nearly imperceptive pull. “Never.” he growls.

Never had she so clearly seen through a lie. It swirled in his golden eyes as he retreats, pulling his hand away and rocking back to stand to his full height. As if someone flicked a switch, the Warmaster takes a greedy breath and exhales. The soft hillocks and downs sparkle with morning dew, sending the smallest flashes like liquid fire across the quiet meadows outside Canterlot. Meadow flowers blossom and their scent softly permeates the air with a scent both heady and fragrant.

He gestures airily at the pastoral scene, “I take it this is familiar to you, Luna?”

She nods, “My home. Or, near to it.”

The Primarch continues unbroken, “A Princess lives near a wide open field of flowers. Tell me, is there a castle nearby?”

'I... is that, is that bad?'

“Oooooh, there is, isn't there?” Horus looks to the top of a hill and trudges up its slope into the soft sunlit glow.

She trots off behind him. It was stiff at first, but she finds she has to break into a canter to catch up. “H-Horus, we're getting off-track.”

“I am listening. Tell me, once again.” He ascends the slope with the huffy Alicorn trailing behind.

“We are sure we sensed strong nightmares, one much like before but others were new. Now, you said that it's likely your sons are nearby?” She pauses just long enough for Horus to give her a grunt of affirmation. “Then it may be possible to contact one of them for aid. Erebus is known to them, correct?”

Again, the Warmaster grunts, but his pace slows as he reaches the crest. The spires of Canterlot rise in the middling distance, painted turrets glitter as glints of gold reflect the morning sun. The snow capped Mount Canterlot glitters like a diamond of immeasurable size, lit by the vibrant halo of a dawning sun.

But Horus's light grunt had eased into a slow rumbling laugh. It bubbles like a spring, and yet felt a little mocking to the Alicorn.

She scowls at Horus as he surmounts the hillock. The rippling hills stretch out around them, rolling out like a carpet of patchy green and vibrant hues. But still she sniffles against the whisper of the wind.

“Luna,” he smirks, “If I didn't know better, I'd have thought this was just another little fantasy scene. A princess in a castle watching over a meadow.”

“It used to be in a forest but sister decided to move it during our... absence.” She hadn't really brought up Celestia, and by Horus's sidelong glance, it showed. Luna kept her muzzle pointed straight ahead and slightly up, trying to look regal to cover up the awkward shifting on her hooves.

“You're not getting out of that story so easily, Little Moon.” Horus steadily turns his attention to the mountain city. He flourishes an elaborate gesture in that direction, “Was there meant to be a purpose to this?”

“No,” Luna confesses, “'Twas merely familiar and comfortable for us.”

“Ah," he grins knowingly, "So you were indulging your own comforts.”

'Damn you for steering this off course.' she thinks, but it came out only as an awkward warble. He knew that she knew, he wasn't wrong.

The fur on her face prickles as the faint red blush shines through. Heat radiates from Luna's cheeks as her speech creeps up her verbal register to a note uncomfortably loud and sharp. “W-we shall leavest thou here as long as 'tis possible. Then, when an opportunity yet ariseth, we shall seek out thy sons and convince them that thou needest aid."

Horus gruffly snorts his irritation, the stony grumble rolling from his chest. "I don't need-”

“That We require to help facilitate Ou-m-my role.” Luna's correction stymies any reply long enough for the Alicorn to continue uninterrupted. “Then I'll return here as soon as possible." She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding, calming her rapid heartbeat. Some of the faint red glow had faded, and her more airy lilt replaced the formal cadence. After a nervous flutter of her wings, she stretches them out again and looks back up to the nonplussed warrior. "It may seem like a long time, Horus... Erebus wasn't wrong. If he can manipulate dream magic, he can make it feel like an eternity. If you want me to stay here, I will. I will 'till the very end. It is your choice.”

The Lupercal sighs, taking a look at the distant mountain city. “Enough time perhaps to walk that way and see your little castle.” He flashes a self-satisfied smile at the Alicorn, “I can handle myself, Luna. I did on Cthonia when I was young, I can do it now. But my sons can be as stubborn as myself. Frankly, I doubt many of them would sleep at all. But if you happen upon a rather large one, who looks almost the same as myself, and twice as agitated, well... best steer clear of him. Abaddon is an excellent warrior. And an equally terrible diplomat.”

Horus smirks, and flicks a hand towards Luna in the same dismissive way that he had upon their meeting. “Off you go, I have no time to play, little horse. I have some sightseeing to do and time free from both Maloghurst's fastidious requests and the courtiers even more onerous demands.”

Luna sighs, licking her lips. “I can't exactly leave Ceifador with you, though I wish I could.”

“Luna, I'm 'the Warmaster' for a reason. If I couldn't break Erebus's neck with my bare hands, I don't deserve the title. I won't need it, even if it is a pretty little bauble for a pretty little princess-”

Luna smiles as he tosses the weapon into the air as it puffs into sapphire smoke.

“-horse.”

“GAAAAAH!” She stamps and sits down with a huff.

The indignation garners even more of a smirk, though Luna was sure he didn't mean the flicker of satisfaction to be seen. “Now,” he begins in his usual stately growl, “off with you. Don't you have someone else's mind to invade for once?”

The Alicorn just sighs and looks up before cantering back to be within a hooflength of him, “They have to be sleeping and attempting to dream for me to intervene.”

This time, the Lupercal lofts a brow. “My congratulations, Princess of the Night and Mistress of Dreams, you've made this slightly awkward. Now I'm sure you do have a court after all.”

“Horus, please be quiet. Now I have a headache.” But as he glances back again, she flashes a grin. A sincere smile forms on the Warmaster's face for the shortest of moments.

“They act like us, how very odd.” He mutters and returns to his leisurely stroll.

“Stubborn ass.” An unexpected snort leaves the Princess at the mocking imitation, leaving the Warmaster to stop. He didn't turn, and all the better for it as the Princess bristles with embarrassment. Waiting for just a few seconds, he starts walking again.

In the depths of the massive continent sized fortresses of adamantium and plasteel were little secrets. At almost thirty kilometers long, the Vengeful Spirit was full of them. There were nooks carved by errant workmen, small STC code overlays that went awry, leading to overlapping bulkheads with empty vacuous shafts in the middle, and small rooms now lost to even the master plans of the shipwrights themselves. Few designs were perfect, and the flagship of the Emperor's favourite son was no exception.

Above the nearly silent layers of the Vengeful Spirit's massive bridge, suspended by columns of twisted black iron, sat the Warmaster's strategium. The towering dome of black iron was dominated by small hololithic projectors where Horus delivered his tactical briefings or received audiences. Banners line the walls, disappearing into the sheltered niches and stanchion lining the edges.

But in a small offshoot corridor hidden behind a great red cloth banner heralding the Warmaster's 7th company, lay a small corridor seared through the adamantium bulwarks. The twisting maze of switchbacks and blind runs folded eight times until it came to an end in a single door surmounted by a leering metal skull. Beyond the simple portal resides what could only have been a casting error in the massive vessel's secondary armoured bulkhead. And thus, the grotto-like enclosure of roughly molten metal and ceramic binding dust lent the world an unnaturally surreal look. To the unpracticed eye, it was a stone cavern inside a vast metal city. But unnatural was still its more defining quality.

Two rows of stone pews line the back wall. Sickly tangles of leering skulls hang from the ceiling in morbid decoration. A figure stands in front of a roughly hewn wooden table sidled against the distant wall. The hulking form huddles over the table, cloaked in a thick black hooded habit.

The footsteps of another being didn't so much as phase the individual, so intent were they on a single leather-bound book laying in a small crimson stained depression.

“Who's there?” The new figure calls, his voice tone light and airy. There's no response from the figure huddled over the table. With an errant breath now more annoyed than jovial, the newly arrived figure raps a knuckle on the rough adamantium wall. “I said 'who's there'?”

Again, nothing.

But with a resigned sigh, the genhanced figure strides forward and pulls the cowl back, exposing a neat mop of blond hair, widows peak deep and plunging from his hairline. Luc Sedirae grumbles as he crosses over to the second form. “Oh for Lupercal's sake Targost, you're supposed to be the stickler for this sanctimonious ceremonial groxshit.” The hooded lodge master, Serghar Targost, still looms over the book.

Blowing a blustering breath from between cracked lips, Sedirae unfastens his cloak and tosses it limply to the stone pew. Drawing up beside his fellow astartes, he kept focused on the man, not seeing the thin tendrils of black-green smoke wafting from the grinning skulls. Sedirae twists and relaxes back against the wall next to the wooden table.

“Targ... what's that?” he lofts a brow at the open book.

Again, no answer. But Sedirae does squint, seeing the blank parchment page. Targost's granite chiseled face is red with effort, a vein throbbing in his temple as he softly mumbles to himself. The fellow astartes leans in just a little closer, hands folded over his chest.

'Yes, First Chaplain. Thy will be done, lord.' and a single droplet of blood rolls down from his nose and spatters on the parchment. It spiders, running like scarlet ink across the page and forming a strange labyrinth surmounted by an eight pointed star.

Sedirae rears back as Targost gasps and seemingly releases the book from taloned hands, ignoring the clatter of inanimate skulls above him. “Serghar, you okay?” he asks, clutching at the black cloak.

“L-Luc?” Targost asks blankly, eyes dilated, “Is that you?”

His friend just furrows a brow, “I can't say.” and breaks into a grin. “Oaths be damned, what in oblivion is that?” he points to the book.

“Nevermind, it's not important. Luc, you led the assault on the Glory of Terra, right?” Seized by some manic energy, he grips his friends shoulder and stares into his bright blue eyes, his own wild and wide like some backwater wildman.

Sedirae's lofted brow only rises further, “Sure?”

“Tell me, did you find a stone sword anywhere? About ye long.” Targost mimes a decently sized longsword.

“No, we got bogged down pretty bad. Lost more than I care to remember. It was a real shit-show, Serghar. Took Tarik and Loken's groups to pull us out of the fire and even then, those 'things' just vanished into thin air. What's this about?”

Targost glances towards the door. “Vaddon... Chief apothecary Vaddon might know. I'm sorry Luc, I've got to-”

“I ran into Vaddon talking with Tarik in Loken about thirty minutes ago.” Sedirae interrupts, the confusion only growing. “Seriously, what's this about?”

“Garviel and Tarik." he says, eyes widening. "I... I really can't say. Not yet. Luc.” He swiftly interrupts, clasping the shorter astarte's shoulders and staring with an unnaturally cold glint, “Luc, I need a favour. Can you go get Vaddon, and bring him here?"

Chapter 19: A Walk on the Other Side

“...Horus, wait.” The Alicorn springs forward as they descend into the wildflower strewn lee of a gently rolling hill. The field and hillocks that stretched out from Mount Canterlot's base had been replicated in exacting detail, right down to the soft rippling blades of grass tussled in the gentle western breeze. Luna's stride slackens to a trot as she pulls alongside the towering primarch. “Are you really going up to the castle?”

He doesn't answer immediately, instead, Horus takes a breath and draws himself up the hillside, cresting the summit. From there, he pauses to look out across the luscious expanse of Equestrian grasslands. “Yes. Hmmm, Luna, would you kindly indulge this relatively young man?”

“It's rare to hear poly-centenarians say that." She replies, but when no reply comes, the Alicorn nods curtly, "But if I can, I shall.”

Horus merely tilts his head up to regard the unblemished crystal blue skies. "As picturesque as this is, little moon princess, I would rather see what you make of the night sky. Or is this another 'I have to wait until the time is right' type of talents, hmm?"

Ignoring the smarmy prickle of accusation, Luna snorts. "Oh, is that all?" Luna's horn lights up as she sighs haughtily. But the smile that slips across her muzzle appears unbidden. The clear blue erupts into fiery reds and oranges before fading to luxurious purples and rich blues of dusk, slowly revealing the shimmering starscape of truest night. The pitch black canvas unfolds in its time, and the slow spread of swirling nebulae and milky star-spangled bands stipple themselves across the heavens. Every cosmic nuance and intricate stellar twinkle beams down as day slips into the embrace of night. A soft wind rises up from the sudden change in temperature, teasing the grass into waves as the blustering winds combs its invisible fingers through the grasslands. "Satisfactory?"

The Warmaster breathes a sigh of contentment. But the smile never appears. Instead, his face pulls taut as he lapses into a pensive lull. The Alicorn gently brushes his leg with her wing. "Is something wrong? Do you not like it?"

"I do." he whispers far more quietly than she'd heard from him since their first meeting.

She notices the change immediately and gently lays a hoof on his hip. "Horus, might I ask, is something wrong? Why did you want a starscape?"

Her voice fades into the soft void, a gulf between thought and answer appearing in the Lupercal's voice. When he speaks, it carries a thoughtful softness, “Isn't it enough that I like your stars?”

“Uh, well... yes.” she replies, swallowing the slight surprise at the confession before fixing her attention squarely on him. Still, it didn't seem like he was lying, even if the Warmaster wouldn't meet her gaze, “But I'm still curious.”

He never redirects his attention, golden eyes staring intently at the winking heavens. But his hand quietly drifts to her wing, giving the covering feathers a pat. “Memories. Good memories. It's actually night time, isn't it?”

Luna nods simply, “Yes.”

“Strange,” his sigh is the first that passed his lips with a sense of true weariness now that the cries and adulation of the crowd had faded into a distant memory, “it's getting hard for me to tell.”

Luna wiggles her muzzle for a moment, some of the tension gone as the smile creeps unbidden to her features. “That's because you don't get weaker in the day and stronger at night. I know, because I am the Night.”

The phrase tears a slight chortle from Horus as he finally looks down with a knowing smirk. “Conrad would likely take issue with that.”

“Who? Is that one of your friends? Offspring, wait, one of your brothers, yes?” Luna queries with a cautious softness, leading to a place they had barely spoken of.

"The latter," Horus nods, muttering with a harrumph, “One of the stranger ones.”

"Stranger?" she does loft an eyebrow at that and heads down the next hill at a slight canter, enjoying the reprieve before fanning out her enormous pinions. “Doesn't one have wings? I thought you said that wasn't something humans normally had.”

“I never said 'the strangest'.” Horus smiles a bit and follows after, his strides keeping pace with her. Shooting out a hand almost as fast as she could see, Horus runs a single finger along the feathery primary, eliciting a little warbled gasp of surprise.

“Don't do that!” She harrumphes indignantly while ruffling her wings and quickly tucking them tightly against her body.

The Warmaster shakes his head, “I do as I please, I am the Warmaster, my little winged pony princess. And don't you forget that. Besides, I had my suspicions."

She mock glares at him. "Pray tell, what 'suspicions' might those be?"

"I suspected that they might be some vat-grown plastek. They had too much of a sheen compared to a typical avian feather." He points to her pinions again. "Seems that I may have been... not entirely correct."

Luna's voice creeps higher, into her upper register with more force and power. "W-we take care of them as best as we can. The preservation and maintenance of such is oft laborious, but it is important to appear the part for our ponies." It resonates across the grasslands, still short of her Royal Canterlotian roar, but loud enough that it would have been awkward in an open market square.

"And that my companion might be too sensitive about the little things. But at least she understands the importance of playing the part, why, she even has the pompous speech of a noble down perfectly. ” By then, the Warmaster had shifted himself, a leg slightly forward like some ancient courtly king, a hand across his breast and the other braced to his hip.

Luna scrunches her muzzle and glares, not quite mock but the slight prickle and hue to her cheeks betray some embarrassment. Instead she merely shoots out a wing, buffeting him and trotting past to the sound of ringing laughter. The irritation fades, but the Alicorn does unfurl her wings and flits to the next rise to put that small bit of space between them. After a few moments, she hears the heavier sound of footfalls through the grass. And while she doesn't glance back, she took note that it was the first time that she'd made him run to catch up. The resultant silence was no longer strange, it was a companionable lull.

After what felt like ten minutes, but Luna was certain may have just been a few seconds, Horus tilts his head back to regard the twinkling around him. He'd caught up in moments and she'd done nothing to span the distance again. “He'll be back. No question about it.”

Silence. Dead Silence. They both knew it was a true statement, but that wasn't the cause. A slight prickle on her nape halts the Alicorn with one hoof up, dangling in mid air, ears swiveling to and fro.

“Luna?” Horus whispers, sensing the change as he scans the surrounding hills.

The Alicorn scrunches up her muzzle, body tense and neck muscles corded with effort. “Somepony else is here.” she whispers from the side of her mouth.

Horus doesn't jerk to look or otherwise give any indication he heard her. But the rasp is just barely audible as a bass rumble from his chest, “Something else?”

“No,” Luna whispers, “somepony.”

Luna turns, stamping a hoof and calling out in a resounding Canterlotian shout, “COME FORTH AND BE RECOGNIZED!”

Her eyes dart back and forth, scanning the rolling hills. With a flash, her horn illuminates the hilltop in pale moonlight as bright as the mid-day sun. Nothing new greets her.

“We're being watched?” Horus queries beneath a whisper, unafraid but motionless. But Luna's turn had put them back to back, a position both seemed comfortable preserving.

“Yes I'm... just, not quite sure how.” Her ear flicks, and a scent of ozone fills her nostrils. “Magic.”

The Primarch grunts with a huff, “I'm getting to hate that smell, Luna.”

"As much as those enormous rotting toad-things?" Luna glances back and forth, now a little more uncomfortable than before.

"Well... no." he admits.

Luna licks her lips and quickly turns to gallop to the top of the hill, “I think it may be time... I'll try it, just... remember it might be danger-”

“If you're going to do something, then spare me the lecture and just do it.” He smirks and folds his arms across his barrel chest, “Princess Luna.”

“Princess Luna!” Sunset shouts just a hooflength from the Alicorn's face. The world was flickering, caught in a storm of monochromatic static. She stamps her hooves, weaving back and forth with her tail practically touching the princess's chin. She'd been spat out here, and now nopony seemed to notice her at all.

Wherever Sunset stepped, Luna's gaze or pivoting ears would sluggishly follows shortly after. The frustration of being so close and still beyond reach was building. If she could just talk for a moment, she could get her answer. How could she help? The world that she'd seen had left her disoriented, and she'd found herself caught up in the cloying maelstrom and set down right where she wanted only for it to mean nothing. It wasn't some foolish little memory, it was here and now.

And it was slipping away.

“Is it more magic, is it more of a connection. Think. Think Sunset, THINK. You're good at this.” But as she reaches forward, her hoof feels like it was repulsed by the Alicorn as Luna closes her eyes and perches atop the grassy knoll. That other enormous blood spattered warrior just... okay he was big, bigger than the Serpent King, but he didn't look at her, just Luna. None of it did anything to help Sunset's mood as she voices a strained growl and kicks at a stone hidden in the fetlock length grasses. Unsurprisingly, the stone didn't so much as wobble.

“Trouble, little thing?” A silken voice calls from behind the Unicorn, causing her to yelp and spring like a cat. Hairs standing on end, she regards the intruder, laying luxuriously on the slope of an adjacent hill. What she saw was strange. A minotaur, almost no question, and a female judging by the swell of its exposed chest. The lithe being reclined in the grass with one leg up, one long cloven hoof dangling next to the chain wrapped around its mid-point. It was slender, elegant, with just a loincloth of lush violet silk keeping her partially modest. Sunset's eyes trace the form from the tip of the golden specked hoof, up her lavender hued legs and to her taut frame, but had to blink twice as she spotted the well toned arms crossed over her generous bust. They were folded back under her arms, but a second set seemed to stretch out behind her as she posed, sunbathing on the slope of the moonlit hillock.

Finally, Sunset finally noticed her eyes: swirling golden pools with a single ruby red slit. A golden choker encloses her slender throat. But the petite bovine face flashes a close-lipped smile at her. “I can help, you know.”

Feminine, sweet, there was something alluring that hove just at the edge of Sunset's mind that sent it spinning. The fugue of perfume wafts like a fog, and a thought of stars slips from her just as she struggles to clutch at something. Something important.

“So, which one are you really after? That pretty pony princess, or the strapping primarch? Mmm, maybe both?” She, as Sunset was certain it was a 'she', made a gesture at the pair, swallowing as she did so. And for an instant, Sunset glimpsed a black tongue-tip peak out to wet thin lips.

“I... I think I'm good.” Sunset replies, feeling a cold spear in her chest. The being smiles, sliding its legs up and over the other, revealing what Sunset's mind registered as a tantalizing tease. 'Wait... what?'

Sunset knew her preferences, but something was skipping like a broken record. There was a detail her mind was trying to register that was just beyond reach. Familiar. She was familiar. The voice-

The female's stance widens for just a moment before she gracefully eases her form forward, bowing upright with all the practiced ease of an acrobat. Sunset spots the second set of pincer-like claws that, once more, coquettishly slides behind its narrow frame. “Come now, there has to be something I can do for you. At least, won't you tell me your name?”

A thought trickles like melting ice through her mind, 'What is she doing inside Luna's head?' . She can practically see the star-spanning smirk and the crown of horns flicker in front of her eyes for a moment. Sunset blinks as the perfumed haze clears, the image of the Serpent King staring up crosses her mind.

The Lurker.

“You're the Nightmare!” Sunset's eyes widen and she reels back, hoof over hoof, nearly stumbling downhill.

The creature just chortles and crouches. It wasn't until that moment that Sunset realized just how close it had wandered, just how tall it was, and that she could feel its breath washing over her face as it knelt down in front of her and stalks closer like a panther. “Mmm, not much of a name, my little ray of Sunshine.” The bovine female bites her lower lip. “But I suppose I could be a Nightmare, or a very pleasant recurring dream. It's really your choice, my little ray of Sunshine. They call me Kanathara, Whose Hooves Shatter Mountains. But you can call me... well. Anything. You. Want.”

The time had come and the siren call came to Luna from across the unknown expanse. Slipping from dream to dream was as natural as walking for her, but the strain to take leave of the Lupercal's mind was far greater than she had anticipated. It was as tiring as swimming through gelatin while carrying another pony slung across her withers. But the warmth of the Canterlotian countryside wore away as she slips beyond its sunlit boundaries into the gathering dark.

There were others. Softer, quieter dreams from not far away, but the dreamscape here was no silent field of stars. The clarity was gone, replaced by misty shapes and fleeting winks of light. The collective Gestalt of the dreams of those who dwelled within Equestria had changed over the eons, but often all but radiated with the warmth of a summer night.

Mankind, evidently, did not.

She wades through a sickly cold morass, her mind putting context to the sluggish syrupy constraints that tugged at her limbs to try and arrest her progress. And as such, all she could think of was a deep blighted swamp swarming with meandering clouds of fireflies. There were other formless blots of light in the distance, but nothing substantive. Nothing helpful. Not when other things slunk beneath the waters, like eels and reptiles of every hideous description. A swamp, a mire of sadness and despair. Cold, dark, and ever shifting to try and engulf them. It went on forever, and yet every trudging pace tries to hold her back. The whispers of the passing lights brush across her fur, yet still feel distant. One, just one, truly calls in a flickering spark of red. Wading through the slurry of torpid water, she reaches the dream she'd sensed not long before.

After a familiar tug, she blinks her eyes open and, for a second, ponders if she'd gone anywhere.

The air hangs heavy and moisture laden, mist drifting past ferns and sticking to briers of black thorns. Luna pushes past the thickets, the scrape of thorns prickling her coat. She could easily pass as mist and shadow, but part of a dream was seeing the mind of the dreamer. She emerges from the squelching thickets, hooves slick with loam, with rotted leaves plastered to her limbs. But she persists, and in front of her in a small forest clearing, rises a tall granite fortress.

But something is wrong, she's seen it before: the front portcullis lies in ruins of twisted iron, thick metal locks ripped from punky stone. It was a fortress in ruins, its guardians gone, its lord now absent. Tall walls still stretch up to overlook the twisted canopy, and a starless night of deepest shadows shrouds everything. With the scent of forest beasts in her nostrils and rotting loam as a spice all around her, the Alicorn wordlessly steps over the twisted scraps of rusting iron, and into the yawning abyss that was once an entrance.

Trotting through the entrance arc, she spots the tattered flags of stylistic golden eagles, mold clinging to the black edges. Other banners bear numbers and a wolf head, all of them suppurating in the cloying mist. The number 18 held some prominent position next to 16. Here, the soot stained arches of the inner gateway smelled of neglect. But some other scent hung in the air as she steps into the inner ward. The bare expanse is devoid of any grass or trees, just hardpan and unidentifiable scraps of detritus. But the stink of sulfur and another harsh chemical stings her nose and sets her eyes watering.

She hurries through, just as the wind began its whistling howl through the empty sockets of the crumbling towers. Luna hastens her trot through the courtyard, her hooves making a quiet clatter that rises above the wind. Once inside the shattered doors of the dilapidated castle keep, the first simpering sounds carry over the wind.

Luna's ears perk up, suddenly aware of the presence of another nearby. The Alicorn draws closer, through the even blacker expanse of crumbled furnishings and scorched decorations. Her hooves crumble ancient fixtures to ash, and nudge aside caked metal baubles in her quest for the soft weeping that whispers like a phantom.

It grows ever colder, and yet her search could have been minutes or hours. It matters little when she arrives at the doorway to a broken room with only the faintest light from the depths of night, she spots the scraggly form: it was tiny, scraggly, destitute. The figure had collapsed to its knees, back to her. But its emaciated form wasn't what stopped the Alicorn's heart. It cradled a yet smaller limp figure in its arms, clutching desperately with gnarled fingers at the vestiges of threadbare green cloth.

Even from a distance, the weight of a thousand years hung on Luna's withers. It wasn't the first time she'd seen this: the sibling of a foal who'd passed away still clutching desperately in the dreadful dark of deepest night. But it never lessened the pain. How could it? Experience didn't mute the terrors of not being able to let go, even for an instant, lest everything else crumbles away. Few ponies knew it as well as her.

The creature wasn't her kind, it was no pony. The greasy golden locks clumped together as it cradled the cold ashen form across its knees. But she could only call it a foal.

There was no thought involved, no pause. Luna found herself closer by instinct and impulse, staring over the shoulders of the shivering youth to stare at the waxy features of another. Its green eyes were misted and cloudy, staring up through eternity at an empty sky. The broken toy sword clutched in dirt encrusted hands hangs limply from nerveless fingers.

The scent of decay swells in her nostrils, as if a rotten wind laden with offal and carrion meat had shifted to sour the air. With it, the sound of flies and crawling insects pricks her ears as her gaze shifts from the pair to another, darker lump at the unlit edges of the room. The massive bulk might be unrecognizable, but the smell was potent and growing worse. It was flesh, a carcass, something lingering at the margins of the room. She spots a single bulbous, malformed hand sticking from suppurating rags, clutching a barbaric stone sword.

The more she stares, the more the youth seems to look as well, while clutching its pitiful burden. And despite the scent and cloying air, she stretches her wings around the pair of forms to enfold them in her midnight pinions. The figure stiffens, not having noticed her until that moment. But the cold clammy touch of grungy fabric slowly warms from the ambient heat of Luna's own fur. She leans in, sitting behind the frail figure.

It looks back and up at her, and teal eyes meet red-rimmed sea green orbs glittering with light.

The thoughts of the Lupercal pass for a moment, whatever the nightmare was, had been very real. And while she sensed the hesitation, the instinct to push her away, she didn't relent. Her wings spread over them both, and with a press, pulls the waif into her breast. And after a long moment, the scratch of fingers against her fur let the Alicorn tuck the youth's head under her chin and cradle him as the weeping grew even louder. The pain and ire bleeding away amid the veil of tears.

All that could be heard, that could be felt, was the dual-beat of a heart trying to match the rhythm of her own.

Author's Notes:

Well, I cut this a little short just to avoid a case of emotional whiplash. But we have one sorta-kinda new player that I just had to use (seriously, It was impossible to exclude a Demon whose name is actually 'whose hooves shatter mountains and voice lulls the sun'), and one other new-ish individual. And yeah, while astartes typically don't dream, it has been noted as an actual occurrence by at least four that I can name, and it seems to come from duress. And thus, we have this.

Chapter 20: The Web

Soft darkness gathers in the corners of the imperfect room, but a pair of candles lit on the ends of the stone pews lining the walls cast glittering tendrils across the rough uneven walls. Footsteps echo in the deep, drawing up before the doorway.

Serghar Targost had been listening for almost half a minute. Every move down that corridor could be heard within the secretive niche found only in the strategium. The captain of the 7th company licks his lips and takes a breath, nerving himself up as the door sweeps open with a groan of weight. And sure enough, the stale pong of medical disinfectant stole away some of the herbal incense lingering among the leering skulls. Targost's twin hearts thunder in his chest as the sure but wary voice of Timmult Vaddon pierces the oppressive thrum from a power conduit's undulating whine somewhere beneath their feet.

“Captain Targost, I take it you have a good reason for this.” One sentence and Vaddon had already cut it to the quick.

Targost half turns, seeing the Chief Apothecary staring impassively through crystal blue eyes. Vaddon was short for an astartes, only a hair above seven feet, and relatively gaunt. The off-duty grey fatigues and white shirt was embossed with a small red patch depicting the Prime Helix, the legion's medical division. Targost didn't fail to notice the bolt pistol secreted away in the waistband of the astartes' field fatigues.

“Vaddon, please, come in. I have a matter of legion business to discuss with you.” Targost's arm unfolds from his black cloak as he waves the Apothecary over with a single lazy gesture.

“I'm still putting legionnaires back together in medical, Logaan can't handle it all himself. So cut to the chase, why am I here... in a space hidden in plain sight?” The tension, Targost had been an assault commander and a diplomat long enough to nearly hear the tightening of ligaments and tensing of muscles primed to action.

Targost lofts a brow, “You haven't been invited to the lodge?”

“My duties keep me busy, and that's not an answer, captain.” Vaddon remains stock still as far away from Targost as possible.

A long breath passes Targost's lips as he slowly closest the book in front of him and holds it up over his head. “I was gifted this book, it has knowledge. Knowledge that will save us. Vaddon, the soul of the legion is in our hands.”

“Our hands?” Vaddon asks reflexively. “I deal with bodies, Targost, not some figment of pagan imagination.”

“That's just it,” Targost sighs and turns, cowl still drawn and cloak completely enfolding his massively muscled frame. “We're going to save Horus Lupercal.”

“How? Abaddon nearly choked me half to death when we brought the commander back to my surgical theatre. But what does a book have to do with anything?” he rubs his neck, the marks certainly not apparent but the memory was almost certainly there.

Targost stalks over, feeling the slight ease of tension ebbing away back to wariness. “The book speaks of things, of destinies, and of malignant sicknesses. Tell me, did you find a blade made of flint or some kind of stone, about the size of a longsword?”

The crystal blue eyes of Vaddon's flash for an instant, and suddenly he takes a step back, one hand on his throat but the other tensing at his side. “Serghar,” he says cautiously, voice thin, “Only four people know about that sword. How, exactly, did you come to hear about it?”

Feeling the flinty stare, Targost holds out the book. “Look.” A few steps forward, but the Apothecary's cold glare connected as readily at the leather bound tome. Snapping its pages open, the book looks blank before lines of black slowly form on its surface as if traced by invisible claws. A thick pall of black green mist seeps from the sockets of the skulls looking down at the meeting.

“Targost, what have you been delving int-” hollow footsteps from the corridor behind him spurs the apothecary. His hand shoots to the concealed pistol, snapping it up and out as he swing it sharply to the door, then refocuses on Serghar Targost.

The captain darts forward , hands under the cowl fumbling for what he hoped he wouldn't need. A needle like silver blade finds its way into his hands even as Vaddon wheels on him. The pistol barks deafeningly in the small chamber, blasting a hole through the black fabric as Targost lurches almost drunkenly to the side. The shot slams into the wooden altar, detonating a leg in a shower of splinters. A second shot rings in the deep as the silver blade flashes in a wide arcing sweep.

The bolt fires wide, clanging off the rough metal wall and ricocheting into the floor. But Targost's blade struck true, slamming into Vaddon's wrist and punching monomolecular sharpened adamantium through his hardened bone. The pistol drops from his nerveless hands and clatters on the ground.

With a snarl of surprise, Vaddon reels and swings his weight into a vicious hook. It would have shattered a mortal's arm, but Targost deflects it wide as he comes to grips with the Apothecary.

“Vaddon, Vaddon STOP!” Targost bares his teeth as he grips the apothecary's forearm.

Vaddon's vicious headbutt smashes into the captain's face, shattering his nose in a fountain of blood and rocking him back in surprise. Shoving the captain away, he stoops down, fumbling for the bolt pistol. Clutching it in one good hand, he looks at the surprised face of Serghar Targost and flashes his bared teeth.

“Damn it! Just hear me out!” The lodge master snarls as the weapon flicks up to round on him again.

"How do you know about that sword, Serghar?!" The apothecary's flinty eyes lock on the bulkier warrior. "I have served Horus Lupercal for sixty five years, and not once has a weapon been able to bring the Commander down. Whatever it was that was on that blade was made to kill a primarch, it was made to kill Horus Lupercal. And we don't know what it is... now, here we are, and he's on deaths doorstep because of some primitive secret poisoned blade wielded by a madman commanding hordes of some parasitic living dead? That doesn't strike you as deeply suspicious? There's just four people on board that know about it, and you're not one of them." He steals a glance at the book, "So, how did you know about the stone sword, and where did you get that book?"

"Y-you told us in the medical theater, it was a blade that pierced the Warmaster's side." Targost stares down the snub nosed barrel, knowing that a twitch in the wrong direction would see him dead. Vaddon couldn't miss, not from this distance.

"No one said anything about a stone blade. And I know you didn't hear it because, Serghar, you weren't there! Apothecary Logaan, Abaddon and Aximand were there, and so were Loken and Targaddon. But not you. So, how did you know? Answer me: where did you get that book from, Serghar?" Vaddon's voice slips deeper and deeper, the accusation dripping like venom from his lips.

"It... it doesn't matter." Targost snarls, heart beating as the adrenaline makes his ears ring and fingers flex, " I'm here to help. The blade-"

"Two kinds people know about it: the three that brought it to me, and those that planned to murder the Warmaster. Serghar Targost-" Vaddon's tone plummets, eyes flickering with barely concealed rage, "are you complicit in the plot to murder Horus Lupercal?"

"NO!" Targost balks, "I want to help him. We brought him to the temple to heal him, Erebus said we just need-"

It was too late to take it back. "Erebus." The Apothecary's hand shakes, "Erebus... of course he'd know. He was the only one who could have arrived before us. That's who Loken and Torgaddon suspected. That's- Targost, back up. Don't you dare move. If you're in league with anyone to kill or threaten the Warmaster, I will kill you."

Slowly, the captain raises both his hands, "Easy, easy Vaddon. We can work this out."

"No, Serghar, we can't. I'm going to leave this room. Then, I'm going to fetch Loken, Torgaddon, and Maloghurst, and you're going to tell them exactly how you came by that information. And you will tell them." Vaddon's level voice echoes an icy sureness.

"I can't let you do that, Vaddon. Things are on a knife edge, Sedirae is just outside. You wouldn't make it ten meters." the captain starts to circle only for the apothecary to hiss a warning, getting him to stop.

Then twitch.

Targost weaves to the side far too late, and even as the pistol blazes away a shooting pain flares through his arm as if thrust into a kiln. A savage kick bats the pistol well away from the apothecary, sending it spiraling from his grasp and clattering behind the stone pews.

Falling right back on him, Targost wasn't exactly surprised when a raised left fist reveals only ruined meat and splintered bone where his hand had been. He still brings the bloody stump crashing down into Vaddon's eye, bursting it like a grape. The Apothecary snarls, rolling back as Targost's weight bears him to the ground. The assault captain returns the favour with a vicious headbutt that bounces the apothecary's skull against the metal. He pauses for barely an instant, spitting into Vaddon's face with a sickly hiss. Flesh bubbles and blisters as the apothecary's skin starts to sizzle as the astartes' betcher gland turned the saliva corrosive.

"Serghar, you treasonous bastard!" Vaddon blindly gropes for the blade impaling his wrist while thundering his knee into the captain's side, cracking ribs but the vicious sneer on Targost's face barely flinches. The blade is yanked free by the Assault captain, ruined limb pinning Vaddon down as the blade plunges down and cracks into his chest only to bite into the interlaced weave of hardened bone. With a rasp, it rakes free, scoring bloody furrows in his shirt before a second, third, and forth ruinous stab cracks the apothecary's chest open while carving through the skein of hardened plastek carapace underneath. Targost's twin-hearts thunder as he plunges the blade down with all his genhanced might.

Targost's mind slips into the blood-hazed fugue. It had to be half a minute, maybe more, before the apothecary stopped moving, both hearts pierced and chest a ragged map of ruin. Still, Vaddon's raking nails had bit into the captain's cheek, seeking soft eyes to gouge out. The war cries of 'Lupercal' that had echoed in the chamber were long since silenced by the time Targost slumped aside and took in a breath of air. He breathes heavily, gasping, feeling the ringing stabs of pain coursing up through his arm as the last reserves of adrenaline drain from his shivering frame.

“Damn it, Vaddon. Why didn't you listen to me?!” His voice wheezes out hoarse and gasping, but Vaddon's shaking breaths had stopped. “Where's the sword Vaddon!” he calls, rolling over to see the apothecary's misty eye and ruined socket staring blankly at the ceiling, his lips flecked with spattered pink and chest unrecognizable with the blade jutting from it like a mast. “Damn your stubborn streak, where is it?!” He reaches over with his good hand and seizes the apothecary. “Tell me!”

But there was no answer, no movement, nothing at all. Even hauled upwards, the apothecary was limp in Targost's weakened grip, and slumps to the floor with a squelching thud when released. The Assault captain rises to his knees and yanks the blade free.

“Fine, if you won't tell me...” With a sickly breath, he mops his lips, staring at the corpse. Serghar Targost knew a way but it had never come up, never been intended for this. At least, not to his knowledge. He'd done this on mortals, on xenos, on gangers back on Cthonia though for different reason, but never an astartes. Taking the blade, he pries the apothecary's mouth open, twists it, and shoves the blade into the soft pallet on the roof of his mouth before carving the cavity open.

Gulping back his distaste, he tears the blade free and lets it clatter to the floor.

Wordlessly, swiftly, before he could rethink his plan, he reaches into the ruined mouth to drag out the pink-grey brain meat and before shoving it into his own mouth and swallowing. Pink gristle dribbles down Targost's lips, and he waits for the omophagea to do its work. He swallows a few more times before unsteadily caressing the apothecary's ruined skull, combing through the grey flecked mop of black hair.

Flashes of memories assail him the last few hours. The image of a decontamination chamber in stark white. He flicks a wooden casket open, looking at the crushed red velvet cushioning a simple grey and black flecked blade. The wooden lid snaps closed, and the whole thing is hidden in a small cryostasis capsul, non-descript and deep within the genevaults in the heart of the Vengeful Spirit. A place only accessible by the chief apothecary or the Primarch himself.

“Oh... you clever bastard...” Targost gasps and holds his ruined limb up in front of his face, cringing at the damage. “Damn it, Erebus” He rolls onto his backside, reaching shakily for the esoteric tome with a grunt of effort. “How in the hells do I explain this?”

Author's Notes:

I really didn't want to toss this in with the previous chapter as it's pretty whiplashy. And no, I didn't have a lot of fun killing off Vaddon either, he's one of my favourite minor characters but it does get something else going in the interim.

Chapter 21: Heavens, Earth, and In Between

Sunset awakens with a start, galvanized back to consciousness by muscle spasms rippling across her equine form. A nervous twitch courses through her frame like somepony was tracing a straight razor up her spine. Her body convulses as unsteady gasps tear from her parched throat. The Unicorn rolls onto her stomach with a whimper and tucks her head against her breast to ward off the sickly sensation churning in her stomach. The only sound to be heard in the darkened room was the arrhythmic thunder of her heart, the wheezing breaths she tried to suck in, and the sound of her own mucous laden mewling. The sharp ringing in her ears deafens her, blotting out anything else.

it was a shock to the system when a hoof gently brushes her withers. She tenses, and the reverberating shriek she lets loose may well have shaken the foundation of Canterlot itself. Hooves grasp her, hold her, pin her as she tries to worm free and lash out. It isn't until she looks up into lavender pools that she comprehends it isn't the acrid ruby slitted eyes of... her. “T-twi-Twilight?”

A soft pony face forms words, but whatever they said were stolen away as her ears ring even louder. Her vision swims as the warmth of a fellow pony presses into her shivering frame. The faint taste of bile still lingers in her mouth with the alkaline waft of sickness, but she clutches the form to herself. Sunset barely recognizes her Alicorn friend other than she was alive. Well, alive and purple.

The stonework frame, the faint outline of cabinets only just caressed by grungy firelight, and a small chair with a ruffled lavender sheet kicked to the floor are all she spots. But as the firelight spills into the room amid the pitiful sniffles, through blurry tear stained eyes, Sunset glimpses two pony-like-shapes in the doorway. This wasn't Twilight's castle, it was too sterile, too cold.

She spots the pale lilac hued Unicorn mare, a starry blue cap on her head as she holds a copper framed fanous in her arcane grasp. It casts soft light inside without being blinding, but its pale yellow glow still glints off the second pony's lacquered armour.

The night guard thestral peeks inside, golden cat eyes transfixing her. Sunset yelps and pulls Twilight close, overbalancing the Alicorn onto the bed as the Unicorn thrashes and backs herself against the cold tile wall. The bed was tucked in the corner, but Starlight Glimmer, Twilight, the room, everything bleeds away as golden slitted pupils burn into her mind's eye. “GET OUT! GET OUT! I won't do it, and you can't make me!”

Her renewed shout jars Starlight out of her stupor. The copper lantern tumbles to the ground as she reels back and trips over her own hindlegs. "Sun-"

Sunset's horn lights up, flinging the door closed hard enough to send it flinging back open with the force . A second equal telekinetic shove slams it shut and cracks the wooden frame, leaving the room once again plunged into abject darkness.

Darkness...

“Sunset, Sunset Shimmer.” The Unicorn heard Twilight's voice alright, but her gaze shifts around the blank room as her horn lights up. Flickers of magic flow through the Alicorn's conical spire and illuminate the chamber in warm solar rays. She casts about, eyes darting wildly to every corner, seeking the well of darkness lurking within the shadowy recesses or the some abominable leering grin.

“Sunset Shimmer!” Twilight shouts. Hooves seize the panicky Unicorn, and her gaze is forcefully directed to a pair of bright amethyst eyes. The warmth, the worry, the glitter of gathering tears glint in the pale arcane light.

“Twilight....” Her whimper was what made the dam burst. Twilight's eyes stream tears as she buries the Unicorn in her chest fluff. The beat of her heart and comforting pat coax out the virulent waves of fear sloshing around inside the Unicorn.

“Shhhhh, shhhhh, I'm here. I'm here Sunny, I'm here. It's alright.” Twilight brushes her mane and traces down her withers, ending with a comforting pat before starting all over again. Each time more and more of the reflexive spasms would weaken until there was nothing left but an exhausted Unicorn with her face tucked into her friends chest.

“I saw,” Sunset gasps, “I...”

Silence pervades the chamber, the sensation of warmth and accomplishment vanishing like the sheen of sweat evaporating from her nose tip. It was cold enough that she was sure her breath would billow out into clouds at any moment. Slowly, through only slightly open eyes, the world unfolds itself in a blurry haze lit by a faint blue glow as Luna's senses slowly return to her.

A soft blue-green ceiling looms up above her, unadorned and utilitarian. Sheaves of paper printed with blurry pony figures hang taped to the walls, and aside from a single L shaped desk and hutch against the opposite wall, there was very little there. The illumination all stems from a small silently turning turnstyle lamp, casting pale blue moons and stars across the room. Through it all, she could only start to ruminate with a slow dawning realization-

'This isn't my room.'

Luna's eyes widen, neck snapping swiftly to the side. A pair of chairs next to the door is occupied by an unfamiliar cream-coated Unicorn mare with somewhat too-long bangs. She'd placed the chairs facing together, and curled up across both of them cocooned in a fuzzy aquamarine blanket.

'Who is this?! Where is this?!'

And her mind flits back to the shattered castle, the broken gates and chuffing wail from the young human colt. Colt. Tybalt. Moy. The names, the pain, the worry returns like a reopened wound.

'Does Horus know he lost a colt?!'

It's swiftly parsed down to an even more simple thought in the blink of an eye.

'Horus?!'

Beyond the plans of reaching out, of contacting somepony... somebeing, someone who needed her, she recalls the endless string of violent dreams and mocking howls. She recalls the strain of fights and mental exhaustion that wanted her to just sleep. And the Alicorn remembers the push through the barrier to reach that other tepid glow where she found the colt, the dead, the bloated corpse of their assailant. She recalled telling the youth that their father would need their help, and that a sorcerer called Erebus was to blame in the ancient temple fraught with dark magic.

And she recalled the final relaxing moment where the dream suddenly ended and she was able to rest easy for one single-

“MOTHERBUCKING SNOT-SUMMONING SYCOPHANTIC SERPENT STALLION! EREBUS! HOW AM I HERE NOW?!” The howl of rage met one of sheer shock as the unknown Unicorn mare bolts upright and promptly overbalances onto the floor with a muffled thump.

'Holy hayride, there's a screaming Alicorn five hooflengths away and the walls are shaking. Oh sun and stars, the ground's moving too!'

Moondancer's brain rattles around like a foal teacup ride without a safety belt.

'Ooooooh mare, I'm gonna be siiiiick... 's this what a heart attack feels like? Am I dying? This sucks.'

Moondancer's scream had died, more or less choked to death by a far louder shriek of terror... nope, maybe not terror. Rage? Oh holy stars, the mare was already wondering if her gelatinous hooves could take her from the room before it immolated under a screaming princess's wrath.

Thoughts pass through her skull, and part of the pounding from her tumble off the waiting room chairs was there too.

'Damn it Twilight, why'd I get stuck with Alicorn sentry duty tonight?'

The shouting seems to have stopped but the ringing whine in her ear and bubbling sickness in her stomach hadn't subsided. But tangled up in her Unicorn-suppression device, IE, the borrowed blanket, Moondancer just lay her cheek on the ground and hoped the Alicorn didn't step on her.

She watches through blurry eyes, realizing her glasses were... somewhere. But just as she was sure the Princess of the Night was going to unfold her wings and ascend to some wrathful paragon of nocturnal glory, Luna sprang to her hooves on top of the bed and promptly keeled over the edge. Her left foreleg had wrapped up in her bedding, and a little shudder was all it took for her to pitch over the edge and land in a feathery bundle, muzzle, first on the stone floor. And thus lay the princess of the night, felled by gravity and cloth.

She holds still, Moondancer searching around with a few waggling constrained forehooves until her glasses were found tucked against her barrel. The Unicorn slips on the black horn rimmed glasses and stares at the twitching Alicorn.

Well, Luna was still breathing. The rise and fall of the bundle of feathers was anything but regal, and if she was saying something at least it wasn't at a volume that could be physically felt.

Luna was the first up, though Moondancer valiantly started to wiggle free of her blue comforter. The Alicorn rises on unsteady hooves, shaking from the exertion. Little tremors rippled across her form, and even as she stands and folds her massive dark pinions, the Unicorn had to once again bite back the mounting apprehension.

“M-m-mornin' princess.” Moondancer stammers louder and less coherent than she anticipated. Part of it likely from the ringing in her ears, both of which flapped and flopped wildy. A soft blue glow surrounds her and pulls her up with a pulse of telekenetic force. But instead of being just stood up, she is quickly pulled face to face with the Alicorn.

“Ready my tower for the ritual.”

Moondancer's blink is almost desynchronized. The look of confusion passing her features might have been humorous if the glance that was slowly overwhelming Luna didn't make the Unicorn mare feel like a gormless griffon.

'I really hope I don't know what that means.'

“Uh-huh.” In an almost existential detachment, the Unicorn finds herself nodding an affirmation. More or less against her will, Moondancer's gaze follows the Lunar Princess as she unsteadily heads to the door. It swings open, and she nearly bowls over the pair of Night guards rushing inside.

A fizzling 'pop' and flash of lavender light temporarily scorches Moondancer's eyes as she stares at the temporary blur of pure white light. Blinking the spots out of her vision, a more familiar voice bleeds into her still ringing skull.

“Princess Luna, you'refinallyawakeand I'msoooo-so-so gladtoseeyou!” A far-too rapid fire Twilight Sparkle rambles off fast enough that Moondancer takes a full second to realize what was said. "We only have a few second, Sunset just woke up an hour ago and she's-"

Luna, on the other hand, didn't seem to need it. And while the slighter purple Alicorn rears up on her hind legs and spreads her forelegs wide for a hug... nope, it was just to clutch at her shoulders. But stony silence from the Princess of the Night forestalls whatever Twilight had been anticipating. Moondancer wasn't sure whether her own sonic-induced drooling idiocy or Twilight's expectant grin was more uncomfortable.

Both. Both seemed suddenly very awkward as Luna pivots her ear, then glances to Moondancer. “We gave thee an order, magi.”

The Alicorn's sharp tongue and piercing teal eyes nearly sent Moondancer skittering to do as bidden. Twilight's sudden wing-brush is the only thing that keeps the Unicorn from scampering out of the room to who knows where. But her calming voice interrupts even the rapid clatter of more hoofsteps and armour in the hallway. “Luna... Luna, what happened? Sunset hasn't really said anything.”

Twilight takes a step back, falling in alongside Moondancer. A fact the Unicorn was very glad of. She leans her own weight against Twilight, both of them were suddenly privy to the burning balelight in Luna's eyes and the stern gaunt-faced glower that slices across her dark features. It wasn't improved as she stands between them and the lamp; the modulating shapes casting winking light that silhouettes the imposing Princess of the Night in a sapphire corona. It did nothing to brighten the room any more than a crypt at midnight.

“We have little time and even less patience, Twilight Sparkle." Luna's voice could often be stilted and cold, but now it was verging on a wintery snarl, "Assemble thy supplicants and any of Our friends that can be had. We yet have much work to be done. We... fear We have made an error.”

That snaps Twilight out of it. Thankfully, the fellow Alicorn must sense, or worse, smells the cloying musk of sweat and nervous anxiety practically dripping off the Unicorn. The wing that slips around her friend helps hide the sharp gasp and tremor as more ponies clutter around the doorway. A half dozen Night Guard pile in near the frame, lacquered battle plate glinting with the faux moonlight. The largest thestral mare in the doorway is an enormous wraith like Umberfoalian, sharp coal grey fur as matte and dusty as powder. Even her gaze falters before the fiery blaze of Luna's nearly incandescent ire. The little shivers of exertion and weariness looking like barely controlled flickers of rage. It was little surprise that even the Umberfoalian's icy blue slitted eyes lower to the ground.

Luna brushes by, slicing through the group of dark armoured pony warriors. “Commander Bleakshoals, form your squad up. You shall accompany Us to the Tower. None shall interfere.”

The dark mare nods, stepping back with the half-dozen Night guard and all but melting into the shadowy gloom.

“Luna?” Twilight asks again, more softly than ever as she trots past, squeezing through the throng with a groggy ear-flicking Moondancer protectively under her wing. “What happened?”

And finally the Alicorn takes a breath to steady herself. The exhalation unnervingly echoes a death rattle pulled from her throat. “We... made a friend of sorts-” Moondancer's brow raises the same moment Twilight's muzzle cracks into surprised half-grin. “-and hoped to save him from dark spirits that beset his waking nightmares. We thought to gamble, to implore his nearby colt to immediately seek aid so that his sire might be rescued. We told them to hurry henceforth, even after tragedy had befallen them. And... We had thought We could return to his sire to aid in his escape as well. We were mistaken, for We may have been hasty in impressing the urgency of the situation.”

The wrinkle of her muzzle doesn't quite hide the flush in her cheeks as Luna staggers forward. Twilight drags Moondancer ahead while darting to Luna's side, helping steady her as the pack of Night guard form into a neat little semi -circle in her wake. "Princess Luna," Twilight quietly whispers, “You're in no state, you need to rest yourse-”

“Twilight Sparkle.” Luna's growl comes out less as a Canterlotian bellow, and more a serpentine warning hiss. “No force above nor below the heavens shall stop Us.”

With a hollow whip-crack, the room blazes with white and gold light. Another figure emerges into existence with a blistering fizzle, radiating white and aurora spangled light. “Luna!” Like a glittering Alabaster phantom, the shape barrels into the Alicorn. Moondancer can see the curled lip and exposed teeth as the midnight blue Princess is scooped into a bone crushing hug from the elder diarch.

There were a lot of things that Moondancer had to re-evaluate as she stares blankly at the overjoyed Celestia, and the frustrated glower of a haggard Luna.

'Does Celestia count as 'above the heavens' or not?'

“Y'know Garvi, if this goes south then we may as well be trying to find a new line of work. Because, call me crazy, but I really don't think Erebus likes you much.” The noisy slurp of liquid and pungent aroma of reheated recaf fills the little forgotten chamber in the foredeck gunnery compartment of the Vengeful Spirit. Two figures quietly converse while browsing the stack of data slates piled on a wide folding table. Thin wafting vapors from chem-heater pads keep the otherwise stagnant mugs just below a simmer, thankfully masking the stink of machine oil and torpedo ignition residue. The two overly-bright lumin orbs still hang at jaunty angles, casting sharp stage-like lighting in two corners of the room while plunging the rest of the copper conduit lined chamber into darkness.

“Tarik, I don't think you have to worry about that. If we fail, we'll have more to worry about than just looking for new duties.” Garviel Loken doesn't even glance up from the data slate sat in his lap as he scribes a second occupying both hands.

His companion lounges on a metal framed chair, data slate flat on the table as he sips from a mug while simultaneously flipping a stylus nimbly between his fingers. "Hmmm, you're not wrong. We'd more than likely be looking for our heads. Sniveling bastard probably would try to steal 'em too, even when they're still attached.”

"Lets keep it that way." Loken's non-committal grunt only draws another noisy slurp of recaf as they settle in, still poring over the flickering lines of text from a dozen different volumes each. "And you know how we're gonna do just that?"

"Please tell me you've found a better way then 'just keep looking through battle report and coms traffic until our eyes start bleeding'. And it better be more than just 'listen to them on audio till our ears follow suit.'" It didn't take a savant to spot the crooked grin on Torgaddon's face as he tosses the stylus onto the table next to the data slate. The chair creaks ominously beneath his genhanced bulk as the warrior kicks his feet up onto the metal table, cradling his mug all the while.

Another moment, another slurp, and Loken replies without looking up. "You're supposed to be looking through battle reports and coms traffic. I'm looking through medical reports and a few more esoteric sources. If you want to trade spots, be my guest."

"Are they any shorter?" Torgaddon pipes up with a faint note of hope.

"No." Loken's monotone reply dashes that in an instant. "But, there's a few spots in here that are an awful lot like the Whisperheads incident back on sixty-three-ninteen. There's references to unnatural creatures and talk of dark spirits." Loken's tone slips to something more surely and disgruntled as he goes on, "But nothing about any stone blade, nothing that Vaddon can use, and nothing that implicates Erebus. We just don't have any evidence."

"Hate to say it, but I'm not surprised. Erebus is a slippery bastard, no doubt about that." Torgaddon asks, eyes darting over from beneath the messy mop of short black bangs. "Sindermann give you those?"

But the distraction did eek a slight curl of Loken's lips, forming into that nascent smile. "Tarik. Stop stalling and just get back to those reports."

"Right. Quicker we're done here, quicker we can nab 'em, then string 'em up in front of Malogurst, rescue Horus, get Vaddon whatever he needs, and finish up with this little Great Crusade business by conquering the rest of the galaxy. You know, I heard some of the Imperial army grunts talk about something called a 'vacation'. I kinda like the sound of that." Torgaddon smirks, bright eyes sparkling as he finally catches Loken's unamused glare.

"Tarik?" Loken looks up impassively, "get back to work."

Torgaddon puts the mug down and snatches his data slate, lifting it in front of his face before whispering, "Starch-arse."

Loken didn't try to hide the flicker of a grin. He was about to let it go when the fellow captain shifted awkwardly in his seat, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. “Ta-”

The door rocks open on its hinges, slamming into the wall. Loken's head snaps up to the sound, the data-slate in his hand flipped down by instinct before he could ever register it. But Tarik had reached for the back of his grey fatigues, fingers brushing the grip of a combat knife as the form outside materializes into shape.

The strobing green lights of the bulkhead hallway outside slowly throb, sending pulsing flickers of verdant green across the shaven head of another Horusian son. “Sacred oath, Marr." Torgaddon growls, "You could have at least knocked!”

Stern face, sharp aquiline features, and sallow skin: Tybalt Marr looked almost worse for wear. He strode in, his black sleeveless shirt plastered close to his muscled frame, the same grey fatigues as his two fellow astartes looking aged and neglected.

Tarik's eyes flick back to the dim hallway behind him, expecting some armoured figures to be trailing in the captain's wake. But there was nothing, not even a prowling maintenance servitor. “Something wrong, Marr?”

Loken had evidently paid more attention to the disheveled astartes. Both were on edge, though not because of Marr himself: just at the company in general this far away from the hustle and bustle of the astartes' usual bastions.

Marr's eyes all but glow in the dim light as he flings the door closed with a loud clang. “Horus is in danger, and we need to do something about it. Now!” He brought his formidable strength down on the weak folding table. It buckles around his clenched fists, showing two prominent dents.

Loken wordlessly takes in Marr's wild eyes and sharp frown, while Torgaddon slowly arches a brow as data slates slowly slide down into the freshly formed divots. “You know what this means, right?” Loken begins, voice a conspiratorial growl, “We think-”

“Erebus is to blame. He is. I know it, so does Horus. I can't... tell you how I know, not yet.” he glances away, allowing Loken and Torgaddon a second to share a look of confusion and apprehension.

“If this is about Moy.” Loken hesitantly asks, “I can ask Sindermann to talk to you about-”

“I said I could handle it before, Garviel! And I can.” The smallest trace of a somber smile passes his lips. "More than ever, now." He breathes in a stale gasp of air and stands to his full height. “There's only one choice: we need to gather a strike team and break our way in. No hesitation. No distraction. We blast our way through, secure Lupercal, and deal with the consequences after.”

“Tybalt, I normally wouldn't ask you given your current condition, but... recaf?” Tarik smiles and nudges a mug of the simmering drink across the dented table.

“This is insane, Marr.” Loken hisses to the other two as they exit the gunnery deck, laden with data slates tucked in an aged canvas duffel.

“No no Garvi, let him finish." Torgaddon grins, "I really want to hear this.”

A heavy bulkhead blastdoor shuts behind the trio of unarmored astartes, blocking out the vox-thieves and security auguries of the protected magazine. Tybalt Marr takes up the lead of the three with Loken and Torgaddon on his left and right respectively.

The heavy thunder of their footfalls echoes through the wide causeways of the Vengeful Spirits mid-decks. But none would think a trio of legionnaires, even a trio of captains, out of place here. Passing by the enormous archway leading to the upper thoroughfares along the spine of the battleship, each falls silent. The Tartaros Warden guardians that linger ever in the shadows of the massive ship weren't to be privy to their conversation. And in the light of the new world each discovered they were living in after Davin, all knew that nothing could be taken for granted.

Marr waits until even the Warden's augmented hearing wouldn't make out the conversation. “Alright, we know Horus is in trouble. We don't have much time to get him out of there.”

“And where exactly did you obtain this 'information'?” Loken's quiet whisper barely rises enough to be heard over his own footfalls.

Marr's reply is near instant, “The answer probably isn't going to sit well with you, Captain Loken.”

“Would it help if I said 'please'?” smirks Torgaddon, “if you won't indulge Garvi, I'm still pretty curious myself. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's nice to hear we aren't the only one to think that Word Bearer mutt is up to no good. But there's usually a reason.”

Marr steals a glance between the stoic neutrality of Loken and Tarik's more amicable grin. With a sigh, he steels himself and begins. “Because I've been having nightmares.” Seeing the momentary flicker in Loken's gaze, Marr forestalls it with a stern expression. “Ones about Verelum Moy. About Horus. About all of this. The same thing's been biting in the back of my mind for the past three days. Then it changed.”

“Yes, but how?” Loken's inelegant question still but to the heart of the matter.

Tybalt Marr takes in only a single strained breath. “Something in the warp-”

“Tybalt.” Loken's warning melds irritation and perhaps disappointment.

“No, not like that.” He takes a breath. There was no way he could tell them what happened, not when so many things hung on a knife edge. He couldn't tell them about the warp-creature, some sort of warp angel who hadn't stolen away his fears but had simply embraced him. It... she, had stayed there like a guardian through the night as another heartbeat running against his own. In his unwaking mind, even then, he knew it wasn't astartes and it wasn't human.

She hadn't torn the image of Verelum Moy away, or made him forget, but a soft touch and gentle word to the body of his twinned-soul had been enough to close his eyes too. The words of warning had come later, much later. But the voice of comfort didn't ring with martial pride or exhortations pursuing glory for the dead, but the recognition of loss and sadness. And she stayed. She'd been angry with Erebus, she'd been worried about Horus, but just as much, Tybalt had felt an overwhelming sympathy directed at himself.

“Look,” Tybalt finally replies, “call it bleed off, an echo, some psychic glimpse or something. They're doing all sorts of weird rituals in that temple on the surface. We should have burned the damned thing down the moment we got here. You both know that the Word Bearers damned well should have the first time when they declared the world compliant!”

The venom and fire returns, and with it, the glimmer in Torgaddon's eyes. Loken bobs his head, with that likely making more sense. They'd all thought it, seeing the bestial simian Davinites and their cultish pagan ways, how could it not?

“Alright, alright.” Loken intones, his voice stronger and more certain now. “But why did we have to do this immediately? There are other avenues we have to investigate, Marr. As of now, we have no proof. No way to link this back to Erebus. The blade we found on the Glory of Terra hasn't been positively identified as the Anathame blade stolen from Xenobia.”

“C'mon Garvi, we all know that's exactly what it is. What kind of poison could hurt the commander like that? It's just a matter of time before Vaddon confirms what we already know. So lets stop dancing around this,” Tarik nods, the smile more hollow than genuine before turning to Marr, "what's the plan?”

“Simple,” Marr continues with a whisper, “You've seen the layouts of the temple, right?”

“Only the outside data, it seems mostly impenetrable to our fleet auspex arrays.” Loken nods.

“And the hand-held ones I took when I went to go back and see Captain Aximand yesterday.” Marr continues, and for the first time since the assault on the Glory of Terra that had taken them to Davin's moon, a weak smile slips onto his aquiline face. It gets a pair of surprised expressions, though he continues by increasing his stride. “But it's a dark fane. I'd be willing to bet everything on a ritual being performed in the lower, darker parts. So if we hit the top with something like a Stormbird, or more reasonably a Storm Eagle gunship, we'll have to fight our way down through the spires. We don't have the time.”

Tarik pipes up, “And it's bound to be a hard target, too. Central hubs usually are. And I doubt we can simply walk in the front door.”

They all go quiet as a small work detail of fleet menials pass. The clank of the servitor coffle carrying new ductwork pipes and acetylene torches clatters in a noisy procession if ever there was one. Loken waits, but picks up quietly right where Torgaddon left off. “No, we don't have the firepower for that even if we could get a Stormbird in that close. Besides, I don't think even Vipus and Locasta would be willing to fight Abaddon or Aximand if push comes to shove.”

Marr bobs his head just once in acknowledgement. “But, if we take a Dreadclaw we can hit one of those eight radial towers. Come down on the other side of the complex so Abaddon and any other unit stationed near the front won't be able to react in time to stop us. We come in hard at an oblique and use the Magna-cutters to break in, hit the central corridor and follow it down at ground level. By then, we have two options. Or rather, Abaddon and Aximand do.”

There's a soft light of defiance and wit in Marr's eyes, and both his fellow captains radiate a healthy dose of surprise. Marr had never been one to adhere to Maloghurst's more political strategems, and there weren't many chances for a simple line captain to use such methods before.

In fact, partly it didn't originate from him, but the hopeful words of what he could only call the mythic pegasi-like creature that had cut through his dark and morbid dreams. Her soft voice had whispered it in his ear while he was buried in a comforting mound of fluff, 'We all must make choices, and when the time comes we can't always be certain that others will make the ones we want them too. But be honest, share that worry and you will see, true family will support you. Even if they don't always understand.'

“Well, Abaddon won't like that much. But to blazes with it, I like it.” Torgaddon's wry grin splits his saturnine face, and he takes a moment to sweep his bangs aside. “And we can just hopethat Erebus is in there, so we can catch him red-handed. That'd be a nice stroke of luck, eh?" he blinks and turns, keeping his voice low, "Actually, where are the rest of the Word Bearers?”

Loken shakes his head, “No sight or sound of them since we left to find 'the article' for Vaddon.” They take a turn and head into a mag-lift alcove. Once more, all three of them were well aware of the glassy-eyed servitor plugged into the wall console that could hear their every word.

The sickly skeletal frame rasps its flat dead monotone, “Please input desired destination.”

“Horus Lupercal, right away.” Torgaddon smirks, and he gives his two accomplices a shrug as the servitor bleeps out a negative response. “Worth a shot. Barracks center twenty-six, main traverse.”

Laden with just a non-descript duffel bag and eyed by a few passing menials in their grey fatigues, the trio of astartes seemingly drop into the pits of hell, surrounded by a flashing red light and rhythmic click of magnetic clamp releases.

Author's Notes:

Alright, earlier than normal but it's moving day for me. So figure better now than really late.

Chapter 22: First Steps Forward

Quiet ribbons of scarlet and lavender begin their inexorable march across the eastern horizon, heralding a new day. Ponies lay in their beds, letting the regal mountain capital dwell in silent splendor. But it hid something far more hectic. Deep within Canterlot Castle, the hallways ring with sound. It wasn't a noise often heard in Canterlot's halls and many ponies were glad for it: the clack of armoured hooves and barked commands resonate in the dark as the armed formation winds its way through the empty halls.

The stark glow of arcane conjured sunlight bounces from marbled columns and decorations, casting lengthy shadows into the darkest recesses. But it didn't come from outside. Princess Luna prowls along in the center of the knot of Equestrians. Celestia at her right with head held high and horn aglow as she casts the fiery radiance. The nocturnal princess barely keeps her head from lolling to her chest. Twilight had been appearing here and there like a phantom, spooking the guards every time she left. And here, directly behind Luna, Moondancer had found her place in the little squad a hoofstep from Starlight.

And standing directly behind the pair of tall Alicorns meant that it was incredibly awkward to find where she was supposed to look. Starlight had her stupid little alleyway looking just up and between the pair or Alicorns... not that Moondancer figured she'd be awkward or offended at looking. But she sure didn't want to trade places which would put her next to the braggart street performer on Starlight's other side.

With next to no sleep and the most abrupt wake up call she could think of, the cream-coated Unicorn stumbles along in Luna's nearly very literal shadow. Now if only her nose could block out the smell of sweat and musky lavender, that would be great.

'Twilight, you horn hogging hussy, where are you?!'

It was only getting worse as Luna shivers, her hind hooves nearly crossing. Celestia slows her pace again, supporting her sister. Sweet, but the Princess of the Night nearly got a horn up her rump again. The kingdom's most awkward game of red-light green-light hadn't been a disaster quite yet.

But with her own neck bowing under the weight of her big fat head in the pre-caffeine hours, Moondancer was having enough trouble keeping any kind of poise which was less awkward. She had to show some refinement and grace. Princess Luna was always something of a paragon of the 'night folk', as her researcher colleagues had dubbed them. They'd be pretty weirded out and jealous if they knew Luna smelled like old lavender.

Okay maybe she would be too. Backing off a step or two from the prestigious, prodigious Princess in front of her, the Unicorn's thoughts stall just a little...

'Eyes high, Moony. Don't let her think you're staring. You just admire her in the normal way. Oh mare is this awkward.'

Celestia's voice shatters Moondancer's off-kilter musing. “Are you sure-”

“I'm fine.” Luna's terseness ends that round of conversation like the few other attempted blurts that preceded it from the medical quarters. The quiet that passes between the diarchs had been suffocating for just about every pony in earshot. Still, Celestia keeps apace of Luna and supports the shaking mare as best she can. It was kind of adorable if it wasn't also so disconcerting and paradigm altering. Luna was always the ancient warrior mystic of legend, now it was just uncomfortable.

The younger of the diarchs occasionally shudders or spasms with nervous twitches, but her grim scowl and wide teal eyes betray a spark of resolve unseen in an age. Again, Moondancer was only catching the glare when she looks Celestia's way so it might have been anything. Sure, Celestia had been 'allowed' her moment earlier, but the Princess of the Night had permitted it only so long. Celestia seemed to have wordlessly relented after five or ten minutes.

With another short fizzling 'pop' and a surprised snort from one of the Night guard mares, Twilight blinked into existence with a little flap of her wings that brushes across Moondancer's side. The Unicorn gives a little 'eep' as Twilight's far-too-loud voice booms, “Sorry, sorry, Sunset's asleep now or... I think she is."

Celestia turns and Luna's attention follows a moment later. “Is she any better?” Celestia's sincere question sees Twilight's ears folding against her skull.

“She's asleep,”Twilight confesses more quietly, “but I should still keep an eye on her. She's my friend and I got her into this.”

'Filly, you got me into this!' Moondancer scrunches up her muzzle.

A still frazzled Starlight and Trixie both stumble along, barely registering Twilight's reappearance. Neither appear to have gotten much sleep, and Moondancer more than sympathized. At least with Starlight.

'Trixie can go suck an changeling egg.'

A taut tail swat on her rump goads Moondancer to a state of semi-wakefulness. She flashes Twilight a red-hued approximation of a glare that she saw reflected as more 'befuddled' than angry in her friends eyes. Twilight beams reassuringly, but the faint lines of concern still stretch across her muzzle. But she did try to incline her head to say 'keep up'. She was also brushing her side in some mockery of 'personal space'. Twilight had wedged herself in the small spot between herself and Starlight.

Shoved aside just a little, it was an excuse to get out of some very awkward sight lines but it also felt like she was being shoved out into the ring of guards. That feeling stops as Twilight presses her barrel into Moondancer's, as if she needed some form of reassurance.

“It'll be okay.” Twilight whispers, and suddenly, the sensation of a friendly embrace over her neck graces the Unicorn. And all the irritation and rancor melts in the slight glow of warmth and comfort.

“Mmmphkay.” the warble passes Moondancers lips like a drunken hiccup. The chuff of laughter from Twilight's chest was both humiliating and still somewhat soothing. Kinda like she expected her father would do had he been here.

The group crosses through the narrow nave of the cluster of royal residences, the Celestial Sisters towers jutting up next to one another, but still separated by a little chamber no different than a hallway. Or at least, in the light of day it was just a hallway, but in this strange quasi-dawn the shadows grew deeper and light glints harsher.

The first of the guards crosses the sigil of the Equestrian diarchy and scrambles across to the doors on the far side of the room. They're swiftly sealed, and she takes up a position facing the closed entrance as the group swiftly blocks off every unused entrance while others surround their rulers in a protective ring of iron. Turning sharply, the party meets another chamber and a spiralling staircase leading ever upward.

The Lunar tower.

It isn't until then that all but two of Celestia's guards peel off. The half-score form two neat gilded ranks and shut the door. And there, behind the group that neatly ascends the curving slate steps, they wait to bar entry to any that would interfere.

“So.” Twilight starts, stifling an errant yawn. “Is the spell the same one that you used to find the Tantabus?”

Evidently the question was heard as the Princess's ears swivel back to face Twilight. “Its substance is the same, Twilight Sparkle, though several safeguards need to be implemented.” With a flick of her head, she barely avoids stumbling on the steps as her left hind-hoof kicks reflexively. Celestia swiftly leans in, wing enfolding her sister to keep her from tumbling on the sharp steps. Luna hesitates, but ascending the spiralling staircase another floor, the Princess of the Night continues albeit more quietly. “The creatures on the other side know dream magic. They may not be adept, but they are linked together and have a great deal of raw magical potential. They are... problematic.”

Her eyes travel to Celestia's, and the very word made the elder sister suck in a breath and fix her with glimmer of lingering concern. Ignoring the glance, the slender midnight blue Alicorn continues with her gaze partially falling back on Twilight.

Steeling herself with a breath, Twilight asks the question that had gone unanswered. “Princess Luna, why do we have to do this now? You should be rest-”

“No.” Again came a repeated answer. But a counter-glare from Celestia meets it again, as she'd been the last one to give voice to it. Twice.

And this time Luna can only sigh. Her neck stiffens and her voice slips into the chilly tones of her regal bearing. “Due to circumstances, We may have told a colt to do something he was ill prepared to do. And We left a friend to fend for himself. One without the aid of dream magic. Our return was an... unanticipated miscalculation. Once the colt's dream was soothed, We anticipated that We could find and return to Our friends dream to aid him further. But, it seems that We were drawn back when the colt suddenly awoke. It was not gradual, so there was no time to circumvent the effect.”

Luna swallows hard. It must have been hard enough to admit she'd made a mistake. But now she was struggling just to get up the steps, swaying side to side with only Celestia's guiding wing to keep her from drifting.

Twilight follows close behind, tugging a slightly worried Moondancer with her. But, for the first time since the indignant shout at her bedroom door, Trixie mutters under her breath. “Starlight, does Trixie have this right: we were woken up in the middle of the night to try to help a pony fall asleep to... wake up somepony else? Is that really what's going on?” Trixie quietly muses, likely just meaning it to pass between herself and Starlight. “Frankly, Trixie isn't certain that Princess Luna isn't the bearer of the element of Irony, if that is the case.”

“Thou could have stayed abed, showmare Lulamoon." Luna's backs back, flicking her tail in irritation and leaving a cream Unicorn's eye twitching uncomfortably. "Thou art unimportant. Starlight Glimmer, however, may be of some practical use as her capabilities are impressive.”

Moondancer's breath hitches, and it could have sounded like a hiccup if the mare didn't know her friend better. Trixie, evidently, knew it too and fixed her with a sour glare to match her own rapidly reddening face.

The rest of the ascent takes more time as Luna seemingly requires more and more aid from her sister, but it goes by in silence. The group travels up the swirling steps and past the little landings that spiral out into other private chambers, laboratories, studies, and what looked like a salon. Two large solar guard stallions still follow on Celestia's right while Luna's delegation seals off rooms before returning to the protective ring. That all stops once they reach the summit.

Past Luna's personal quarters, the final stairwell arches up into the pre-dawn aeries of Canterlot Castle. A single door is thrown open, allowing them out onto the balcony overlooking the city. A bluster of wind whisks in, chilly and cool for the late summer. The dawn was fixed in some strange-half maturation, tines of rich colours swirling in the heavens, but no trace of the sun itself. Their sun was the alabaster Princess who still embraces her sister. The bright illumination from her glowing horn acts like a flare, radiating heat and warmth from the blue-grey emulsion swirls painted on the tower's upper reaches.

As they proceed out into the wind-lashed pre-dawn, the Night guard finally fall into their defensive ring, spreading out fully across the balcony. Unicorn, Thestral, Earth ponies, male and female alike: the armoured warriors spread out five paces apart and face outward to oversee the world around them. Meanwhile, Luna and Celestia make their way up and around the tower to a single locked room heading up into the pinnacle room.

The observatory was well known to Moondancer, she'd seen it from a similar structure barely a stone's throw away. But Luna's horn weakly glitters, casting a pale blue glow on the door. Pure white moonlit sigils glow along the unassuming frame.

'Arcane runic wards?'

Moondancer looks again, seeing others burn off. Some most definitely were protective and deeply etched glyphs, but others flake away with the faint arcane scent of burning copper. There were even single-use scrying spells. The last two Solar guards take up a stance on either side of the door as it slowly groans open.

With a breathy rasp, Luna steps through even before Celestia, letting her sister's arcane light reveal the ill-used room. But even at a glance past her mentor and her younger sister, the ponies present could piece together that the room was no observatory.

The single chamber room smelled of dust and age, but the tang of copper and something else was never far from it. Star charts plaster the walls and a single large telescopic device juts downward from the ceiling, evidently directed at the moon. But those charts were subtly off, tracking something other than just the typical constellations. Light floods into the centre of the room, illuminating a clear non-reflective onyx floor. It was as if there was no floor at all, and everything floated above a pitch black abyss.

“Chalk and nightshade?” Starlight mutters, putting a name to what Moondancer had just caught a whiff of.

'That's it' Moondancer smirks, the familiarity of the arcane components putting her a little more at ease.

With a quiet creak, the chamber's doors close, locking the half dozen ponies inside: three Alicorns and three visibly more awkward Unicorns. It didn't fully dawn on Moondancer until Twilight and Starlight had wandered forwrd that she was just a few hooflengths from Trixie and the miserable whorse hadn't said a thing to her. No comments, no biting barbs... tired, scared, whatever it was it almost felt insulting. No, only the sound of hooves on stone disturb the deep abiding silence.

“Nightshade, Luna?” Celestia's question comes out quickly and easily.

The Princess of the Night, after a hesitant glance back at the door, clears her throat and replies. “It's calming and acts as a material component for some of Our purposes.”Luna trots into one of the corners of the room, plucking what looks like several canvas bags from a shaded recessed alcove.

Twilight lofts a brow as if synchronized with one from Starlight, but the Lunar Alicorn picked up her explanation before she could be interrupted. “We need to cross into the realm of dreams and catch the thread that we had before. Here is easier to concentrate, the magic stronger. It takes some preparation, but we can help ensure there is no interference from the outside.”

'This looks like a safe room for conjuration and evocation magics.' Moondancer pushes her glasses up her muzzle as she concentrates, mind parsing out the geometry of the walls and arcane resistant material. She'd have bet there was even lodestone somewhere arou-

“This looks a lot like a shielded evocation chamber, Princess.” Starlight ventures after a glance.

“I was just thinking that!” Twilight replies, both getting a glance from Luna. But it wasn't one of reproach, rather a slight curve of a smile not so different than that of Celestia's satisfied grin. It was only matched by Moondancer's silent smirk as she stole a glance at an unflinching Trixie who, evidently, hadn't caught what everypony present had.

“Good," Luna nods, "Then you may be able to guess other steps.” And sure enough, they could only bear witness to Luna pouring white chalk from the canvas bag and forming the arcane lines of some ritual circle.

“Luna,” Celestia prompts, getting no response. “Sister.” her voice more insistent. It catches Luna's attention via an ear flick but little else. “How do I help?”

“You don't." She calls back while carefully staring at the chalk line. Celestia visibly balks, hear rearing back as Luna continues, " I permitted you here to watch and guard, but you know as well as I that your power does not extend into the realm of dreams.”

“Well...” Starlight bites her lip.

Luna purses her lips and wrinkles her muzzle, “Without outside magical interference.”

“Okay, point taken.” Starlight says. But the heat of Luna's words just wasn't there, and even Twilight flashed a slightly satisfied smile at her student.

Which all begged the question, “W-what uh, what exactly did I... y'know, miss?” Moondancer mumbles to the last remaining pony next to her... realizing with dawning horror who it was. She promptly gets a chilly 'what are you looking at me for?' glower from Trixie.

Moondancer sighs, eyes slowly drifting to the astronomical equipment set in a great gimbal from the roof. 'Do I tell Luna her circle isn't quite round? It's a good ellipse, maybe it's some sort of orbit? The princess knows what she's doing.' It felt more reassuring than letting an exhausted pony, Alicorn or not, create what looked like a complex arcane circle.

Before she could let her rising unease out, Starlight gave rise to an equally important question, “So, what are we doing? Scrying a location?”

Luna's reply is instantaneous as she carefully spirals another line of pure white chalk on the non-reflective floor, “We're constructing a method to contact and converse with others across the worlds, yes."

"So why don't we just use Twilight's book as a focus, or the portal mirror in the basement?”

The chalk bag drops in a puff of white dust, and Luna's hard teal eyes lock with Starlights. The Unicorn takes a hesitant half-step back as she bites her lower lip at the Alicorn's approach, “Say that again.”

A series of connected teleportation flashes later, the group had left their entire cadre of guards far behind. The six ponies stand before the mirror, staring at the uncovered device so innocuously sitting in the middle of the room. Its dark frame and twisting floral decoration no different than a large gaudy piece in a Canterlot boutique.

Now that Twilight gave it a second look. Actually, she was almost certain Rarity had one just like that in her store.

Luna merely takes a breath, holding back something as she juts her chin out and bites the inside of her cheek. Her careful eyes study the outline of the frame before she turns, “Sister, I appreciate everything you've done to keep me safe. But your place is-”

“Don't even say it.” Celestia harrumphs indignantly. “You just came back to us. You're exhausted. I am not letting you go out there alo-”

“SISTER!” Luna fixes her elder sisters gaze and reaches up, brushing a hoof over her cheek. “I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing.

Celestia takes a breath and swallows. Soft magenta eyes sparkling as they rove to and fro, searching Luna's face for a moment. “Promise me you'll be safe?” her every action looking for hesitation or doubt.

Luna glances down, then lays her ears back. “I'll do my best.”

“Oh Luna...” Celestia sighs and embraces her sibling. “That’s not good enough.”

Luna tenses in surprise as the other Alicorn lets her go and trots purposefully towards the mirror. “W-wait!”

The aurora spangled mane billows as she approaches, and in a flash, she steps into the reflective surface. Silver ripples pool around her rapidly disappearing frame just as Luna bounds forward, entering a half second after.

Twilight blinks dumbly, not entirely comprehending as both of the royal sisters simply disappear without fanfare or warning. Twilight's muscles seize as the surprised voices filter in behind her.

“Starlight, the Princesses are gone.” Trixie's voice rises with a creeping note of panic.

Starlight clears her throat, but it does nothing to hide her apprehension, “W-well, at least we still have Twilight here.”

“I mean a REAL princesses!”

'Gee... thanks.'

And yet, at that moment, Twilight wasn't entirely certain she disagreed with at least the spirit of the complaint. Much like that impending dread of falling from the top of a tower, part of her just screamed 'jump and be done with it, it's gonna happen anyway'.

After a nervous wobbling amble forward, Twilight turns to stare at her cluster of confused friends... and Trixie. “Starlight,” she fixes her gaze on the stock-still Unicorn, “Princess Luna wanted your help. Are you coming?”

She caught their attention, and Starlight lofts a brow at the question. “She said I was powerful. But she's got Celestia in there so...” she lets her sentence drop. And with a nod, Twilight couldn't say she didn't feel the same way about herself. She wasn't really needed, either.

But nerving herself up with a flicker and ruffle of her wings, Twilight turns and bounds towards the mirror and plunges forward with a muffled whimper.

“Twilight TWILIGHT COME BACK! Trixie didn't mean you weren't a real princess, she meant Cadence! WAIT!”

With that weird statement still ringing in her ears, the Alicorn vanishes through the mirror, feeling the sideways yank so different from going to the human world.

The plane that Twilight emerged into wasn't the blasted monochromatic nightscape they had visited before, but something equally desolate. She squints against the glaring glow of a boiling heaven as if standing on the salt flats of San Palomino at mid-day. The baked hardpan crackles underhoof, dried into hexagonal desert pavement with tiny black rocks that scrape and crackle with every step.

But the reason becomes blatantly clear in moments. Celestia and Luna both stand on the same little rise that they had visited before. Celestia blazed like the sun, tail and mane whipping in a radiating firestorm wild and bright enough to make Twilight's eyes ache. The blackened sky boil away to near milky white with just the faintest touch of blue. The only shadows cast coming from Luna's body blotting out a long shadow so deep and dark that the light couldn't hope to overwhelm it.

The Celestial pair stand staring at something, and Twilight could already hazard a guess at what.

'The horizon'.

Twilight carefully wings her way up the slope, alighting next to Celestia and opposite Luna.

“Well well, what do we have here? Hmm, a trio of transplanted Post-pony Princesses? Or would that be proto-pony princesses?” The serpentine figure of Discord pulls itself from the shadows wearing an enormous and, frankly, ridiculous pair of sunglasses.

Celestia's voice even rings distant as she stares off into the distance, “What is-”

“The maze.” Luna cuts her sister off, staring off into the horizon. And sure enough, much like last time, Twilight caught the impossible shape of the maze within the riotous maelstrom swirling angrily on the horizon.

But where it had once covered the entire sky, now wisps of it evaporate away in violent shocks of lightning wreathed hues. It hurt to look at, and part of Twilight could hear the thin wheezing scream of steam escaping in the distance.

“Oooo, you have seen it! Good girl. Somepony deserves head pats for perceptiveness.” Discord says while miming a 'pat-pat' gesture and grinning all the while.

“Don't insult me, you know why I'm here.” The dark Alicorn huffs.

Waggling a talon in his perked ear, the Draconequus just smirks. “Why else. To visit your brother from another mother. Although technically he doesn't have one either.”

“Discord, what are you talking about?” Celestia circles around, getting the serpent to perpetually use Luna as a sort of shield, holding up his mismatched hands defensively.

“Eaaaaasy easy, yeash. Alicorns. Soo testy, oops, thee of them... Grrrruk.” he tugs on his neck, stretching the skin like a collar. “Relax, it sounded better than 'curious kinda-friend' or 'biggliest boy-toy.' See, I'm being nice.” He shrugs, hands up submissively.

But Twilight turns from the slow circling spectacle whirling around Luna and back to the maelstrom. “It's a lot smaller than it was.” It whirls faster, spinning and rotating violently like the mathematical models she'd made of a galaxy for some of her fic- theoretical physics papers... that she hadn't shown anypony. Something about the colourful whirlpool converged on several points, and a single red vein slices right through the center.

Her statement draws Discord at least, who slips into the shadows, disappears, and re-emerges with a paw on Twilight's withers.

'Scuse me, personal space!' Twilight flashes a haughty glare at the Draconequus now using her as cover.

He smiles, then cocks his head to the side. “Ooooh how wonderful, that's two of three fillies. Okay, so, miss Smarty Science filly. Tell me this: have you ever put an ant under a magnifying glass?”

“E'What?! No! No of course not!” Twilight reels back from his touch, stumbling sidelong into Celestia. The Elder diarch steadies her with a flame wrought wing. Tiny effervescent embers lick at Twilight's coat, but she could only sense a warmth rather than blistering heat.

“And whyyyyy not?” Discord's smirk grows.

“Because the lens would magnify the intensity of the light, creating a ray that would probably scorch and hurt, or even kill it!” Twilight babbles before checking herself. And yet, the Prince of Chaos smiles with an energetic nod.

“Excellent. Ten points. Now, miss Sunny Days.” The Draconequus snaps his fingers as a little numbered scoreboard bursts into existence above their heads, “The next question is yours. When localized heat is applied to a cloud, what is the result?”

Celestia answers with a neutral meter that betrays her irritation with the Draconequus's antics, “short wavelength thermal radiation will reflect off water droplets, reflecting long range thermal radiation which will vaporize the water condensate in the immediate area, causing it to reform upwards as large thunderheads of cumulonimbus elsewhere.”

“Ah ah, no points for half answers.” Discord waggles a finger.

“The convective lift then causes wind, regional weather fronts, and storms.” The Solar Alicorn doesn't even blink as she stares unwaveringly at him.

“Yes. However,” Discord flips a cue card from his palm like a magician and tilts his glasses down. “I would have also accepted an rainy storm of chaos. Ten points, though I'm not so sure you deserve it.” he waggles the card at a none-too-impressed Celestia. “Now, miss Gloomy Mooney-”

“I don't have time to play.” Luna cuts him short and looks up at the maze, squinting for a moment.

“Oooooh you sound just like him.” Discord smirks and slips over Twilight and Celestia's backs, landing in a coil of scales and parts on her right before slithering up and over to Luna. Reaching over, the Draconequus grasps her shoulder and pulls her in. His serpentine tongue flicks out, forked and black as his solitary dagger-like fang protrudes with a mirthless grin. He grasps her head in his talons, turning it forcefully towards the shrinking maelstrom.

He cups a hand to her pivoting ear, and the voice comes through gnarled and vicious from the midst of the maelstrom.

“You will relent, Horus. You were to be the Chosen of the gods themselves, and what did you do but cast it away! You are abandoned. Abandoned by your sons, by your so-called friends, and by your damned creator! You are alone!”

“No.” A weak but defiant voice growls back with a hacking cough and the sound of spitting. “I'm merely holding your attention. Soon enough, I'll split your feathered skull open.”

Raucous, bitter laughter meets the statement. Its rankling sound bleeds through with the shrill cry of carrion birds. “Stupid short-sighted fool! How long has it been? A day, a month, a decade? You. Are. Alone! You're a child playing in the halls of kings, understanding nothing of the world around you!”

Even Twilight could hear the voices, as did Celestia by the crook of her head and faint distant gaze in her eyes. And she heard the bitter base growl, then the triumphant cackle of a chorus of discordant choirs. It was enough to churn something in her stomach as the raucous call echoes so aimlessly and miserably across the sun scorched flats. Twilight's ears flick as she hears a crunch, spotting Luna digging her hooves into the hardpan with a glare of malice clear across her muzzle.

“For today's daily double, and a chance to win.” Discord smirks and whispers the question so close and sibilant that it flicks the fluff of the Alicorn's ear. “Bear in mind, these places love symbolism. So, if our little mirror here was a flower, it is an evening primrose. Why?”

Celestia blinks, and Luna shoots Twilight a glance that said 'don't answer' which stops the youngest Alicorn cold. The princess of the night shoots Discord a vengeful glare, “It only opens up at night, and closes when directly in sunlight.”

Discord smiles and glances to Celestia, his grin growing ever wider by the moment until the knowing Cheshire smile consumes his entire face. “Precisely, I think we have a winner.”

“Morning, Garviel. Something the matter?” The speaker merely glances up from the plastron laid out across his lap, buffing pad still in hand. The glossy green armour reflected his thick jaw and dappling of new beard growth.

The triumvirate of captains walk in on commons room separating the series of personal chambers that make up garrison 26 block. X-III is etched on the brass plaque at the back of the round, marking out the group in question.

“Nero, get up.” Loken nods, gesturing to the pair of captains flanking him. “We've got something to attend too. Pick six other troopers and grab your gear, we only have room for ten. It's going to be cramped.”

Sergeant Nero Vipus nods once, standing and pointing at another enormous legionnaire in the back corner flipping over a series of cards. “Setar, grab the heavy flame set on your way out. Caphon, Basek, Kamphaddon, Larakkon, Marcellus, you're with me.”

Other legionnaires nod, already rising. They didn't need a 'why', something Marr was now eminently grateful for as he half-cocks his head quizzically to catch Torgaddon's attention.

“What's the matter, Tybalt?” Torgaddon flashes a wane smirk, “Don't have a squad who will just follow you to oblivion in good faith?”

“Not these days.” The line captain grumbles.

“Well, if it's any consolation, this lot think Garvi's crazy too.” he clasps the fellow captain's shoulder with a wry grin and little shake. “It's just that they got used to his stoic straight up and down kind of crazy a while back.”

Looking at the squad of legionnaires rapidly breaking up to seize armoured plates and equipment, Marr lets a thin breath pass his lips. “Lucky.”

“Isn't he?”

Chapter 23: Unto the Breach

“Can't you see I'm busy, captain?” Erebus's thin reedy voice whispers from the ether coalescing from the hide bound book. Incandescent blue and white mist froths in billowing clouds that drift down from the red spattered page.

Targost steadies the book in on gnarled hand as it clutches the leather while the clotted stump holds down the other side on the uneven surface. “I apologize, First Chaplain, but we have a problem.”

The response stutters for a moment before Erebus's disembodied voice rasps irritably, “What kind of problems?”

“Chief Apothecary Vaddon is dead, and he was in contact with Loken and Torgaddon just moments before. The Anathame is beyond our grasp.” Targost bites his lip, eyes still fixed on a small glittering point of softly pulsing light in the midst of a barely outlined eight-point star.

“Dead?!” The voice seethes and hisses again. “Loken. That self aggrandizing mutt? I thought you were watching him? Listen to me carefully, Serghar, you MUST get the Anatheme blade. Its powers are-”

“Erebus!” Targost's roar halts the First Chaplain. “He said it was made to kill Horus Lupercal. That's not what it was for, was it?”

Not even a breath passes before Erebus's churlish huff breaks the silence, “And that's what Vaddon told you, did he?” But there was a degree of wariness.

Erebus lets the moment pass as Targost presses the book down harder, as if looming down on it. More red seeps into the pages and bubbles up through the parchment. “Whatever gods and plans you have, be damned; if you planned to kill Horus I will skin you alive and then throw you to Abaddon to finish off. Do you hear me?!”

“Have a little faith, Serghar. The Anatheme is, indeed, the blade that wounded the Warmaster. However” he carries on in a breath that couldn't be interrupted, “it would never kill him. We got to him in time, and he is even now, remaking the future of the galaxy. He is being healed by our ministrations. Horus Lupercal is safe and sound, and will be returned to us in full health soon enough.” Erebus's timbre slowly melts from irate to the steady sacerdotal rhythm of his station. “It is the way forward, to save Horus from a far worse betrayal that would come to pass.”

“Answer me truthfully, did you know about this Erebus? Did you have a part to play?” Targost's twin hearts seize in his chest as he stares into the focal point. He sniffs back a wetness forming on his upper lip while glaring into the roiling abyss.

“No.” Erebus replies with methodical ease, “I would never seek to wound the Warmaster, kill his sons, nor manipulate him. I have seen the architecture of the future, of the greatness of our kind. I have seen the ruin and deprivation that will arise if we do nothing. What are salvaging the future. What we do is saving humanity. I would not risk Horus Lupercal. Ever.” Erebus replies, every trace of his former ill humours banished.

“Swear it to me, Erebus. Swear to me that you are here to help the Lupercal and that Vaddon was wrong and there is no plot to murder Horus.” Targost's breath still rasps shallow as the black green fog whispers down from the skulls watching over the fell communion.

Serghar Targost waits, the open book splayed across the corpse of Timmult Vaddon. The apothecary's blood soaks into the pages like water in a sponge. But still the Lodge Master hunches over the body like a carrion feeder, awaiting his answer.

“Serghar Targost,” Erebus croons, “you are the disciple of change within the sixteenth legion, I swear on my life, that I would not lie to you. The Anatheme blade is dangerous, yes, but its powers are multitudinous. It must be reclaimed. It is a weapon of the xeno that can be turned to our purpose with remarkable ease. With it, all who oppose us shall fall by our hands. Eyes will be opened to the true dangers that encompass us. Serghar-”

“I can't reach it.” Targost sighs heavily, falling back on his knees as he kneels back in the cold puddle gathering around him.

“What?”

Sensing almost an implicit eye-twitch of irritation, Targost takes a breath and swallows back the mixture of saliva and blood seeping into the hollow of his cheek. “Vaddon locked it in the genevaults. And you know that only the Primarch or a legion's Chief Apothecary can gain entry.” The revelation results in a moment of silence, letting the captain sniff as more liquid dribbles from his upper lip. The bitter tang of copper doesn't even register as the sanguine droplet falls into the roiling mist and disappears.

Erebus's reply is icy, pensive, and paced, “I see.” After a moment, the First Chaplain continues, “I can handle that. But we must be careful as every moment that passes is a moment closer to the edge. The death of the Chief Apothecary is both unfortunate and problematic.”

“So is this.” He tries to raise the stump, though it stuck to the page in the grip of rigor mortis. “How do I explain a missing hand, Erebus?”

“As I said, have a little faith. At this time it is imperative that you keep the tome and the body of Timmult Vaddon safe. Hmmm...” a moment of pause brings Erebus's voice back to its pensive rasp, “I still have need of you, Serghar. But that will come in time. Now, you said that Vaddon made some assumptions and had contacts, where are they now?”

“Atmospheric re-entry complete. Please be ready for imminent impact.” The soft female voice whispers into each and every helmet before a single melodic chime breaks the silence. Harsh red strobe lights glint off pale green plate and armourglass lenses for another moment before mellowing to a steady amber.

Torgaddon cackles a little before sighing wistfully, “Well, at least she's in a good mood.”

“It's a machine spirit, Tarik." Tybalt Marr snorts, "They don't have 'moods'.”

“What? You serious, Marr?" Torgaddon's helmeted face cranes forward towards the grav harness on his chest. Marr could almost see the lofted brow and methodical smirk behind the fellow captain's helmet, "Never had a temperamental Land Raider buck you around a time or two and wonder if it weren't just holding a grudge?”

Just then, the shivering drop craft gave a series of juddering groans as it plunges into an even steeper descent. But the mechanical growl didn't disappear right away. It calls from across the circle of grav harnesses strapping in ten armoured figures around the edges of the ribbed hull. They hunch in their spider-like web of restraints around a single great metal iris in the floor.

Loken lolls his head low to his chest, the quiet grunt and snarl of disapproval rising as the vehicle rolls and the inertia compensators struggle to catch up. “I hate drop pods.” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“A Dreadclaw is actually an assault boat, because it doesn't have to be recovered by something else.” Nero Vipus's stern voice and helm mask the slight mirth almost certain to be dancing across the aged veteran's face.

Now an even more disconcerted growl echoes from Loken's helm. He takes in a sharp breath when the dreadclaw's descent becomes even steeper.

“Attention, attention: fifteen seconds until retro-thruster deceleration.” The Dreadclaw's feminine machine spirit urges the fully aware squad. Though most of Squad Locasta looks unaffected, Loken slowly raises his head up, gaze quickly tracking to Marr.

A sharp metal glint stands out on his right vambracer as he sheathes his combat blade. A simple insignia stands out starkly in the pale yellow glow, glittering with a brand new edge only seconds old. Scraped in the armour panel was the image of a waxing moon. Taking a scrap of cloth, he wraps it around his bracer and audibly intones, “I will bring back the Lupercal. By the light of the moon and in the witness of my brethren, I do here swear by it. No force in the heavens or the earth shall stop me.” An Oath of Moment had been made.

The vox springs to life amid the crackle of atmospheric interference, and Loken cocks his head to the side. A small vox icon and ID from 5th company flickers to life in the corner of his retinal display. “Loken! Loken I know that's you! What are you doing?!” Horus Aximand's strained tenor voice stammers before cutting out abruptly.

Loken merely blinks as he spots the terminated vox-link sigil. He glances up and over at Torgaddon who's shoulders lift with a shrug, "Not really the time, is it?" Despite the haste, they were too far in now to amend or argue their plan with anyone.

Five.

The Dreadclaw's machine spirit flashes an indicator icon in squad Locasta's retinal displays.

“Remember, standard breach doctrine.” Vipus quickly looks at his squad as the Dreadclaw's retrothrusters scream to life with a raptor's shriek.

Four.

'Sir, yes sir!' Six voices echo with the force of thundering rockets.

Three.

“Kill for the living,” Loken's bass grunt intones the beginning of the Legion motto mingled with the racking slide of a bolt gun.

Two.

“Kill for the dead.” Marr finishes, tapping his armoured finger against the leather grip of his sheathed longblade.

One.

“Kill for the Lupercal!” Torgaddon takes up his own epilogue.

Mark.

The dreadclaw shudders with a scream of rushing air, and a sudden whir of compressed liquid floods through pipes beneath their armoured feet. The screaming cry of melta nozzels compressing super-heated gas fills the compartment as the bone-shattering jutter was made only vaguely tolerable to the post-human warriors through the grav-harnesses.

The mag-locks snap open with a magnetic buzz, releasing the warriors from their restraints. Even as the astartes find their footing amid the nauseating lurch of the inertial compensators, the hardened ceramite iris slowly changes colour as the melta cutters begin their work on the outside hull. The ceramite brightens from dull grey to a faint red, then slowly heating up past other incandescent hues. The squeal of pumps feeding the fuel hoses sends sucking sounds through the compartment. It stops, and just a moment later, the iris expands and flicks open with a rasping scrape.

'LUPERCAL! LUPERCAL!'

The words come unbidden, but not unwelcome, as the first footfalls clamour across the unadorned metal grating. Loken and Vipus take the lead, surging out with bolt pistols leveled as they vault through the breach.

Incandescent heat blooms wash back through the compartment as a thick slag of rapidly cooling stone sloughs to the floor. More than three feet of stone had been bored through by the Dreadclaw's melta array, leaving a slurry of rapidly cooling lava that cast a dull hellish glow on the surrounding rockface.

There was no other light, not that the astartes needed it as the storm squad plunges into the breach. There was, likewise, no room for subtly. The revving of a chain bayonet attached to Kamphaddon and Caphon's bolters echo as loudly as the snarling of Loken's chainsword. Pale green figures splash through the lava, spitting up liquid fire that spatters the wall.

They turn into a narrow tunnel that looks like a natural volcanic pipe. The rock shimmers glossy black, everything naturally bored rather than roughly hewn. Ten astartes rush through the hallways, barely taller or broader than themselves. Already the wash of crackling static rings in their helmets as unwanted background noise.

Loken blink-clicks a squad vox frequency, “Try to modulate the frequency and filter it, Basek.”

“Trying," the vox-specialist replies with a grunt, "but we're getting the same kind of atmospheric breakup as on sixty-three-nineteen.”

Loken's pace stutters for a second, but he redoubles it in an instant when a glint of metal appears from up the run. “Keep me appraised. Vipus, corridor coming up, break and breach!”

Taking the bend, the glint of metal came from a silver stake driven into the rockface. A twisted braid of horse hair strings a rotted line of vermin carcasses up by their necks. A low rasping wind billows up from the corridor ahead, bringing with it flashing alarm sigils warning of concentrated methane and pollutants in the air. Loken took the corner, bolter upraised as he scans the empty passageway that curved around into the tower.

He spots the shadow, and instead of wandering forward, calls to his squad. “Grenade it!” Even before the words left his lips, the jangle of a pin and durasteel leaver patters to the floor. Vipus pitches the fist-sized explosive forcefully down the corridor, cracking it off stone and bouncing it around the bend out of sight.

The throaty roar blasts bits of rock and meat back into the shallow run. Loken marks off holographic markers on the tactical display, calling to the squad, “Stairs, five meters left.”

Marr takes the lead, darting past them with his long bladed sword clenched in both hands. He'd mag locked the pistol and boltgun to his waist and charged in with only the long Cthonian blade. A clamour of confused voices bleeds in from the chambers beneath them as Locasta charges down the steps.

Loken slips back in the pack,“Nero, take that run.”

Vipus points, dispatching Caphon and Larekkon while he and Loken rejoins the advancing main body as they descend the steps. The sound of startled shouting breaks the silence along with a bestial snarl. He'd missed just two or three seconds, but already Loken was drawing up his pistol as they emerged into a wide open chamber. A trio of conjoined altars stand upon a dais at the centre of the room, surrounded by a small coterie of animal fur clad cultists. There was few words better or more accurate than that.

Just over a dozen sickly humans milled about in the flickering blue methane flames housed by corroded copper lanterns ringing the room. Their apparent leader was a hulking simian thing of mangy greying fur, fecund fat, and layers of pocks marring her blistered blubber. Her curled and broken horned ceremonial helm held a white wedding veil of antiquity, green tinged lace and little jangling bells rang from tassels on her matted fur gown. She barely could suck in a wet and sloppy breath through the veil before Marr flung himself at her.

Marr barrels through the host, shouldering one waif-like man aside and overrunning a second that crunches with a scream under his boot. But the captain didn't look anywhere but the bloated form of the simian priestess, letting out a wordless roar that shakes the room. The snapping blade sweeps through the air with a wide stroke and continues effortlessly through her body, sizzling through fat and meat alike. A follow-up kick spatters the bisected corpse across the raised dais, flopping coils of innards in a greasy heap.

A wail escapes some, a shriek of alarm some of the others. But human bodies couldn't compete with the post-human killing machines. Squad Locasta only begins to fan out as the first bolt shots ring out in the enclosure.

Loken twists his pistol at a man with thin milky skin, distended body and bubbled clusters of buboes clustered at his armpit. The snub barrel flares to life, kicking back in the same second as the creature's upper half bulges and explodes in a pink mist.

Select shots patter down like rain. Just more than half a dozen ring with deafening thunderclaps, leaving ragged meat and red streaks. Several had been hit simultaneously. There was even less left of them as the mass-reactive munitions made human flesh almost unrecognizable.

A bronze bell tolls, echoing in the tower and shaking the ground. A wheezing cackle echoes from the upper half of the bisected priestess. She clutches her staff, still laying split open on the floor. “Sons of star light, wolves of night. By Nurglith, you will d-”

The static crack of another bolt blasts her upper body into pulp. Torgaddon just shrugs, bolter barrel wafting smoke. “I thought we didn't have time to stop and talk, otherwise I might have been a little less sharp with Aximand. C'mon, keep up!” He lopes forward towards an egress room in the right general direction of the spoke-like halls connecting to the main temple. Locasta hurries behind him.

Nero Vipus's voice echoes with a crackle. “Caphon, Larekkon, report!”

Nothing but the sound of buzzing responds. It wasn't static interference, but the sound of flies. A short glance to Basek gets a faint roll of the legionnaire's shoulders, “The walls are thick and I don't have a full nuncio-vox. Could be any number of reasons.”

“And until we know, I don't like it." Loken grumbles, clenching his teeth, "It's too close to what happened at the Whisperhead.”

Marr closes in to Loken's side as they hurry into a small antechamber, “what happened at the Whisperhead?”

“I'll tell you later, Tybalt.” Loken waves Marr off as the antechamber looms up before them.

Dual doors stand wide open with shafts of pale sickly light cast from behind rows of broad embossed columns. As large around as an astartes was wide and towering ten meters high, three centerline pillars block out most of the view of the corridor beyond, and two pairs support the arched roof on either side. Each looked like a mockery of a tree, festooned with carved fruit and tangled vines.

Marr and Kamphaddon are the first to cross the threshold, almost simultaneously. A sickly burbling bellow roils in the chamber as wraith like figures pull themselves from the deepest shadows. Pale yellow light becomes a sickly sallow sheen, and already the groan of doors closing meets their armours' preysense.

Kamphaddon guns the chain attachment on his bolter, sending it screaming back a challenge as the first figures all but materialize from behind each of the pillars. Seven bulbous shapes shamble out into the glassy marble room, plodding on grotesquely swollen limbs as fat and thick around as tree trunks. The droning buzz of flies spews out from the columns, blotting out the armours' finely tuned optics in a mass of squirming insects.

Loken points with his pistol, "Setar, hit it!”

“The methane, Loken!” The special weapons specialist's gaze snaps to his commanding officer.

“Do it!”

With a sharp whine, the pilot light on Setar's flamer snaps to life. The methane chocked room took as well as any promethium canister. With a single wildcat roar, sheets of flame blossom out from the back of the legionnaire's formation, sending incandescent clouds of pale white and blue billowing out in a tumbling torrent. The swarms of flies evaporate, burned to less than cinders as the sucking whine of combusting air fills the cavern.

The licking tongues of flame lap around the pillars, showing the squirming reliefs of rot, life, and ruin: maggot cored fruits and unnatural growths adorn each of the carvings. And their tenders look little better with pale swollen skin bulging from between grey-green armour plates nearly the same as the Legion's own.

And in moments, the firestorm snuffs itself out, leaving the last few trailing tendrils of flame flicking through the air. Armour indicators flash heat warning signs as the armour lenses fade back from the opaque black, no longer obscured by insects or their own protective measures.

The first shout of surprise registers a half second later. An axe blade as broad as Loken's chest had crashed down on Kamphaddon's pauldron, slipped in the gap, and chopped clear into his torso.

The obscene guardians had still approached through the conflagration, seemingly inured to pain. Even though skin sloughed off on weapon handles, and armour plates sizzled, they had plunged through the firestorm at the Sons of Horus. Kamphaddon reels back as Marr grips his crackling longsword and swings it hard at the obese half-smouldering creature. The powered blade hacks through layers of molten fat and ruined leather plate before lodging fast against its spine.

Kamphaddon snarls, his right arm all but severed by the corroded axe embedded deep in his clavicle. He tugs back, other hand reaching for his pistol. The snub barreled side arm buries itself in the rippling folds of slimy skin before the muffled thumps of detonating bolts rocks through its form.

“Aim for the head, the head!" Torgaddon roars, though it breaks into a mirthful laugh, "Forget about the Glory of Terra already?”

The chorus of bolt fire rises immediately. Kamphaddon's assailant bulges under each shot before an internal blast bucks Marr's blade free, and the captain wrenches it sideways with a howl of anger, bisecting the creature's midriff. It tumbles backwards, nearly sliced in two.

The hail of bolt fire from lights the chamber again in stark monochromatic relief. One of the bulbous figures collapses to one knee, the limb severed above the ankle before bracketing fire walks up its torso and into its head. Even then it uses its axe heft to pull itself closer, like an aged patriarch with a walking stick.

But still the others encroach in a wide semi-circle, those at the back shuffling to use the pillars or their compatriots as cover.

Loken's bolt pistol runs dry after another round slams into one of the guardian's skulls, emptying it out like a broken soup bowl. But It staggers and shuffles, awkwardly clinging to life for longer than it had any right too. Stowing his pistol, the same motion produces a single round object. Flicking the pin free, he tosses it at a third guardian raising its axe up for an overhead swing at Basek. Nero pauses and jumps back as Loken's grenade makes contact.

With a whip-crack, the creature bursts into scraps of skin and misting fluids. Bits of its armour and several unidentifiable pieces ricochet off the walls. But amid the krak grenade's commotion, Loken's own proximity senses warned him of something emerging behind him.

He turns, hoping to spot Caphon or Larekkon, but a sluggish shape of grotesque size pulls its slovenly form from behind the altar.

“Nurglith gifts those who are humble and worthy.” a barely feminine voice rasps as the sickly mire of ruined cult limbs begin to pool and flow towards her.

“Right, no time for that either.” Torgaddon darts forward, ducking low and bringing the trailing end of his blade up under his opponent's guard. It slices deep and gouges out a lump of engorged tissue before a backhand cracks across his power pack. The shove sends him skidding several paces, but he promptly springs right back, slamming the full blade through the creature's unprotected back and driving the tip through its sternum.

The thick set simian face looks down at the hazy blue blade protruding from its chest. Its fanged maw drools blood as the axe drops from its hands. Torgaddon twists the blade, straining to wrench it free as it lodges in the bone. But the Davinite clutches the sizzling blade and, with a wet growl of effort, brings its palm straight against the flat. In a spluttering crackle of energy, the tip of the sword snaps off, sending scads of violent uncontained energy crackling from the shattered steel.

“Oh, oh that damned well didn't just happen!” With a snarl of anger, Torgaddon's combat blade glints from its sheath and he plunges it down into the back of the creature's head, splitting it wide open. It collapses forward, taking both blades with it and leaving Tarik a moment of disbelief, almost dully looking up at Loken who had no better response to give.

Wrenching the ruined sword free with a grunt, the rest of Locasta darts by him, pumping shots into the two remaining creatures. Bolts carve torrents from the flesh, but others skip off the stone pillars as they clear at least a single lane through the room.

“Well this is an oath damned Cthonic tragedy, this is.” Tarik looks at the shattered and sparking power sword in disbelief. The combat blade is torn free a moment later, though the captain was stuck near the back of the squad.

But by then, the thick stone doors were shut, and the two remaining guardians and the lumbering monstrosity from the altar room slowly amble forward.

Loken quickly stows his chainsword and draws a large canister enclosed charge.

“Not how I pictured my day going, honestly.” Nero Vipus calls from right next to him, dropping to one knee and snapping a trio of rapid fire shots at the first creature. It had held a swollen hand in front of its face, taking the bolt shots and blowing massive craters in its forearm. But still it kept coming.

“Doubt anyone saw today going like this." Loken growls as he clamps the bulky melta charge in place, "Alright, stand back, melta breach in three!” He twists the handle and flicks the ignition toggle in a single motion while taking a step back.

The device makes a whirring noise for a moment before a series of conduit pops let a building screech fill the air. It glows as the chemical reaction turns the stone from dull grey through the spectrum of fiery colours until a clear two meter section was pure white and giving off rippling heat waves. And with a thump-crack, the melta bomb's charge blasts the softened material outwards, sending scorching hot rock spattering out in a cone behind the door and leaving a sizable gap in its wake.

Setar's pistol shot tore the foot from one creature only for Vipus to blast out the back of its neck and spine with a single precision shot.

“I'd say we can take them, but lets leave some fun for the way back, right?” Torgaddon's hand shoots out, clamping down on Marr's pauldron before he could fling himself at the remaining creatures.

Torgaddon gets a deep guttural growl and a single nod. “Not the plan.” Marr grouses aloud. But as Locasta filters through the door and into the start of the causeway, Marr was still the last to leave, never turning his back on the obscene monstrosities.

Loken had since resumed the lead, stepping into the causeway and making room. But it wasn't what they had been expecting. The massive spoke connecting to the main temple was a single enormous stairway, both sides dipping down to a V some seventy meters below where long pools and what was likely subterranean vaults skirted off in narrow runs into the honeycomb like labyrinth. The walls tower and arch twenty meters above them in ribbed stanchions all lined with narrow seemingly inaccessible causeways.

Movement on the far landing, some hundred and fifty meters distance, alerts Loken at once. Seven more Davinite tribesmen seem shocked at their sudden appearance. They stammer, pausing awkwardly with flint spears and hide shields. A quick staccato burst of bolter fire from Vipus and Marcellus drops them in a heartbeat. They were thankfully far easier to kill. But the buzzing hadn't stopped, in fact, it was only growing louder.

“Cover the steps and watch for tricks." Loken's voice softens despite the heady beat of adrenaline surging through his blood, "Marcellus, Basek, cover those gantries up along the side! I don't like the look of this.”

“What's he doing?!” Aximand shouts, watching the con trials of the spider-limbed Dreadclaw drop-pod corkscrew towards the far tower. He hisses, though Ezekyle Abaddon and Kalus Ekkadon were already taking note. But It was Aximand who had reached his helmet first. Keying in an area-wide vox, he seethes through clenched teeth. “Loken! Loken I know that's you! What are you doing?!”

The static click kills the link, and Aximand was left to blink in surprise that his fellow mourneval member hadn't said a single damned word. He blinks, ignoring some question Abaddon barked at him. Ekaddon's did register with more than a hint of anger. “What's that stupid bastard up to?”

“Kalus, I don't know. I...” Aximand shakes his head. He could do little but watch as the Dreadclaw's pincer-like grappling arms spread out as it slams into the side of the tower and grabs. It latches itself on to the side like a limpet and settles as dust rains down from the crenelated structure. Fires flare from the tops of the other seven towers, catching Aximand's attention. “Damn you Garviel, you short-sighted fool. It wasn't supposed to be-” he cuts the thought free with a rough shake of his head. He unclasps the cloak and tosses it to the rain slicked steps. He'd made his choice, and Loken had made his.

“Probably that idiot Tarik, too.” Ekkadon mutters wryly, though Aximand couldn't tell if he was smirking or scowling.

“Abaddon, what's the plan?” Falkus Kibre's sharp tone calls from the summit of the steps.

Regardless of how the First captain answers, Aximand toggles the vox link and cycles to a company wide band: his company. “Yade. Lieutenant Yade Durso, get everyone down here on the double. Full breach kit.... now.”

Abaddon's roar of frustration was almost enough to shake the temple's very foundations. “We should take a Storm Eagle, blow that piece of trash off the tower, go in after them, and haul them back by their throats!” It wasn't an order, as impulsive as Abaddon was, he wasn't stupid. Whatever that motley collection was doing, it was too late to say 'no'.

“That's not the worst idea, Ezekyle.” Aximand offers up, turning to Abaddon. The First Captain glances down, rain soaked topknot slapping his neck as the murderous glare gave enough warning that he wasn't to be trifled with. “Reinforce the breach and push in, it's the only thing we can do, now.” Aximand shrugs, “then hope that Vaddon can find a cure or Erebus can smooth this over.”

Abaddon snarls a low, bestial growl. "I'll find Garviel, Tarik, and whatever other traitorous whoresons that are part of this, and bring them back in chains." Looking out over the landing ground, the First Captain then snaps a glare back over his shoulder to the breached tower of the Delphos, "Kiber, call down a gunship and bring me my damned armour!"

It hadn't been easy, and promises of caution were made in abundance to the solar regent, but the small cluster of ponies made their way towards the spiraling horizon. The tendril-like spans of ephemeral cloud boil away leaving leaching tines of violet tinged lightning in their wake.

Twilight chances a glance back, the catalyst for this all stands on the rise like a lighthouse in the dark. From here, what felt like countless leagues away, there was no single pony standing atop a hillock: but the sun come down to Equestria. Celestia blazes with a magnificence unknown, unseen by anypony in the last age. Where the horizon had once appeared in the same monolithic spinning darkness with its singular focus, now the world behind her boiled with a raging inferno that held back the abyss.

Each step forward was taken with a completely silent Luna, but slowly a single bass note rises from the swirling whirlpool in front of her.

“Are you sure this is the only way to help?” Twilight timidly asks as the shadows flee from her hoofsteps.

“Twilight," Luna intones in a quiet warning growl, "if you have any doubts, then turn back."

'Turn back, Little Star.'

It wasn't her mind, it was a whisper, a silent creeping sibilance hovering on her shoulder and lapping at her ear that came from elsewhere.

“I can't leave a friend.” Twilight replies with a shiver as the fur on her nape prickles.

Luna never stops, or looks away from the middle of the jet-black pool. “If you have doubts, it will twist them into fears. If you fear it, it has power over you. Twilight. Head back.”

Twilight steels herself, feeling a hoofstep forward falter. And pushes herself on with a far more resolute answer, "No."

Luna's teal eyes swirl with flickers of the distorting lightning as Twilight quickens her pace to pull up to Luna's right side. “Good.”

Twilight's ears suddenly itch as the sound feels like its cutting in and out. The first squealing shriek bellows in her ears, a blot of darkness swirling through the mist somewhere on their left just from her peripherals past Luna's muzzle. She looks, but already the hulking quadruped was burning away to clouds of billowing cinders.

Each ray of sunlight trickles by them, pressing in upon the maelstrom, and whatever misshapen monsters crawled from the mist were turned to ash.

“What are they?” Twilight's question slips from her lips, only having seen a hulking mass of angry red muscle.

Luna's upper lip peels back in distaste as she spots the horrid creatures lurking in the shadows. “I called them Blood Hounds, Horus called them Hellhounds, and Discord called them Flesh Hounds. I don't know if any is their true name, Twilight, but they are appropriate.”

“Horus?” Twilight's voice lowers to a squeak.

Luna nearly freezes, her trot continuing mechanically before she tilts her chin up in regal nonchalance, “He's the friend I made while I was... occupied.”

Through their lumbering trot, the winds suddenly changes. It turns from a gusting blast to a sucking torrent that pulls their manes and tails towards a single spiraling blackness. It draws closer, a wall of shifting shadows in the center of the twisting whirlpool now only as tall as the tallest spire on Canterlot Castle.

“I had hoped you found a new friend, but how will-” A whisper of a voice pricks Twilight's ears and she quiets to hear it's words. They echo in a language certainly not Ponish but understandable all the same.

'How shameless is the way these mortals blame the gods. From us alone they say come all their miseries. But they themselves, with their own reckless ways, compound their pains beyond their proper measure.'

Twilight freezes only long enough for Luna to sweep a wing behind her rump and forcefully shunt her forward. Twilight's hooves kick back into motion by the shove, and despite a tremor of fear at the bass whisper that echoed from everywhere and nowhere, she keeps trotting towards that event horizon.

“Ignore it." Luna snorts, lowering her head a bit and surging forward with her shoulder as if barreling through the attempt. But Twilight spots the change as Luna's star-spangled mane flares in the ethereal breeze, "They attempted such things before and it was disastrous. We will not allow them to do such again to another pony.”

“Who are 'they'?” Twilight's voice bubbles up, ears flicking and pivoting as more sibilant gasps and whispers pull from the surrounding air. The first tendril's serpentine caress slithers along her hind leg and she bucks hard. Looking around, she sees nothing was there, no wisps, no vines, no creature. But the still distant blaze of Celestia's solar glory still fills the distant hills in a tumultuous inferno of pure golden majesty.

“They call themselves 'The Powers' or 'the Primordials'. They are responsible for Nightmares. They appeal to you, try to offer you things, and they can not be trusted. No matter what they say.” Luna's voice drifts past warning to an almost mocking huff, disregarding the phantom-shades.

“How... how do you know?” Twilight pads up even closer to Luna's side, feathers brushing for a moment.

The nocturnal diarch treads forward, the stern glare plastered on her face almost disconcerting as the light dims to let swirls of crepuscular gloom cast writhing shadows across the ground. The single bass note impregnating the air around them rises in an arrhythmic drumbeat. “Because, a thousand years ago they offered me the same thing. I was foalish once, I won't be lured again. They can't lure me again. And I will not let them take him. Not everypony was as fortunate as myself to have a second chance, and I have already made a mistake that must be rectified, Twilight Sparkle.” her eyes, flinty and cold, burn with a icy cyan flame..

But for an instant, and just an instant, Twilight spots flecks of swirling gold in Luna's endless blue eyes. Something deep inside her constricting breast breaths one word:

'Serpent.'

Amidst the rising orchestra of disharmonious screeches and staccato drum beats, she spots the shadows drift out of their way as if allowing passage towards the ink-blot now just a hundred paces in front of them. Dark islands emerge from the maelstrom's eddies in insubstantial icebergs shrouded behind a shifting wall of liquid smoke.

And the singing began, carried on the mounting whine of the wind sucking her mane into a violet ribbon. It sounds like it came from behind her, back towards Celestia, back towards Equestria. But now... now she heard a steady voice, deep and rhythmic that tightens her chest.

'No longer. Now through the age lost in darkness, titans stride amongst the ruins of that which was once called sacred. Convinced of the final march of the gods, they say now it is profane, but know not from whence they came. Now the philosophers creed comes to rest at the feet of the oracles of the Delphus, those who conjure up the tides of fate across the sea of stars. Warrior-kings shall cast down empires, shattering the glistening marble and bronze facades of a false order pilfered from rightful powers. They shall regain their immortality and cast off the shackles of a perverse creed. The third age of mythology dawns anew. The Hand of Fate sends warrior pilgrims to bring an end to the lie of New Man. They will be the vanguard of mankind. They shall cast down the puissant bastions of Unbelief and pave the way for the chariots of the gods.'

Twilight's eyes widen as the chorus of the multitudes drifts to her ears. Her rising breath chokes out a single word, “Luna.”

“I hear it too.” She confirms, and the vortex emerges with a rasping growl of bestial hunger. Luna never stops, but her steps do slow for a moment. “Twilight, I have to go, but you don't. If you have any apprehension, go back. Now. This is it. Everypony and everything beyond this point will mean you harm.”

Cyan eyes search her and peer into her very core. For the first time in Twilight's memory, and she's sure she would have recalled if it had happened before, the veil of years peels back showing more than a thousand years of concentrated experience. Of disappointment. Of hardened emotions. But lethargy was gone, fear was gone, the weariness and note of indecision had fled from her. The princess of the night's Star-spangled mane twists and flares in the ghastly breath from the dark and foreboding ether. Comets and flashes of light dapple her normally serine mane, she was again the warrior of Equestria's distant age of legend.

The diadem clad princesses ruling over their little ponies had always seemed so wondrous, so vast and comforting. But to look upon the slightly taller Alicorn wasn't to gaze upon a mother, aunt, or sister: but a conqueror.

This wasn't a Luna she knew, and amid the whirling maelstrom that stretches around her, in the middle of shadows lurking in the dark, she couldn't help but glance back over her withers. Celestia's light was a soft yellow glow and nothing more. With a long steady breath, Twilight nods and looks back at Luna. “Alright, lets go.”

Luna nods once, sidling up next to Twilight, and heads straight towards the vacuous whirlpool.

“No matter what happens,” Luna folds a wing over Twilight's back and pulls her close, “I will protect you as best I can. Sister would be furious otherwise... but the light of the elements will be your guide, your talent and mind your shield. Trust in yourself, and know that we will take care of you no matter the trials you face.” Twilight feels a reassuring nuzzle from the dark Alicorn. It was odd, but so many fears and worries just melted away in a soft breath of evening primrose and lavender. It was comforting as they took their first step into the swirling maelstrom. The howl of discordant sound melds with the shifting liquid vortex that narrows to a single infinitesimal dot.

Setting hoof inside the threshold, the world snaps and with a cold rending scream, mountainous shadows shift in the deep. With a flash of lightning and scream of something primal, writhing talons grasp on to the lavender Alicorn and pull. Luna never lets go, but the flurry of bat wings and sweeping torrent of blood red murk cocoons around her. With a last unnatural howl, it pries the two Alicorns apart.

Chapter 24: In the Dark

Twilight couldn't even hear her own shrieks of surprise over the roar from the wall of liquid shadow bearing down on her. For other ponies, that may have been it as they were swept away like a leaf in a hurricane. But Twilight was far from the average pony. Her arcane instinct was drilled into her by years of rote and honed to near-perfection in the crucible of tasks that led to her becoming a princess.

In a flash, she projects a flickering shield as a single coherent thought and shuts out the chaotic storm in the infinitesimal moment before it crashed over her. Her own familiar ruby glow blots out the screeching maelstrom that scrapes past the arcane wall as the icy talons rage against the protective curtain. It screams at her, and Twilight can only hold the little bubble of energy together as the flensing gales rages against her protective sphere. It lasts for moments that seem like hours. The yawning howl of cyclonic winds blister past with a keening scream. But the Alicorn's senses swim as she's pulled into the midst of the abyssal whirlwind and shaken like a well mixed appletini. There wasn't even a ground: no up, no down, just the impenetrable hypnotic miasma of screaming black and purple colour.

When the winds die down and her eyes open again, everything the Alicorn knows is gone.

Where once there was the monochromatic desert, or the shadow draped hardpan, now there's only cold, wet, mildew encrusted cobblestone. Her magic provides that thin film under her hooves that keeps her apart from the slimy rock. But as the Alicorn stands alone in a refuse strewn alleyway, its putrescent stink of rotten offal and wet paper clings to every surface even before she can even dissipate the shield. All above her the skies roil in a blood red ocean, marred by clotted black clouds that she could only hope was all an unfortunate byproduct of the cherry-hued haze. Nerving herself up with a deep breath that turns into a gagging cough, Twilight pops the protective bubble. The fading sound of her protective magic rings with a familiar and almost cheery sound, the only one of its kind as she's greeted by a bleak and faded world.

All around her are towers and spires as far as the eye can see. The skeletal shambles of wildly dissimilar shanty town peaks jut from the skyline as they warp and sag at every opportunity. The mismatched shingles of aged roofs flap and clap in the dying winds that billow from the sanguine overcast sky. Each of the streets twist and wend under the aegis of overhanging wooden balconies that belly under their own weight in mocking emulation of Canterlot's resplendent grandeur. There's no green yards, no beautiful murals or painted walls, just cracked whitewash that flecked off of dull grime encrusted wooden slats. Taking a moment, Twilight swallows the rising tang of apprehension. The air hangs thick with acrid industrial runoff and cloying woodsmoke. All together, the chilly and lonely world sits in a deep and dismal melancholy wallow.

A thin trickle leaks from between her hind hooves, offending her nostrils with its awful stink. With a cringe, she steps out of the putrid rivulet of filth and into a shallow refuse heap. Looking down at some crumpled papers, she spots unfamiliar script in a distinctly different language. But she didn't need to read the message to recognize the eight-pointed star daubed so crudely over the avian emblem stamped on the fibrous parchment. It was the same symbol that etched itself in her book.

“Luna?” Twilight whisper shouts above the ambient noise, hearing only the distant whine of wind as if sifts through gaps in tall spires and meanders through empty streets. The Alicorn glances behind her, seeing shut doors in a winding alleyway. A sagging cart laden with splintered bits, ruined stone, and rotten sacks block her immediate path. Bellying down to crawl under only seemed worse as the bottom dripped stagnant fluids into that sickly stream.

“Princess Luna?!" Twilight's shout rises louder this time, echoing off the warped wooden walls before filtering off into the dim scarlet sky. But another sound greets her. Rather than the lonesome wiles of the unknown wind, a creek of rusty metal and steady clop of shod hooves draws her forward. Somepony else could help.

Darting forward to the mouth of the alleyway where a splintered wooden crate lies in neglect, she peers out into the small roadway that her alleyway had funneled her.

It's a cold and dreary sight as she catches a glimpse of the supposed po- that's not a pony. Two grotesque figures resemble some bipedal human, legs severed and replaced with iron limbs that clap down at every step in pale imitation of hooves. They set their backs low, bent under the yoke of a heavy cart heaped with smoke scarred and cinder-licked lumber. A single brass bell hangs at a jaunty angle suspended from a frayed rope cord. The refuse heap lumbers away before Twilight can find her tongue.

This... wasn't what she expected of the maze. But something in it felt like it was shaking, sending little tremors through her hooves. Tremors like a mini-earthquake. Twilight glances around, spotting just the wide boulevard illuminated by the dull red glow of the sunless sky.

'How... weird.'

Everything felt off about this world, from the too-warm winds to the unnatural cold of the stone and ever-present stink. But something else underpinned it that she just couldn't quite grasp, like a whisper just beyond hearing.

The Alicorn lights her horn. But the moment the energy focuses on the little grooved channels of her spire, it surges to life. Twilight could hear the crackle and buzz as the arcane powers wrestled with her to expand, to loose itself: and she finds herself fighting it with a shocked eep of surprise. It wasn't hard to compress and focus her rhythms of energy into a particular spell, it was trying to reign in the sympathetic cascade of magic that gathers around her horn like a parasite. With a warbled breath, the air blurs in front of her eyes as the spell takes effect.

'T-this is impossible!'

She was swimming in magic. It looked like air, it felt like air, the stone beneath her hooves was cold. But it was a lie. It was all a lie.

She was encased and surrounded by pure, raw, unimaginable magic. There was no wellfont, no mild saturation from ancient stone circles. No, the world, as she knew it, wasn't made of elemental matter but arcane energy given form. And for the first time, she understood the 'shaping' that Luna could do with dreams. It had to be this. With a slight flicker of focus, the cobblestones in front of her melt and change colour as they're transmuted to polished gold.

“This is unbelievable.” she whispers to nopony in particular. Part of her wanted to test more, part of her wanted to just blink away the hideous cesspool of a wasted town around her. But her hackles rise as a familiar snarling yowl breaks the relative silence. It was the sound of the monsters, the shrill scream of something otherworldly.

She turns, losing sight of the lumbering cart, and peering down the opposite roadway. It stretches out in a distant winding cobblestone street, down into some darkened pathway where sickly green encrusted signs swing from rusted chains. But they do creak and rub in the wind. The sound of cawing ravens steals her focus for just a second, long enough to only catch the peripheral glint of ember-lit eyes from several hundred paces down in the shadow shrouded dip.

Red ruby orbs blink and glint for a moment, before the blur of forms catch her eye. The creature that emerges at a headlong rush from the small cobblestone gully was massive: a red dog-like monster the size of the largest timberwolf, made of corded muscle that shift and practically bulges through thin scaly red skin. It bounds towards her, eating up a dozen meters in the time it takes for Twilight's eyes to dilate and her heart to seize in shock. Blood Hounds, Flesh hounds, Hellhounds... paltry names for the predators.

A second enormous creature follows in its wake, much the same as the first, a clattering bone growths jutting from its spine like some mutant porcupine.

A burbling cry of fear looses itself from her lips as the hound's shrill shriek rings across the long overcast street, a pair of massive frills spreading out from under the beast's neck as they lope towards her at astonishing speed. Twilight quickly turns and flaps her wings, aware that trying to fly with so much interference from the snaggled balconies would be difficult, but she doesn't even lift off the ground. Instead, a weight presses down on her, like a couple hundred pound sack was suddenly tossed onto her back.

Her ears flit down, plastered against her skull as she turns to run, only to be confronted by a pair of legs a pace in front of her. Twilight's eyes shoot up, taking in the sudden appearance amid the cry of ravens.

It's a man.

He looks down at her from beneath the brim of a top hat, beady violet and blue hazed eyes peering through crystal spectacles perched on a long aquiline nose. His pale skin pulls tight around his jaw, flashing a close-lipped smile. Between the ruffled blue frock and the bronze cane tipped with a carved silver sigil like that of an eye, he looked like some stallion-cast actor playing Snowfall Frost from an off-Bridleway Hearths Warming Tale revival.

Glancing up from Twilight, he taps the cane to the ground, another soft tremor radiating out from him. “You!” he points to the dogs, which stop and snarl a few dozen paces away. Shaking the brass tipped cane, he growls, “Shoo. Go home! Go on, git!” waggling the cane at the pair. Something clicks a warning in the back of her head, but it didn't quite register.

They bristle and snap at the empty air, strands of drool leaking from lipless maws as infernal cinder-blazing sockets stare hungrily at the pony who backtracks beside, then around, the willowy figure. He reaches down, as if to give her head a comforting pat. But even before his narrow fingers could caress her mane, his hand jolts back and away from her. Twilight could feel it too, a radiating wave of piercing cold.

Both of the creatures do back away several paces, but don't retreat entirely. With a grating caw, several more ravens circle out from the buildings. Only then did Twilight notice the shuffling hop-step movements as a score of the creatures perch on the sway back rooftops or roost on the high aeries of nearby townhouses. Their beady black eyes stare down with unnatural comprehension.

“Thank you.” Twilight whispers, but already the stranger was just edging back away from the hounds.

“Don't mention it. I take it you're new to the Eight-points?” his voice rings as smooth and sweet as honey. Twilight merely nods, but her mind races: the maze, Luna's warning that everything meant her harm. Already something was 'wrong', but as he spoke there was still that civility that lingered around him. "As you're new, and a guest, I should welcome you properly to my little town. How about some tea?”

“Tea would be great, but I'm actually looking for somepony.” Twilight says with a slow smile plastered on for effect. Part of her mind was already ticking over what he could be. It wasn't helped when a large raven swoops from the tallest perch atop a rusted lightning vein and alights on the stranger's shoulder. The avian parrots him as he looks and watches.

“Well, perhaps we can find them on the way. So, pony is it? Who are you searching for? As the defacto mayor of this little patch of paradise, it's my responsibility to new arrivals.” Even through the mirthless smile, Twilight could see the swirl in his shifting eyes, It wasn't unheard of for those with tremendous magical potential, or exposed to arcane power. The Alicorn could feel it.

But she nods while casting a wary glance at the two hounds some thirty paces away. “I'm looking for a deep blue mare just like myself, only... maybe a little taller.”

He lets out a huff of amusement, “Well, that shouldn't be too hard to find, miss...”

Sensing the polite hesitation, the Alicorn reflexively blurts out, “Twilight Sparkle.”

A satisfactory nod heralds the man's sharp heel-turn. His coat tails flutter as he sweeps his cane towards the open roadway and points to the distance. “Well, miss Twilight Sparkle. Let me see if I can get my friends to find your missing compatriot. But perhaps we should wait for them somewhere more civilized.” The raven rotates its head, turning to look back at Twilight. By then the Alicorn was glancing through squinting eyes at the faint shape on the horizon. They were headed towards a tall glittering tower, glinting like a silver obelisk in the vibrant crimson light.

As the howling rage of the arcane maze pulls and sweeps the pair of Alicorns apart, Luna lights her horn and sets it ablaze. The darkness around her physically screams its contempt, buffeting her with cataclysmic waves of enraged sound.

The Alicorn strains right back, feeling her hooves lack any sort of purchase on the ground, or wings any lift in mid-air. The void of magic closes in just beyond the pale lavender rays of light pulsing from the ridges of her horn like a swirling tide. Scintillating crackles of magic sing their cadence just like the vague forms obscured in the darkness. Amid the swirling miasma of dark lights and lightning silhouetted shapes beyond living comprehension, the storm begins to subside. The whine of the wind weakens, and her light grows brighter and reaches further still. Soon, the boiling blackness gives way to monolithic slabs of dusty sandstone as weathered as any architectural dig site.

The darkness relents, having deposited Luna in the sandstone hall. Her soft moonlight rays rebound off hieroglyph carved reliefs covering the walls for as far as she could see. It's wide and tall enough that she could fly with ease, but something felt like she was being shepherded somewhere. Luna takes a breath, resolving to meet it with a degree of stately poise. A single musical bass strum still reverberates through her hooves a moment before distant chanting in some guttural language first pricks her ears. The primitive song beckons her forward down the single lengthy hall.

“I do not fear you.” she calls to the empty corridor. It mockingly parrots her back, but that little vibration trembles beneath her hooves. It's louder, more rhythmic, far more definite. Haunting melodies like a mythic chorus filter through the stagnant air.

The Alicorn mutters a few incantations, her horn alight again as she lets her mind drift just far enough to sense another. She expected Twilight's unique harmonic hum, that of the element of Magic. But the rebounding or screams and clawing scrape of vitriolic bile fight her back. But amid the enraged howl was something else striving to emerge from the torrent.

It's faint, quiet, but part of it was imminently familiar. A quiet reflection, a recited mantra, a stilness amid the chaos. The single spot of peace among the sickly tide of rage and madness was just like Cadence's little calming technique. The same she taught to Twilight.

"Twilight." Luna hisses, and suddenly redoubles her pace even before her ears stop ringing.

Luna stumbles forward, at first in a disoriented trot, then turning into a full gallop that echoes off the oppressive wall. Slowly, lit brass braziers give a faint glint in the distance. They line the walls, one after another, capped in a crown of sharpened thorns. Each casts a ruby red glow, and the foul scent of copper wafts in from further in the distance. She hadn't smelled this in ages... no, no that wasn't quite right. She had. Alongside Horus, on the red fields in the tower of fallen stars the stink had made itself known. And more than that, part of her couldn't help but feel the sickly mire as it clung to her hocks on the boiling black sands of Istvaan.

Blood.

It was the smell of a charnel house; not rot and suppuration, but simply an ocean of blood that assaults her senses. She can hear the crash of iron, the sound of rising chants. Soon, the formless guttural grunts and words begin to decrypt themselves as she approaches an opening into some greater chamber.

'Gather your arms and armour. Let loose the argonauts of the New Epoch and let them set adrift to begin the journey in this, our third age of mythology. Let the warrior creeds ring to the highest halls of Valhalla, of Folkvager, of Elysium, of Tor Na Nog, of Irkallu, of Tian, of Duat, and of Tartarus.'

Luna freezes, the familiar invocation chills her veins. But as the entrance to the chamber looms up, she ungainly steps forward.

The world expands into a vast concentric ring of caves leading down into the very depths towards a barbaric congregation. Each layer of the spiral is ringed with stone walls adorned with brazen spikes, upon which skulls had been staked in wanton abandon. Each spiraling level led to the one below on great wide walkways spouting out from crenelated towers surmount by a burning pyre. From the ceiling hang stalactites of beaten brass, each pointed and barbed like spears. But at its core is a beating, milling, barbarian heart. Thousands of mortal humans and bestial Ibixian Minotaurs mill about a great central dais while chanting formless oaths and loosing bleating howls. Each of them is bare-chested and clad in layers of thick iron and bronze, wielding a motley assortment of martial weapons. Some bear strangely embossed shields, others bang spear butts against the sandstone floor in a primitive display or might. And through it all, they shout at a figure, though it's not one Luna had expected.

Red wolf pelts hang wreathed across narrow colonnades or stretch between braces of spears. A single creature was stretched in chains between two enormous pillars. Bronzed skin poked through in the few places where layers of shredded flesh allowed. Blood drips off chains that cut cruelly into wrists and ankles. Stripped naked, she could see small metal pits, gouging out flesh like bites from a lamprey. He was large for a human, though Luna had now gotten a good idea of just how big the Lupercal and Alpharius were. This one hearkened to that infernal Erebus in more ways than one. A slick bald head, slightly flattened face, though it was too far to see his eyes or any brand on what was left of his flayed skin.

A creature strides from the crowd. It's a sickly skeletal thing of vibrant red with a rack of twisting black antlers. Around its waist jangles a layered tasset skirting of golden skulls that jostles against a massive barbed greatsword slung across its broad back. Something else is clutched in its free hand, though she can't quite see what from that angle.

It holds a clawed hand aloft, dangling a tangle of wolf heads by their blood soaked manes. It strides to the centre where the man is lashed, and tosses the bundle of heads at his feet. Luna could see what was coming, but didn't expect the deep and resonating voice that issues forth from the skeletal figure. It wasn't the sinister rasp of a serpent, but the bombastic bellow of a born orator.

“Hearken to me, son of the Crimson King! Where as your packs and mighty kin fell before the blades the Blood Host, I shall offer you the same glorious end. It is unfitting that the brave should be strangled under the masses of the unworthy. It is unseemly that they should die choking on their putrified lungs in the gardens of the Plague Lord. It is wretched that they should instead fall to the depravity of the prince of pleasure. No, I offer you greatness, oh scion of scions. Though you may be a witch, perhaps you yet have enough mettle to face your death in courage and fire!”

The roar of the crowd ever cheer as the creature turns to face them, and even as it does, Luna took a diving leap from the precipice hundreds of meters above them.

“I will not change. I will not submit to your games.” The chained astartes spits a gob of blood with a weak and mirthless laugh of contempt. “I deny you."

Luna plunges through the aetheric impregnated air like an arrow, wings tight to her body, eyes focused on the deathly avatar. But even in her peripherals she catches the glimpse broods of winged creatures clinging above the brass spikes, staring blankly at her through unblinking eyes. She'd seen the monsters before in the towers of Erebus's dreamscape city. The fury and hatred of the gargoyle-like apparitions were still there, still apparent.

The rings and metal spires rush past, a few wingflaps only carrying her faster and further out towards the horned figure. A whispered command materializes the blade of shadows she had nearly grown unfamiliar with. Ceifador's hazy outline boils into existence, sending crackling eldritch sparks across its lusterless blade. If the gargoyles saw her, they paid her no mind. All eyes are on the pair of creatures in the centre. The ground rushes up to meet her, but already the skeletal creature shrugs its shoulders, letting the sword slip to a point where it can be grasped. As it unsheathes the red-metal blade, time invariably, runs out.

She inhales, feeling the roiling charge course off her horn in eldritch sparks as she looses a coursing fork of scintillating blue lightning at the paragon of death. It crackles through the gap and ripples across the creatures back, reducing the surface to blackened char as it vents a bloodcurdling yowl. It lunges to the side, weapon upraised in one hand and looking on as Luna slams into the dais. Hard. Spidering cracks and concussion rings spread out from under her hooves as she stands atop the solid stone in the midst of a now-silent horde.

“Witch fire!?” it spits while turning to face Luna, "You dare to blight me with witch fire?!" What skin it has is pulled taut over its skeletal features. The creature circles, ember like eyes peering at Luna as impassively as any other ancient revenent of evil as the crown erupts with hollars of rage as swords and spears drum against the edges of shields.

Her back faces the jeering crowd, the thunder of weapon hafts crashing on shield edges drowns out the bass note underlying the maze and sets her ears to ringing. She flattens them back to her skull, certain of this creature's primacy among the congregation. “Now that I have your attention." Luna gestures to the chained astartes hanging between two posts, "Free him."

The astartes head rises enough to see her, and a look of confusion cuts across his chiseled features. He mouths 'Tutelary paragonis?'

The creature nods, and as swift as a thought, brings the greatsword singing across in a single feathery sweep. The crowd cheers. The daemonic beast doesn't so much as pause, slicing through sinew and bone, and swinging back around in a completed circle like a dancer's pirouette before the astartes head had struck the ground.

Luna meets the lipless smirk with a snarl of revulsion.

The creature faces her, arms outstretched. "And thus I have done so. He is free to go to his pyre. And now that I have your attention, Antithesii-”

“Garviel, I hate to say it.”

“Then just don’t, Nero.” Loken snarls. The thunderous crack of boltguns blazing on full automatic drowns out every other infernal screech and shout in the interior halls of the Delphos. Muzzle flashes light the dreary black basalt steps as tongues of flame lick across the intricately wrought rails and glint off tall gothic columns stretching to to the vaulted ceiling. Squad Locasta gathers in the hollow at the very center of the V-shaped defile between temple and tower. The sea-green knot of warriors cover every angle as screeching furies and hundreds of cult-like disciples descend from their darkened alcoves and hidden warrens. The human tide callously throws themselves forward, screaming garbled canticles of fell powers only for their unnatural wails to be overwhelmed by the thunderclap of legion guns.

Between Marcellus and Basek, mass reactive bolts sweep across the gantries and up the steps to the high landing connected to the temple itself. Scads of thronging creatures, half-rotted and foul, tumble and plunge from unguarded ledges as rippling bursts of gunfire shred putrid flesh and turn it to a sickly slurry. Dozens on the high gantries wielding ancient flintlock rifles had painted the black walls a ghoulish pink, misted with splotches of arterial red.

But the multitude that hurtles down the narrow causeway steps falls in heaps as Loken and Vipus focus their weapons straight ahead on the two meter wide passageway. Each bolt punches through two or three bodies before exploding outwards in flashes of grey-green pulp. And even then, some still didn’t go down despite fist sized holes.

“Well, I feel I need to: Garviel, we’ll be down to blades if we don’t push through now!” Vipus spits into the vox link, the sergeant's harsh Cthonic lilt peeling away the stately Imperial Gothic cadence expected of a legionnaire.

“Then we’ll be down to blades!” Marr seethes, his longsword held in both hands as he stood in the center of the group, as much to control his pacing as anything else. The rattle-crack of another musket shard bounces off his pauldron leaving a long thin line and small black crystal tip embedded in the ceramite.

Marr snarls at the unseen assailant in the high gantries, crouched and ready to spring like a savage wildcat. Torgaddon looks back towards the doorway that they’d emerged from. “Oh, for Lupercal's sake, Garvi, she’s back. Again.”

The squirming, hulking abomination pulls its massive bulk from the entrance as blubbery fat scrapes against the wide doorposts, propelled by dozens of human legs melted along its corpulent frame. The mass of interlocked and squirming human arms reach out from her maggot-like body, stretching towards the astartes like a silent multitude asking ‘why’.

“I think this might work a little better,” Torgaddon reloads his bolt pistol and hands it over to Kamphaddon. The legionnaire grunts from his kneeling position, chain-bladed boltgun braced on one knee as he picks his shots out, dead arm hanging at his side. With the pistol proffered by the captain, he nods some appreciation and quickly tosses the front-heavy weapon upward for the captain to catch. Which, Torgaddon effortlessly does; revving the chain-bladed attachment as Kamphaddon put four bolts down range in half as many seconds. The sharpshooters crumple from the high balconies and tumble to the sluice gutters alongside the towering staircases. Each new corps splashes into the pooling sludge of stagnant water and blood.

Torgaddon sights in the bolter as the engorged mass of motley flesh stumbles to the top of the landing a full hundred meters from them. The bolter’s bark is short and staccato. The scrambling mass of limbs propelling the slug-like creature explode into bloody chunks as he scythes them out from under it.

“You heard Sergeant Vipus! Forward! Forward and fury! LUPERCAL!” Marr shouts as he shoulders Vipus and Loken aside. While they shoot each other a sharp look, the green clad figure of Tybalt Marr picks up speed, his thunderous strides taking the stairs five at a time as he barrels up the steps at the encroaching tide of filth.

The flurry of sharpshooter shots pings off his armour in a stone deluge, shredding flexsteel hoses and drawing a snarl of agitation. Marr tucks his chin tight against the gorget ring as a spidering crack bursts across his armourglass lens. Ten, twenty, thirty meters of space disappears as the milling horrors stumble down the steps.

“Locasta, kill for the living!” Lokan's amplified shout bleeds through the vox net.

'Kill for the dead!' come the responses from half a dozen throats.

By now the voices, identities, didn’t matter. A haze of anger and indignation swims over the captain who hurtles up the steps like a dark comet, attention fixed on the bestial faces of snarling simian Davinite tribals and sluggish one-eyed Cyclopian horrors.

“Watch it Tybalt, those bastards are stronger than they look!” Torgaddon’s warning goes unheeded as Marr shoulders his way into the mass with a crunch of pulverized bones and squelching flesh. His longblade flashes, lopping off limbs in a single arcing sweep. A shove overbalances one of the cyclopian creatures behind a milling Davinite, sending them both over the stone railing and spiraling fifteen meters to the ground.

A rickety limb grasps Marrs and halts the Cthonic blade's recovering swing. The captain stares into the milky eye of one of the unnatural dark spawn that, with an obscene strength belying its malnourished limbs, forces his left arm down centimetre by centimetre. Other hands scratch and claw at his armour, nails cracking and flaking off as they rake across ceramite plate. The milky-eyed cyclops groans, wetly licking its chops as it strains against the legion captain.

“LET, GO!!” Marr’s right hand lets go of the blade and he lashes out with an armoured punch to the beast’s face. It cracks under his blow. A second pulps the bone in its cheek and bursts its eye. A third shatters its needle-like teeth and finally breaks its hold of his blade. The forth bursts its head into slopping viscera as it begins to wisp away in a foul breeze.

With a roar of latent rage, the captain slams his blade through the guts of one Davinite, plunging it up to the hilt and wrenching it sideways with all his genhanced might. The Davinite’s gurgling rasp melds with other sharp voices of disbelief before flesh and bone yields to Marr’s strength. The blade drags through half a dozen figures sending slick ropes of split entrails showering across the stone steps.

Bolt shots whistle by less than a meter from Tybalt Marr’s head, crunching into bone and bursting among the horde. Between the captain’s violent assault and the steady thunder of mass reactives, the swarming host thins and allows Marr the chance to resume his upwards slog.

“Setar, get up here!” Loken’s static vox click echoes in Marr’s head.

The roar of a chainsword joins the harsh growls as Marr slams his elbow into another Cyclopian face and brings his blade down in a murderous chop that split a second beast from clavicle to groin. A green bladed chainsword jabs by, hooking a Davinite and roaring to life in a fountain of red. The bark of a bolt pistol and muzzle flash from next to his head dims Marr’s vision, but it did focus his gaze to the stop of the steps. The stone doors were starting to close. They were just ten meters from the landing, the horde was thinning, and the Astartes were gaining momentum.

The light whir of a flamer’s pilot light teases the odorous air. “Captain Marr, careful!” Calls a deep-throated Cthonic voice. Marr leans to his left towards Loken, sweeping the sword down just as a jet of incandescent white flame spits close enough to bubble the paint on his right pauldron. His armour’s prey senses warn of the blistering heat, but Setar had leaned out from the railing and swept it across the sides and up to the landing with a roaring gout of liquid fire.

The screams of those caught in the flamer’s stream mix with the crackle of scorched flesh. But there's a sudden sharp ping and high pitched squeal of pressure. Marr glances back just to get a peripheral glance at Setar as he looks down to the mist spraying from the punctured fuel tank on his flamer. Wet mists of pressurized promethium spray just next to the super heated brass nozzle, and with a whining roar, it bursts.

The sheeting curtain of flame billows from the side of the weapon, consuming the operator and much of Locasta in a wickering fireball.

“Report!” Lokan rasps into the helmet vox even before the flare of orange and red clears.

Setar’s bass growl responds a moment later. “Unit destroyed, sniper got the tank. I might have lost a few fingers.”

“Kamphaddon, still here.”

“Marcellus, clear.”

“Basek, all good, captain.”

“Vipus, clear.”

“Well,” Torgaddon coughs once, barely holding back a laugh. “Looks like we’re fine, Garvi. Got a little singed but it looks like those little cretins don’t like fire much either. Oh, and watch the edges. That wormy abomination went over the side a few seconds ago. There’s a lot of corpses down there, so we shouldn’t be.”

“Understood, Tarik." Loken's voice chimes through the vox, "Marr?”

But the other captain sprang straight back up, pushing back up and charging his bulk through the stepped causeway. A few hacking strokes of his blade drops anything not smouldering on the steps. Each footfall crunches blood and bone into paste as the others of Locasta follow shortly after. With a sharp growl, Marcellus drops near the rear of the file. A sniper’s shard opening up the flexsteel at the back of his knee sending a trickle of blood down his greaves.

“Right, up ya come.” Tarik hefts up the Legionnaire by the power pack and pulls him along until the warrior can find his footing.

Two point blank shots from Loken and Vipus scythe down the pair of Davinite priests trying to shut the stone door, letting one slump across the black stone leaving a wet smear as it closes, while the other is pitched against the wall and crumples in a mangled heap.

“Keep going!” Marr darts to the opening, wrenching the door open and slipping inside with Loken and Vipus immediately behind him. The rest of Locasta follows, with Torgaddon taking a glance back despite more shots from the galleries rebounding off his armour. Aside from the gory trail left behind them, there’s no sign of the two other legionnaires or the ooze-like abomination. With a grunt, he turns back and redoubles his pace through the door and into the temple proper.

Loken growls as Marcellus and Torgaddon heave the stone slabbed doors closed behind them. A low rattling crack echoes in the deep, further up the main chamber, but is swiftly plunged into onerous silence as the darkened labrynthian corridors of the temple yawn before them. Marr stands at the front of the little unit, gore slathered sword held in both hands as he stares into the single empty hallway. The rest of Locasta forms up swiftly, Loken and Tarik both to Marr’s left and right respectively as they take in the darkness.

“Anyone get the impression that no one in the lodge got to know about this part of the temple when they cast their votes?” Nero Vipus grumbles, though his speech had slipped back to its proper mien. Still, he was alert, head constantly swiveling as he sweeps his gaze across the ancient stone all around them.

There was nothing modern, nothing enlightened, it was an occult catacomb. The enlightened of the Emperical truth would never decorate their hallways with the bones of fanatics, laying them in receded ossuary cells and etching the walls with runic marks. It was a fane of the occult, and every cloying sensation of dust and rot struck like a hammer blow.

“Likely not, Abaddon might find an excuse, but I don’t think Aximand would stomach it.” Loken mutters as Marr takes the first step forward.

“That’s a bit harsh, Garvi." Torgaddon muses aloud, "Abby’s stubborn but he’s not stupid. This, well, this is stupid.” he gestures to the entombed bones of some long-forgotten martyr wrapped in rotted green rags.

The rest of the squad forms a shallow V behind him, fanning out and scanning the sharply cut alcoves filled with stacks of skulls cemented in with black igneous rock, unaware of the momentary red mechanical glint of light behind armourglas lenses emerging from the martyr's empty eye sockets.

Chapter 25: Intercessors

The door was closed... Closed. Locked and shut firmly, a guard posted expressly for her protection on the other side and the arcane wards on the room were tried and tested. The Unicorn was safe.

'You're safe. You're safe. You're safe.'

Sunset breathlessly whispers to herself, stirring quietly beneath the luxurious sheets in the royal ambassadorial suite. Every little tug and pull rasps her sensitive coat like razorblades. Despite the promise of arcane wards, her eyes never stopped flitting from corner to corner of the well-lit room in a desperate bid to catch whatever dark spirit slithered from the smallest shadow.

Arcane runes and wards lined the crown moulding that encircled the ceilings, and hovered over the lintles and arches of windows and doors of the royal suite. It all looked like somewhat posh and pampas decoration, but Twilight had spent the better part of ten minutes explaining everything in detail.

The Alicorn had softly cooed, and endlessly apologized for everything as she embraced Sunset and tucked the Unicorn's muzzle into her neck. Sunset had lashed out at first, thundering her forehooves into Twilight's chest and shoving her back as memories bubbled up to the surface of smooth skin sizzling away to blisters as it caressed her tuft. The image of scales had been there for a second, and gone with the grotesque tide.

Both memories had dissolved in a flash, but since then Sunset knew they weren't going to go away. The Lurker was there. Somewhere. Kanathara, whose hooves shatter mountains, would not be denied.

Sunset's breathing races to the point of hyperventilation as the fragmented memories burble back to the surface. Twilight's every comforting stroke of her mane, every soft embrace and gentle word was reflected in parody.

She felt like she was touching yellow gunk for a moment, the urging of something in the back of her skull. Then the minotauress... or whatever she was, had brushed Starlight's mane and slid her tongue up her horn where they were both scalded and sizzled like oil on a hot skillet. They came away charred and weeping a noxious perfumed fluid. The Dark Temptress looked at her hand, perfumed ichor dripping from the broiled fingers as she splayed them apart, then shivered.

It wasn't from the cold.

Twilight had disappeared after that. Then returned, trying the same thing. Disappeared. And again returned. The mindless, formless words she whispered and softly droned on about hadn't settled in Sunset's mind as she'd hidden herself beneath the sheets and muttered a question she couldn't pin down.

“Twilight, when will the sun rise?”

She'd screamed when Twilight tried to turn the lights out. After that her friend hadn't left her side for a very long time. But did it matter? The individual is unimport- every quiet word of warmth and friendship passed unheard as the Unicorn's fugue took hold.

The gentle tick of a grandmother clock on the far wall next to a luxurious alabaster divan slowly drew Sunset's attention. Between the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock, the glint of fire off filigree candelabras, and reflections off a polished bronze bust, the abundance of 'stuff' became apparent. As did the hollow emptiness at the realization that Twilight never came back. Those were the nascent stirrings which brought her back to some semblance of sapience.

“Twilight?” Sunset's high pitched whimper goes unanswered.

In the alabaster and gold room furnished with the wealth of a modest town, the Unicorn slowly came to her senses only to realize that she was alone.

Heavy blankets swaddle her form, and her eyes rove around the chamber. Now, no longer worried about immediate dangers or fighting back contact, the Unicorn surveys the richly furnished suite. White plastered walls are covered with rich velvet and cloth tapestries, priceless paintings adorn what's left. There was even the Equestria's masters, and Sunset was left staring blankly at Marchelangelo's Battle of the centaurs past a free standing bust of Filly Broncolleschi's Pillars of Equestria.

Forget a town, this was worth a fortune. And despite that, the golden filigree fixtures and cabinetry, the seashell plasterwork and crown moulding lining the arched ceilings, and even the rococo divan in the corner, it was empty.

“Twilight?” Sunset asked again, panning her gaze past the carved posts of the stately bed on which she'd been resting. A small shudder courses from her head to her hocks as she carefully shuffles the sheet aside and twists herself just enough to slip out from under the downy gold threaded comforter. With barely a hiss from the silken bedspread, she drops to the lush cerulean bedside carpet. It tickles her frogs, but even then a pang of apprehension ripples up her legs and freezes her as more memories slosh back to prominence.

It wasn't just a dream. 'Now I see it with my own two eyes, and still wonder if I'm aslee-' Then in it was something more. But a prickle of something else hammers something else into her head. A heady screech of melded ecstatic pain in the back of her head sends spikes of sickness through her stomach, causing the Unicorn to dry heave at the unnatural voice tickling her ear.

'Focus, S-' A sudden flash of golden eyes is just as swiftly replaced by a sickly brush of her tail and heated perfumed breath spilling over her nape.

Sunset fruitlessly kicks backward. Her right hind leg giving an involuntary shudder before it goes limp, toppling hard. She careens into the bedpost and scrapes past it, crashing straight into a settee at the end of the bed. It overturns, sending the the Unicorn sprawling across the cold marble floor.

With a nauseous moan of discomfort, she curls up in a miserable ball of matted fur for a moment but keeps her eyes open. Already she didn't want to see what felt burned behind her eyelids. The Unicorn tried to force it all down, but nothing was helping.

Sunset slurs and tries to find her hooves. With a staggering lurch, she puts all four limbs back under her. “-S so damned close.” and has to swallow hard again as another whisper tickles her ear fluff while dripping stinging droplets across her haunch.

Before she knew it, Sunset was at the door and opening it with a breathless gasp. “Twahligh?” She slurs almost drunkenly, spotting a gold clad Earth pony guard a hooflength away.

“Miss Sunset?” He straightens his back, “Are you alright? How can we help?” the stallion's smooth baritone prickles the back of her mind. A tone similar to something... something she should...

The cackling laugh blots that thought out, but not before Sunset leans on the door frame and asks, “Where'shee?” Sunset's tongue feels thick and numb, like she'd licked a sandbox.

“Princess Sparkle is currently occupied.” The canned reply came easily, but the slight twitch of his ear against the armour clicked the metal as his plain ashen coloured muzzle contorts in a scrunch of genuine concern. “Ma'am, we should get you back to your bed. We're-”

“Take me to'err.” Sunset blathers aloud, “No matter what happens, take me to her.” For whatever reason, the words flowed a little easier. With a soft bump and lean, she shoves herself off the door frame stands.

The solar guardstallion nods and asks, “Do you need a hoof, ma'am?”

“If I do-” she swallows back the tide of bile creeping up her throat with a quiet belch, “You'll be the first to know.”

He nods, and the pair head down the first long hallway. And while Sunset's head still buzzes with nearly rhythmic flashes of discomfort, she set her focus on counting passing alcoves and hallways. The darkness still gathers here and there, but the torches were lit and cast a healthy glow throughout the castle corridors. But so many doors were shut and guards on constant patrol, that the very air was unnatural calm.

Three levels of twisting passageways and sealed chambers later, Sunset's old sense of direction was finally starting to return. She already could place the final destination as she was guided sharply to the right down a wide stairwell that led to the Castle's catacomb basement. It was always out of the way and non-descript, all the better for regular ponies to naively ignore. If only they knew what lay sealed away in Canterlot Castle's deepest depths...

And for the first time, a wane smile passes her lips. 'Good thing the Princesses have this under control.' Though, perhaps that's exactly what happened. The frown falters as her hooves transition from lush crimson carpeting to hard marble. Like a bucket of cold water splashed on her face, she spots a familiar pair of figures at the end of the hallway.

A pale blue mare decked out in a ludicrous magicians getup gestures wildly at a pacing lavender Unicorn. The later of which has her head down as she methodically walks the five paces from wall to wall and doubles right back without showing the slightest note of hesitation.

Her stallion guard nods towards the pair, “It's just-”

“Thank you, I... I think I can take it from here.” Sunset draws a ragged breath.

“With all due respect, ma'am; I was instructed by the Princess to guard you and keep you safe.” he flashes a friendly grin, though it was laced with a determined sureness that said 'don't ask me again, please.'

She nods her assent, then picks up her pace. Her canter swerves a little in an awkward zig-zag, but the clatter of hooves seemed to alert at least Trixie. The stagemare pulling a sour face for a moment, looking back at Starlight Glimmer, and voicing a frustrated 'Gah!' that Sunset could hear drift through the halls as an explosive echo.

"Starlight, Trixie!" Sunset calls, getting the lavender mare to stiffen and shoot her head up as she hears her name.

"Sunset!" Starlight wheels and gallops full pace at her. The smile that lights up her muzzle couldn't have been faked, and the mare's skidding stop still flings her into Sunset.

Both mares wheeze with a little "Oooof..." at the contact, but Starlight swiftly wraps her forehooves around Sunset and tightly squeezes. There's a little happy hum, partially accompanied by a hollow sigh and clop of hooves dragging themselves towards her.

Starlight offers up a sheepish smile before sucking in a breath, "Sunset, I'm so so so happy to see you up and about. After, y'know, we were all worried. How re you feeling?"

The evident concern written on the mare's face eased Sunset's ill feelings, getting her to relax into the embrace and fold into the mare's warmth for a second or two. "I'm...okay..." The warmth is stolen away as Sunset quirks a brow and holds her out at hoof's length. Obviously spotting the hesitation, she casts a doubtful frown in Sunset's direction. "Okay-okay, I'm not great, but I think I can help."

"Hmmph," Sunset catches the slow plod of Trixie as the showmare ambles towards their little display. "Trixie doubts that you can help more than Twilight, Celestia, and Luna."

"Wait," Sunset blinks, "Luna's awake? Wait-wait... three princesses are in there?"

"Yeah. I mean, originally Luna just wanted me and Twilight to go in, but Celestia kinda just jumped in ahead. Not like we could stop her." Starlight sits on her haunches and shrugs, prompting Starlight to follow suit as the guardstallion clattered up behind them, armour jangling.

Trixie eyes him for a second before snorting, "Sure, one Unicorn and a golden toy guardspony will probably be enough to save the day if you want to trot on in. Pfft, even Moonprancer was smart enough to let them go do it by themselves."

The solar guard stiffens to attention, fixing the braggart a steady but unvoiced glare. Starlight just nods quickly, "Thought it might be better to stay here, okay, somepony begged me to stay here but..."

"It's your job Starlight!" It quickly dawns on Sunset that she'd entered the middle of some sort of domestic dispute as Starlight closes her eyes with a resigned sigh that even made her shoulders slump.

Nerving herself up, Starlight nibbles her bottom lip and elevates her eyes so she was looking at the ceiling over Sunset's head, "Twilight made me a school councilor, Trixie. What we got to do with Discord and Thorax-"

"And you've helped exactly zero ponies doing that. They don't need you because, so far as everypony else but the Princess of Paperwork is concerned, the school and its students don't actually exist. Help Trixie! She exists, and is a pony who does nee-requi- uh, wants your help." The stagemare stamps her hoof and petulantly scrunches her muzzle.

The flash of momentary anger flits across Starlight's muzzle as her left ear waggles. She slowly turns her head, though still keeps embracing the fiery-hued Unicorn. However it appears to Trixie, it was unwelcome as the mare narrows her eyes. But the unseen expression Starlight shot her did make the showmare rear her head and take a step backward. "We'll talk about it later." Starlight replies with an icy calm finality.

Turning back to Sunset, Starlight's face was a picturesque mask of matronly concern and comfort. "I'm glad to see you up and about. I'm sure Moondancer will say that too. She's not so bad. So, if you'd like to join us we'd like that. We can just stay here, everything will be alright." Her twinkling, soulful lavender eyes stare into hers...

A flash of gold, a strain of gritted teeth. 'Find it at all costs! Find Horus Lupercal!' The Serpent King's visage flashes before her eyes. She sees the Lurker's taunt: bearing witness to the sickly black charred skeleton hunched protectively over a pile of desiccated bones. The skin of his face and hands scorched away as he presses his ruined bulk against an obsidian wall while picked at by wary shades in cobalt blue.

'So ends your Serpent King, my little Sunbeam. I know something that will let you forget that deluded nonsense.'

But the booming voice strains, 'Knowledge is power and truth commands a price more dear than that of a soul. I've spent mine to get us this far, do not squander it. You bear the wealth of hindsight bought by the greatest of catastrophes.'

Her stomach twists in knots, feeling the whispers and images of her friends with a serpentine pair of arms enfolding her from behind. The Lurker's serpentine tongue flickering millimeters from her ear as she whispers ideas and words about her friends, of the 'fun' that could be had. But it was about her, some despicable repugnant 'couple'... and offered. The sensation was parasitic. 'Say the word, I can be inside you in more ways than one. And you'll never want anything else, though I'll be willing to share everything.'

Everything goaded her to not think about it. To indulge. To forget.... forget.

"SUNSET!" Starlight shakes her bodily, snapping the Unicorn's focus back into a pair of terrified, worried eyes.

"What's wrong with her, Starlight!?" Trixie stares over her friend's shoulder, looming in almost uncomfortably close. But the warm hoof hesitantly pressed to her shoulder, and the shock of genuine concern the often chilly mare displayed was... almost reassuring.

Sunset flicks her head to the side, "That bitch. That's what she was doing." Each memory, each thought, came one after another and the latter was always the deplorable depravity of the Lurker.

"Uuuuum... who?" Trixie cautiously asks, expecting some condemnation as Starlight just sighs and clamps a hoof around her in another embrace.

"The Lurker, a Nightmare that was around Luna... hmmmph." Melting into the embrace, Sunset suddenly blinks, "She has to hear about this. She has to know."

"Okay, Trixie doesn't often like repeating herself. But 'who'?" The showmare asks after lofting an eyebrow.

"Luna! I have to go see Luna and tell her what happened." Sunset tries to disentangle herself from the embrace, finding that it was easy enough. Shrugging off the hooves, the fiery Unicorn takes a breath. "Where?"

While momentarily a little sullen, Starlight blinks, ears perking up. "Oh, just over here." she cranes her neck to gesture to a rather nondescript room before quickly rising to lead the way.

Sunset follows a little more shakily as she tries to follow suit and rise to all fours. Surprisingly, Trixie slips against her right side, helping to lift her to standing. But the little glare shot between them said it was more about just not being deemed 'less useful' than the stallion guard who had been mid-stride to help.

In just a few seconds, they had crossed the threshold, leaving Sunset with a resounding sense of déjà vu. "The mirror..." she whispers.

"Yeah," Starlight glances back with a smile, "I mean Twilight made one in her study then attuned it with her book. But this is the-"

"Original. I remember... it was here before." Sunset sighs, barely noticing Moondancer who stands stock still, silhouetted by the soft moonbeams streaking down from the ceiling like celestial rays. It all stole her breath, the same moment feeling like she was the reckless, avaricious Unicorn from years ago. "Starlight," she begins warily, "I think I could use some help."

"Okay." Starlight nods. "It's only fair I come along, as you let me come along last time."

"W-wait, what?!" Trixie warbles in surprise. "You can't just... Moondancer, tell her she's crazy!"

"I mean... she's not wrong." Moondancer says, the shine off her glasses hiding her eyes from view. "Which is almost a first. But, uh, Sunset... I'm glad to see you up and not, you know, comatose. Please say that this isn't the first place you wanted to go when you got out of bed."

Fighting back a blush, the Unicorn mare takes a breath to nerve herself up and pushes herself away from Trixie and towards the mirror. "You don't have to follow."

"Pfft, Trixie won't! The princesses can handle this!" Trixie pleads, and keeps pace with the slowly plodding Unicorn mare. "You can barely walk."

"Which is why I said I'd help her." Starlight trots right back, sidling up on Sunset's left and giving her a reassuring nod.

"But you can't leave Trixie!" The mare actually shouts loud enough to spatter some spittle in Sunset's mane. She did cringe, at least a little abash by the display. "So if you're going, then Trixie is going too!"

"Well, I'm not going." Moondancer says while pushing her glasses up further up the bridge of her muzzle.

With a long suffering sigh, Starlight Glimmer gives Sunset a little head bob directed at the mirror before focusing on Trixie. "Hey, Trix." She stops, letting Sunset slip out from between the pair. Barely a moment passe dafter Sunset had slid between them, than the lavender mare darts her head in, stealing a kiss from the showmare. Cupping a hoof to her cheek and tilting her head, Starlight wetly locks their muzzles together. With nostrils flared and eyes screwed tightly shut, Trixie melts into the kiss and leans forward to wrap a hoof around her mare's withers.

Moondancer casts an uneasy glance between the pair and Sunset, flashing a tremendously awkward grimace that said, 'I sure hope you're not expecting anything.'

After more than half a minute, Starlight breaks away from Trixie, bands of saliva stretching between their muzzles as tongues remain entwined for just a moment longer. Trixie gasps for a greedy breath of air, but her eyes slowly flutter open, the red flush burned onto her muzzle. It was quiet, passing just between the two, "Promise Trixie you'll be safe and come back in one piece, please."

Starlight responds with a more tender pecked kiss and a wide smile. "I promise." She tenderly nuzzles her companion, sharing a last hug before nodding and trotting over to Sunset with a little salute to Moondancer as an after thought.

When the solar guard made a move to accompany them, Sunset just smiles, "We got it. Keep those two safe here, and I'll be sure to tell the princess about your loyalty. This is something we have to do." and with that, and another grateful smile at both Trixie and Moondancer, she led the pair through the rippling silver mirror.

The silence that passed after the two Unicorns left was deafening.

Moondancer clears her throat, not so much as looking over to the fellow Unicorn five paces away, ”Y'know, if we went in there, we'd probably just get in the way.”

“Trixie is never in the way," she snorts, eyes still fixed on the mirror, "she always contributes above and beyond what's expected.”

It drags a chuff of disdain from Moondancer, “Not hard when that's 'nothing but parlor tricks'.”

"Remind Trixie," The showmare said, pulling her starry cloak protectively around her and sitting down to wait, "who squealed and then locked up like a foal when big-bad- Discord showed up?”

“That was what rational ponies do, something you have obviously no experience with.” Moondancer awkwardly meanders closer, trying to at least look a little unassuming as she did so.

“That may be so," Trixie adjusts the brim of her hat, still not deeming to look at the other two ponies in the room, "but Trixie knows something she has a lot more experience with than you.”

“... I hate you, you know that, right?”

And for once in quite some time, Trixie smirks, not even commenting as Moondancer took a seat a hooflength from her, “Yes, Trixie would have it no other way.”

There's a silence. “No, but seriously, you go in there with three princesses and two apparently ridiculous Unicorns and you'll be the one to catch the arrow by blundering into the middle of a fight. And our guard here isn't a Unicorn so he's out of the picture.”

“And Trixie already has her great and heartbreaking deathbed speech thought up and planned out." She lifts a hoof to her chest, "Then, naturally, she will be the heroin of the story and miraculously saved to live happily ever after as the fifth princess of Equestria.”

“Oh. My. Luna.” Moondancer's sigh dissolves into an almost pained groan as she rubs at her muzzle.

It all just draws a wry Cheshire grin from Trixie. The mare's voice dips into her husky, conspiratorial lilt, “Don't think Trixie didn't catch you staring at your favourite princess on our way to the tower.”

“Y-Y..... You will shut up about that RIGHT now.”

The distant thunder of chanting throngs didn't reach everywhere in the acropolis. While the rain slicked pilgrims of the Warmaster settle outside on muddy slopes in putrid squalor, the inner sanctum rings with the uplifted voices of the enlightened. The temnos between them, the sacred sanctuary grounds of the Delphos, even now thronged with the soon-to-be enlightened warriors of the next age. Upon the pronaos of the sacred Delphos rests the warrior kings of the 16^th legion, awaiting the return of their risen god.

The child of Colchis inhales a heady breath of incense laden smoke as he kneels with his sword laid out in front of him. The simple blade was an ancient thing from the dawn of the Great Crusade, though its crosstree was now replaced: the wings of the Imperial raptor no longer welcome among the sons of the illuminated. Instead, the shape of a glittering evening star binds the hilt and its simple grey power-feed to the silvered longsword. The sharp icicle tip glitters where the fuller reaches all the way back from just behind the tip. Its equal was outside, held by the great prowling First Captain himself.

Captain Kal Belekar draws in another breath, his mind reaching out to hear the faintest glimmer of chants through the ether. No noise reached from the inner naos of the temple to the pronaos chamber separating the faithful from the wilds of the sons of Horus Lupercal. But voices still ring through the mists of the empyrion, the song, a note of cosmic completion.

Letting out the held breath with a satisfied hiss, the captain of the 94^th remains in contemplative meditation while surrounded by the statuesque rows of his warriors standing at attention. They had lined the inner halls just behind the great opening gate for four days now, unmoving. Relentless. They had been in the shadows when Horus had been ferried in by wiling hands as if by ancient Charon himself.

'Grand are the plans of those who built the cosmos. Great are their works. Hallowed be their messengers.'

His meditation comes to a swift end, interrupted by a soft chime from the helmet laid at his side. With a reluctant sigh, the captain reaches for his plumed casque. But the white cloaked attendant standing at attention to his right replies before before the need to even lock the helmet in place.

“Captain, the surveyors have detected motion in the Lesser Halls of Nurgleth.” his voice a droning a bleak monotone as if deeply entranced.

Kal Belekar sighs again, reaching to his unsheathed blade while placing the red transverse crested helm atop his bald head. “Sor Akal, I take it that this is serious enough that Baskaroth's squad can not handle it alone?”

“Perhaps. We felt it prudent to inform you, sir. Where there is one, there is often more in the wings, as wolves are wont to do.” his lieutenant nods once, blue eyes shining in the dark like candles.

Rising to his feet, the captain blink-clickes the two squads of warriors to attention, signalling them to fall in behind him. Already he was watching the augury servo-skull's recording that flashed before his eyes. Spotting the ten shapes moving through the empty halls at the bottom of the catacomb, he felt the anxious hum of adrenaline coursing through his blood stream.

“You were right to tell me.” Kal Belekar's eyes flicker across the grainy images of a trio of Horus's captains heading the strike squad through the darkness as he leads his own thirty warriors through the abyssal gloom with only their helmet preysense and a thin glint of incense burners to guide them. “Confrontation was inevitable, lieutenant. Prepare yourselves.”

“Erebus said-” Two guardians open the inner chamber door with a resounding boom, letting a wash of sound break over them like a tide and halting the lieutenant's reply.

But the captain picks up where his subordinate left off, “Erebus's plans deal with the Warmaster. While the Sons of Horus no longer look as they once did, they are just as savage and dogged in their views as ever. Conflict, was thus, inevitable. Know your foe, or the battle is half-lost already and only the gods may save you.”

The column of astartes strides into the open hall as masters of all they survey. But the throngs of milling men, beasts, and halfway-between creatures gather in the darkened corners of the towering naos chamber reaching up into the blackness cast by circles of enormous bonfires. Hallucinogenic smoke wafts down the steps as purple flames dance with tongues of red and orange, reflecting off glossy polished plinths and cubic monoliths jutting from tiered terraces of carved onyx.

The lecherous writhing of thousands of fur-clad savages cavort and twist in ecstatic plays of frothing indulgence in some circles. They themselves spiral into others in a dance of exquisite madness with savage bouts of marshal bloodletting in others as every hedonistic indulgence echoes to the clamour of cacophonous musical bands playing in different corners of the rooms.

As the astartes ascend the steps, simian Davinites and paint daubed humans scramble away from them. The bestial warriors were mostly ungulates, like minotaurs and satyrs of mythic ages past, though they bowed their crowns of horns and edge away into the darkness as the grey-clad warriors of Colchis proceed up the stairs linking the four tiers of chaotic glory.

A flurry of bat wings flutters above them, but Kal Belekar keeps his sights on the towering dual doors leading to the sacred adyton wherein the Warmaster lay with the high priests of the Serpent Lodge. Shimmering firelight glints off the towering bronze reliefs depicting the mythic tree of life and the serpent who began it all.

A twisted pair of bronze clad minotaurs stand on either side of the portal, male to the left and female to the right. Brass chains affixed to their waists and looped around their twisting horns rattle and clank as they kneel to the approaching astartes. Even then, the towering sentinels were barely shorter than the captain.

Kal Belekar lifts up a gauntleted hand, “We require immediate entrance to converse with the Prophet.”

After a guttural grunt of acknowledgement, both snort and bend their backs before striding along the landing. The chains pull taut against sunken anchors as the minotaurs strain with effort, and with a groan of protest, the metal doors slowly yawn open.

With an upraised hand and a blink-clicked command to 'secure', the Captain proceeds alone into the darkened alcove. Firelight reveals an ennead of white robe clad humans in front of a narrow granite fissure closed off with a round burial boulder. Small, shrunken, waif-like shells impassively look at the Word Bearer's captain through silver avian-fashioned masks. As the captain passes the threshold, the Minotaurs growl as they turn and slowly push the gates closed.

Only once the sound of the thronging masses outside are silenced, does the lead of the group of nine speak in a hushed voice.

“You endanger the ritual, child of Colchis. This must be of the utmost importance.” Her breathless rasp barely makes it to the warrior's ears as if the air were stolen from her lungs.

“The Prophet must know, warriors of Horus Lupercal have entered the Delphos.” Kal Belekar impersonally informs the group.

The next creature, a young twisted girl on the speaker's left picks up in a wheezing hiss, “So be it, but there is always a sacrifice to be made to appease the powers. Speak a name.”

The captain pauses for a moment, head bobbing with silent contemplation. “Sol Akal, lieutenant, ninty-forth company.”

A third figure opposite the thin girl nods, slowly bobbing his head as the other eight robed figured did as well. “A sacrifice without pain and loss is no sacrifice, the soul of a trusted subordinate is acceptable to us.” He reaches for a silver clasp of a twin-tailed comet and unfastens it. The white robe falls from his frail form and disappears like a winking shadow. “Blood for blood.”

Without hesitation, the captain flicks the blade from his scabbard, slicing the man from groin to shoulder in a glitter of blue lightning. The bisected halves of the man slop to the floor, the blood seeping out from him in gushing torrents. The scarlet river flows straight towards the corners of the room, congealing in the depths as the withered form exanguinates itself into a chalky white desiccated corpse, having aged centuries in moments. And with it, the other eight figures disappear in glints of white light.

With a low grinding rasp, the stone rolls aside, revealing the nave of the temple.

Kal Belekar enters through the naturally worn fissure, edging a cavernous space with low sibilant whisper-chants and the flickering glut of tallow fueled flames. Exiting the short weather-worn traverse, the captain emerges, eyes immediately fixed to the figure in the center of the room.

There, clothed in just a white gauze shroud of silk upon a granite slab, is the still form of Horus Lupercal. Eight lanterns cast a spectral myriad of colours across his waxy features. Even on deaths door, the ashen figure commands attention and respect. The captain barely keeps himself from kneeling in front of the Warmaster.

His attention was broken as a single gaunt figure clad in fur and feathers, crosses the floor from a huddled procession. She wears a barbaric plumed mask, its wide wooden frame slathered in vegetable dyes of blue, orange, and green, though the captain deeply suspected the red pinched slashes across the slitted eyes were made of dried blood. Kal Belekar had seen her in conference with Erebus several times. Akshub, the high priestess. She says nothing, but the voice in his head comes chiding and harsh, 'What are you doing here?!'

The captain regards her, and makes to speak only to find his lips all but welded shut. Instead, the understanding of the message prompts his thought just as clearly. 'I must speak to Erebus, it is vital.'

'What can be so important that you desecrate the ritual of ascension?' Akshub narrows her yellow eyes and scrunches her pronounced lips.

'A strike team from the Sons of Horus have entered the Delphos. They will be here, soon.' Kal Belekar nods, fixing her with a stare behind the blue lenses.

Her answer is delayed, as if shaken but he can see the frustration and surprise squirm across her bestial face like some silent theatrical play. 'So be it. There is the path'

Akshub points to a corner shrouded in darkness. The Word Bearer captain crosses the chamber, but keeps well away from the intricate array of salt and chalk lines laid out around the Warmaster. Crossing through the gloom, the blackness itself felt as if it was trying to tug at his limbs and the distances between the pools of lantern light felt far longer than they should be.

But after almost a minute, the Word Bearer arrived at the directed hollow, finding it a narrow fissure carved into the primordial rock. Squeezing his armoured bulk inside, he hears the whisper of the voiceless neverborn, spotting wisps of light sliding through the darkness, only faintly obscuring a distant blue white glow silhouetting the edges of jagged rock. They clasp to his pauldrons, wanting him to stay, trying to tempt him back as nails scrape on his pauldrons and inhuman eyes peer back through the armourglas lenses. A phantom tongue laps along his back from the black carapace's sockets along his spine, connecting the dots.

He ignores each and every one, focusing his gaze on the faint glow seeping through the narrow, winding defile. And there, as the last tendrils slip from his limbs, he spots the swirling nothingess of the void. And what seems like merely fifty paces away, in the eye of the storm of roiling blue and purple flame, is the clear glow cast from an eight-pointed star. And at its heart, connecting all the lines, is the nearly unrecognizable figure of his First Chaplain.

Intricate gold and silver chains connect the First Chaplain's fingers to the edges of each point of the Primordial Star, intricate gold, silver, brass, and iron links glittering in the dancing warplight that swirls around him in a hurricane, whipping a black cloak around his scarlet armoured frame. Horns stretch from his leering helm, the staff of power floating in the air beside him. But the tattered scraps of oath parchment and prayer pennants whip and ripple around him in the cyclonic whirlpool rushing around him.

“Belekar!” Erebus snarls as if through water, “Can't you see I'm occupie-”

“Horus, I could use your help about now.” A feminine voice hisses from the ether, pulsing like a wave around him and crashing like a wave against Erebus.

Another different voice whispers moments after that, “I think I’d prefer to stay here and wait for Starlight and the rest of my friends, I hope you understand.”

Erebus strains with a snarl of effort, one of the iron links dangling loose in the air as if whips from his outstretched hand like a banner caught in an updraft.

Glancing back for a moment by instinct, Kal Belekar glances over his shoulder. Through the fissure he beholds four wraith like figures gathered around the guttering astral form of the supine Warmaster. Indistinct bestial shapes clutter around him in pale flickering outlines, whispering, taunting, clutching at his limbs as whatever is said is left between them.

Turning back to the First Chaplain, the captain nods, “The Hounds of Horus are here, Lord Erebus. Instructions?”

The First Chaplain hisses in effort as with a ricocheting 'ping', one brass chain comes undone at the base before a second silver chain snaps, shrapnel shards flicking off as it's lost to the winds. Erebus snarls with a grunt of effort, “No prisoners, no witnesses. Stand fast! Order the rest of your company from the Hand of Fate to the Vengeful Spirit, we have work to do and little time to do it. You will be briefed upon arrival.”

But behind the warp-swept sorcerer, Kal Belekar spots a shimmer in the distance. The small blot of light, golden and profound in the tempest of darkness.

The captain edges back towards the fissure, putting all his effort into suddenly leaden limbs, “Yes lord, as you command.”

Chapter 26: Entangled

It didn't take the keen eyes of a griffon to spot a change so subtle and obscure as the complete change of colours in the sky. Dull scabrous red had melted into shocks of crimson, and now dims to the dulcet hues of purple and blue. In the most prideful part of her mind, Twilight wanted to believe that it was the sheer volume of raw aetheric energy reacting to her element. The deep lavenders and pale mauve that shifted from vibrant magenta had been her colours, after all. But once the swirling miasma of eldretch blues had entered the proverbial painting pot, she knew there was more to it. If her guide, this ‘mayor’ noticed it, he said nothing.

“Thank you for frightening off those, uh, dogs, by the way. I do appreciate it.” She starts a little awkwardly while trotting alongside him. It seemed like the right thing for her to do after that little ‘incident’.

“Oh, I can bet you could have dealt with them without me.” The male replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But, you are quite welcome. Ahhhh, here we are.”

He didn’t need to say it, or to gesture with the flame topped cane to the bright amalgam tower of shimmering silver, though he did both. Like a single polished icicle of gleaming metal, they emerge from the winding row of rickety townhouses into an empty market square surrounding the silver tower. It was tall enough, though likely just a touch shorter than the Crystal Empire's Spire of the Eternal Heart. Wide at its base, it stretched sharply towards a single monolith of pure chromatic silver, and up in a multi-faceted metal structure that curves towards an icicle like peak that glitters with a cyan halo of light. Several little outrigger peaks stretch seamlessly from the main tower in sharp geometric planes.

Her scientific mind quickly caught something, and her smile brightens visibly, "Wow, it's like it's made of raw chromium! Look at that!" she says, eyes sparkling with wonder, practically reflecting off the base of the tower itself. "It has such regular facets and just look at its cleavage! It's a perfect elemental specimen!" The Alicorn's wings flicker as her mind turns over the elemental structure.

“I'm quite glad that you approve. This is the Tower of Anix. My own little corner away from the hustle and bustle of my responsibilities rebuilding this little spot.” He gestures towards a doorway that opens very much by magic. With a glint of radiating cyan light, the perfect metal skin peels back, forming a perfect triangular arch that allows them entrance to the structure that looms over the rickety neglected city.

“And you are Anix, I take it?” Twilight looks back up, tilting her heads to regard the lanky figure.

He smiles, flashing just an instance of fangs. The pony most certainly notices that, and she files it away just as quickly as the practiced ‘royal’ smile tries to worm its way onto her face. “Hmm. Perceptive deduction, fortunate guess, or was it so obvious?”

“Well," she shrugs with a credulous glimmer of self-satisfaction, "it is new, so I suspect with a name like that, it was probably named for its owner.”

“Mmmm,” he smiles and nods, “Very close. You may call me Anix, for now. It's, more or less, correct.” He gestures inside the black cavernous opening. The internal space, for what it is, glows with a pale blue light illuminating stark shadows and silhouettes of sharp interior decor not dissimilar to the Crystal Empire’s usual bass reliefs, flying buttresses, and anchoring arcades.

No, no that wasn’t quite right. Twilight was almost ashamed it took her so long: it had the same organic metallic crystalline formations as her own castle’s undercrofts. She’d had her friends, and herself tidy the space up to make it homely, but even now she spotted the similar geometric shapes and near mathematical ‘perfections’.

All at once, her mind registers the smell of primal magic, thick and noxious, melded with something more poignant. Twilight had sensed it twice, and it sent shivers down her spine both times. Now was a third, and its bitter perfume held the sickly scent of a ginko tree.

Dark magic.

She's sensed it with Celestia in the throne room, once contending with Sombra in the crystal empire. This was the same, and it snaps Twilight out of her amazed stupor in a heartbeat as Luna's words echo in her mind, 'Everypony and everyone past this point will mean you harm.'

Twilight starts again as the realization dulls her chipper disposition, “So, this space-”

“Is under new management, yes.” Anix preempts whatever Twilight had to ask.

“Oh? For how long? It looks different compared to the surrounding homes.” she points a hoof to the ramshackle townhouses and dilapidated spires jutting up around them. They were even taller than the two and three story residences she’d seen on first arrival. But each of these spaces bellied and sagged as if moments from crumbling.

She hadn't noticed it until she pointed, but latticed silver spars and prongs of crystalline growths were stretching up from caustic pools gathering in the recesses of the alleyways. Tiny kindled flames cast imperceptible pale witchlight so close to a Unicorn’s illumination spells, that she swore she’d find a pony hiding around the corner.

“Not long.” He replies, eyes glittering in the gathering dark.

Twilight swallows before turning back, not moving any closer to the entrance. Anix halts halfway between herself and the tower, his gaunt frame not obstructing any of the faint light pouring from the portal inwards. Instead, Twilight catches a glimpse of a shadow... more an outline, brighter than than the light bloom around it: it's tall, lanky, and winged, gasping a skull headed cane...

'Wait... skull?' Twilight looks more covertly, spotting the change from the flame, first mistaken for a twin tailed comet. But, perhaps she wasn't mistaken. It had changed.

As Twilight works the subtle incantations and effort into preparing a true-seeing spell, the male cranes his neck to gesture inwards. “Come, I’ll get you some tea, miss Sparkle. Welcome to the Eight Points. Welcome to the realm that, in at lest one lost and ancient tongue, is called Sicarus.”

Her horn glimmers, and the creature standing before her wavers in heat-haze. It constantly shifts and blurs, limbs never reconciling and outline inconsistent. But he was taller, wraith-like, leaning on a cane that glitters with power. No, it was a rod. It swirls with magic, the thaumic energy had to be enormous as it throws off radiating waves of arcane power.

Raising an arcane barrier around herself doesn't even get the male to blink, but his smirk grows a little wider as he waits with an outstretched gesture. So alike Discord, yet just different enough to be worrying.

“I’m in a maze, I know that.” Twilight says, standing defiant for just a moment.

“Yes, Sicarus. The Maze. It’s a nascent plane, just beginning its solidification in the Primordial flux. It is potential, the penultimate place of fate. And, Mistress Twilight Sparkle, it is no mistake that you're here.” Anix inclines his head, and in a gout of pale blue-green flame, the facade melts like wax.

The creature stands tall next to the silver tower’s entrance, gangly and somewhere between amazing and loathsome. Unnaturally thin limbs support its narrow figure, ending in curling talons; appearing incredibly avian-like with blue feathers lathered in a wet purple sheen and tipped in wisps of curling white. Its neck curls, and she sees the vulture like skull ending in a black twisted beak, icy magenta eyes peering at her. It simply nods, dipping its chin to a white cloth covered robe girded with a plain black leather belt. Its tall wings arc over its back, and it smiles in its toothy, uncomfortable way. Part of Twilight's analytical mind screams ‘vulture’ but part of her waking mind said ‘bluejay’, but regardless of what it was, it was all wrong.

As his wings unfurl, stretching dozens of paces each. Instinctively, the Alicorn's own lavender pinions flick out wide in a threat display, stance shifting lower to the ground as her muscles tense. Sweat beads on her brow and an acrid tang gathers in the back of her mouth as her heartbeat thunders in her chest.

“Nothing is coincidence, it is all as planned. Please, come in.” His voice hadn't changed, even if every facet of his appearance had. His wing arches over the door as he gestures her inside. And yet the awkward sensation lingers thick in the air. It wasn't hard to smell the acerbic pong of Dark Magic commingling with primordial untapped ether. It was what Discord uses, they were so alike they could have been relatives. Part of her wonders if, just maybe, they were.

“I think I’d prefer to stay here and wait for Starlight and the rest of my friends, I hope you understand.” Twilight resolutely nods, holding his gaze as a shudder and low bass thrum vibrates across the courtyard from the direction they'd already traveled.

The revealed creature rears its head once, eyes flickering in questing curiosity, before forming into a smirk. The buildings around them crackle and twist as spars shake off their contorting structure and hang suspended in the magic-saturated air. The Alicorn takes a quick reflexive glance just as the rotted timbers break apart and whirl around her in an amorphous pool of multi-spectral light. Solid surfaces melt and smear like oil paintings, creating a vast whirlpool depression that quickly solidifies in a neat ring around them.

“There, now no one will interrupt... oh, I don’t mean your other friend, I mean the dogs, or the festering ones. Ugh, or the hedonites. We are not so different, you and I. I seek to know, I seek to help. You see, Mistress Twilight Sparkle, you are not unknown to us.”

Taken aback at the reversal, the creature seems to summon a neat little table and chairs from the ether. It's a perfect pony-sized chrome table with nine sides appearing along with a low backless purple cushion sitting on her side. He gestures for her to sit while reaching behind him to unbuckle something from its garment. He simply tosses the item on the table, making the pony shy back at the meaty ‘thump’.

Whatever Twilight was expecting, a simple black leatherette bound book with gold leaf and twin tailed red cloth bookmark, wasn’t it.

“Go on. Take a look and judge for yourself, Twilight Sparkle. Please, indulge me for a moment-” he gestures the Alicorn to the table, then curls down to roost like a bird. With his wings folded up around his body, Twilight was certain she just glimpsed a second set of feathery pinions. But the illusion was gone and she was suddenly unsure how big he really was. He had seemed to stand twice her height as a ‘human’ or whatever he was, five times with arching wings outstretched, and now he didn’t seem remarkably bigger than herself.

‘He’s magic. Just like Discord’.

But this was more fluid, more prone to deceit rather than just misdirection or fickle flights of fancy. It had been done so deliberately that her eyes had barely registered the shift.

Cautiously, carefully, the pony trots up to the table and takes a seat on the suspiciously offered cushions. Though, only after she'd covertly scryed it with an identification spell and learned it was just a conjured construct. It melds to her rump like gel rather than just a puffy cushion, and she wiggles to get comfortable. She swallows while stealing a glance at the tome, but her eyes never quite leave the creature seated a few paces beyond the other side of the table.

“Go ahead, look if you wish.” Something beneath the table warbles, and Twilight leans back with a yelp of surprise.

The creature that scrambles up from underneath was... not what she was expecting. It was a dancing purple flame that smells faintly of sulphur and ozone. It blazes merrily, tiny limbs mostly amorphous as it pulls itself up onto the tabletop with quite some effort and a little bubbly ‘yerp’. From there, it drifts lazily upwards in a flickering flame.

Seeing Twilight’s puzzled expression, Anix replies with a warmer then usual tone, “We call them kindleflames, but some of the scions of the Material Plane call them tutelaries.” It provides just enough lambent glow for her to read perfectly well, though the Alicorn was more than adept at reading in dim light.

“It... reminds me a little of a Parasprite. Anix, while I appreciate your hospitality, I really do have to find YEEEAAAH!” Almost without thinking she had used her arcane grasp to reach out, touching the book to flip it on its side to read the spine. But the moment her arcane grasp touched its surface, it sparked to life with a fizzle of power.

The black surface glows as blinding white lights dance across the page, burning away the leatherette and leaving behind a brown cover. But embossed in the centre is a golden pony head, stylized and fringed in golden clasps. It was identical to one in her library, Predictions and Prophecies: the tale of Nightmare Moon and the Elements of Harmony that had led her to Ponyville.

It was back home in a glass cabinet book case. So how was it here?

The being calling itself Anix, nods once in its serpentine 'gulp', “Read it, if you wish. You and I both know, Twilight Sparkle-” The Alicorn glances up, catching the glinting lavender and purple eyes of her avian host. “-that the greatest good comes through knowledge. The greatest evil, from ignorance.”

She was about to open her mouth, but stops. While she didn’t disagree entirely, something wasn’t quite meshing together. Yet the Alicorn couldn’t quite put the fragments back in place, so she nods once and notices one small alteration; on the spine of the book wasn’t the familiar Ponish script, it was her emblazoned cutie mark.

‘That wasn’t there’

Opening the book up, she spots the familiar title page and ancient Ponish illustrations. But something else was different, it was thicker. She could tell in a moment that at least a hundred pages of the thick aged yellow parchment had been added. Twilight's voice hitched and her heart skipped a beat at the depiction of the two sisters, whispering, "Celestia.... Luna-”

“Don’t worry, she is alive and well.” The creature croons like a supportive mentor. Twilight’s gaze returns to the creature, casting a curious but suspicious glare its way. “It is the Eight Points, your companion is powerful and while the servants of other Powers might be formidable, you carry yourself... different. More confidently.” Keeping curled up in the comfortable shell of wings, the creature’s beak shifts like a griffon’s pulling the cartilage at the edge to expose a grin. “I can show you her, I can even take you to her. I can help you, Twilight Sparkle. After all, it's no mistake that you are here, right now.”

“How could you possibly know that?” She asks, but already she flips to the end of the tome of harmony.

“Because as I said, nothing is a coincidence. Nothing. Is there any surprise that you, Twilight, keep the same naming convention as your mentors? You are in company of both Luna and Celestia, yes?” He flicks a black talon at the page, and Twilight’s gaze follows it, shocked at the portrait that it stops at. Her hoof scuffs against a picture of... something. An Alicorn of enormous statue, tall, faintly aurora spangled mane and lavender hued body adorned with all the golden raiment of Equestrian office. It had her cutie mark. It had her cutie mark! The picture was herself, surrounded by a kingdom of ponies in a bright white city stretching to the stars.

Her heart beats again, and she flips the page back and forth, finding more such illustrations of herself, and depictions of her friend. She spots a familiar image of two labeled element necklaces on opposite pages. The voice that whispers seems to come from everywhere, a convenient narrator for her jumbled thoughts. "Look again. Your friends Loyalty and Honesty are there as well. None of it is unforseen, Twilight Sparkle... after all, who do you think it was that named you?”

Twilight snaps her gaze up, looking at the creature guardedly. “Where's Rainbow Dash and Ap... wait, what do you mean?”

His eyes were glittering now, more than before. Part of her whispered that she'd said something. Something too much. She nodded, but something hitches in her mind. Elements of harmony, but nopony called them-

“You were foreseen. As was Luna. As was Celestia. One, the spirit of the Pony race in its halcyon age: an age now coming to a close. No one tribe, no one race to be hallowed over another. Celestia guided the ponies in their perfect golden age, one that’s coming to an end as others are elevated to their stature. And that, Twilight, is all because of you.”

The book flips back, and she’s staring into a somewhat stylized version of her own nearly-complete academy. “Your school, your works, your efforts will elevate other races beyond their stations to be equal with the Pony civilization. You shall advance them by a thousand years and bring collaboration to the masses. You, Twilight, are the Little Star that was seen in the darkness of purest night for others, and the one who became the Last Light of pony superiority. You are the last glimmer of your racial hegemony. Celestia and Luna will soon step down from their pedestals, knowing full well they can no longer rule the kingdom that you have changed. Never again will ponies be exalted above others, though they laid the groundwork for everything.”

Something rebels in her chest while a pressure builds in her core. A nervousness that couldn't determine whether that was good or bad... it was a keen sense of loss. “N-no! I don't want this to be about me! I wouldn't want ..." the worry and sickly sense of some betrayal sunk in her breast as her voice crackles, "I did this to help spread Harmony and Friendship! I, I didn't want to do anything to hurt or disappoint Celestia and Luna. I would never-”

She sees Anix coldly shrug, “All things simply are, Twilight. I have seen it. So surely the Master of Fate, has as well. Old Pony’s kalpa has come to fruition, and thus begins the descent into New Night. Every era has its end, Twilight. You were named, destined, and promised to be the instrument of change. Just like Luna was to herald in the golden epoch of your kind. Though it was not in a way that others truly noticed: for doesn’t your halcyon era begin with the Dawning of the First Light of Celestia’s Sun?”

The world around her felt as if it was spinning. She had so many questions, so many things she wanted to dispute, but where to begin. “I... Luna’s different, she’s-”

The avian gave her no chance to reply. “Not the Nightmare? No, no she isn't. Even from here, I can feel that, and can tell you that. But she was the last vestige of the dark times, where tribes fought tribes and there was no unity of purpose. Luna sought a change, and she got it. She is the Night, or rather, Nightfall: the last trace of her barbaric era. Luna. Came. First. Celestia might be the elder, but it was always Luna who would be the catalyst of change. Just as she is now. For aren’t you sitting here, with me, because of her?” The avian smiles, and she watches tongue tied, as he cocks his head like a bluejay and nods again.

Twilight had stopped reading, pushing her hoof over the memorial markers depicted of five other familiar sigils known so intimately to herself. Even distracted, she covers them up so she didn't have to see it.

“Search your heart, Twilight, you knew you were bound for greatness. This form, your Alicorn frame, is not common. You are no mere plebeian soul bound to work, and slave, and die with the only legacy being perhaps a few unaware offspring or a mouldering tome left in an abandoned library corner. Although, the latter was what you always expected of yourself, isn't it? No spouse, no foals, just some theories and books that list the name of the great scholar, Twilight Sparkle. That was to be your legacy..."

"I...Iiii..." she warbles awkwardly, gaze faltering from his piercing magenta eyes to fall back on the tome. A shiver ripples up her frame. After all, he was right.

"But the Powers saw different. We saw different. We saw, and we see, and we shall see, greatness.” The swell of the words, the shift of his frame. He leans forward, smaller than before, more avian and less serpentine. It put her a little more at ease, as he felt less like a Draconequus and more like a griffon or hippogryph. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the waterfall of green-black sludge spewing from the cane's open mouth and glowing eye sockets.

The creature had no breath to continue its taunt as Luna sends rays of searing moonlight blistering through the air, scything sideways across the bestial gathering and obliterating both the chained corpse of the astartes and stone pillars. But it reflects off the bronze altar in the midst in a glittering shimmer of unlight. Crackling sparks momentarily silhouette the unholy monument.

It was fast, whatever it was: as quick as one of the Bloodthirsters but not even twice Luna's height. It darts around the edges as the rain of shrapnel stone and meat falls around it.

“Swift, not swift enough, Antithesii! No sorcerer has hold upon me!” It jutters nearly out of existence, reversing its direction and keeping every bit of its momentum. It darts back, forth, weaving and rushing at her with its greatsword held in both hands.

With a chopping swing, Ceifador snaps out to deflect the first cut, but sends haptic shudders bck along Luna's body. The second and third slices happen almost simultaneously as razor sweeps hiss high and low, forcing the Alicorn to skip back and barely ward away a fourth lunging slice with an errant parry of the blade. Hopping back, circling around, she nearly learned her mistake as one of the barbarian horde thrusts a spearpoint that bounces off her hind hoof. A swift kick shatters the haft, but the creature dove at her, taking advantage of her hesitation.

There was no dodging. Luna closes her eyes, a flash and disorienting blur later, she spins, teleporting a short distance and wheeling to face where she was. By then, the creature had already turned, its stance wide and blade upraised in clawed hands.

“That's one. You won't get that chance again.” he taunts, passing a long forked tongue over its sharpened teeth.

“I won't need it." Luna snorts, fanning her wings out and dropping low as she stalks around him like a predator, "I've defeated that which called itself a bloodthirster, and I'll vanquish you, whatever you are.”

Given the opportunity it thumps its broad chest and snarls, “I am Jethex, The Skulltaker, Herald of Kharneth! And I am your doom, Anthithesii!"

Luna's ear flicks as the term crops up again, “You keep calling me that." She sighs with a grumble, "Am I supposed to know what it means, beast?”

It snarls and darts at her, and she can barely loose a bolt of lightning and conjure Ceifador again. The lightning peels off the creature's hide, shedding motes of unlight that drift down as abyssal sparks. Jethex slides on one knee, slicing under Ceifador's guard, barely missing the Alicorn's belly as she throws herself to the side. Even then it's nearly too late as a swipe from the greatsword sings past her muzzle a fraction of a hooflength away.

“Because you are a mistake! You are an impossibility! You should not exist. You CAN NOT EXIST!” Itbuids to a shrieking crescendo. The barbaric congregation goes deathly silent as eyeless gazes hidden behind thick faceplates and horned helms turn in her direction. “But here you are, you stand before the servant of Kharneth! Your powers are feeble, your form too frail. You will not succeed, you will not take this galaxy from its rightful masters. The Anathema and the faithless fifth have no claim! Your masters have played their hand too soon, Antithesii! And I shall right this wrong, here and now!”

Once again Jethex charges, his sweeping blade singing through the air with reckless abandon. Despite its size, the greatsword cuts perfect figure eights, foiling the Princess's guard, merging into hacking chops only just batted back with her questing blade and more than once glancing off the fluted haft. But each missed cut spins the momentum further, sending the skeletal spirit into lunging feints and further questing thrusts with a precision better than any warlord Luna had ever dealt with. Save, perhaps, one.

“Horus.” she mutters with a grunt as the red-metal blade snips the edge of a pinion feather on her wing, sending a scorching black flame down the quill. “I could really use your help about now.”

A beat. A single errant pulse, weak and distant. But It was a pulse beneath her hooves nonetheless. Luna's ears perk up as she wards away another sweep of the crimson blade.

But the creature takes a step back at the name. Or, perhaps, the pulse.

The lull was a relief, but Luna could already sense the Skulltaker's confusion giving way to anger and surprise. And yet, she'd sensed where the pulse originated as the slow radial tremors rippled through the sandstone floor. They all spread out from the same spot. Her eyes quickly flick towards the brass altar at the center of it all.

“You are... not just Antithesii... you carry the stink of Anathema's stolen sons. You carry something of theirs. There is only one-and-twenty. What are you? whatareyou? WHATAREYOU?!” Its gibbering scream shakes the foundation of the caverns as Luna quickly charges her horn. She can hear the scramble of talons scratching the floor, the screeching rage and thrum of slicing metal.

The fizzle-pop of teleportation rends the air. And already she dives as Ceifador rematerializes. It was a calculation, one that she had an idea about, but no guarantee.

Plummeting, she channels all her strength into her wings remembering one moment it had worked before, courtesy of Loyalty of all ponies. Her descent is steep, straight down, halberd forming below her as she drops towards the brass altar.

Jethex, much to his promise, already wheels and dashes towards the center of the room, blade outstretched. In an incandescent bellow of rage, the milling hordes of warriors pour onto the dais far too late.

The greatsword spears upward, and Luna feels the blaze of abject agony as it drives through flesh and slices into bone. Right after the jarring crash of impact that carries the barbed greatsword through the base of her left wing, the tip of Ceifador drives straight into the centre of the unholy altar.

With a cataclysmic thunderclap mingling its formless scream with Luna's cry of pain, the abyss cracks apart in a whirling gale of blood red mist.

Chapter 27: Mysterion

“Sunset, is this what I think it is?

“Honestly, Starlight, I think so."

"It changed." Starlight Glimmer's awe laden whisper had barely disturbed the magic-infused void as the strange world very literally unfolds before them. Both mares stand in silence surrounded by the cyan bubble of Starlight's arcane forging. But neither expected that the route through the mirror to a worried but resplendent Celestia, would result in them looking for Twilight and Luna, and end with what felt like staring down on a city inside a dark nebulae from an invisible mountain. But it was how the past couple of days were panning out regardless.

Worse yet, from the moment they'd stepped hoof through the mirror, there was the overwhelming sensation of being watched from a distance.

Sunset stares down in almost utter silence, momentarily stupified. Her mouth hangs agape at the image before them as she numbly plods along their pathway, suspended like a meandering glass catwalk over the yawning abyss. The massive structure below them wasn't just one city, but eight; like the radial points of a compass, with was like a city though it stretches out in every direction and in every way. All of the spurs radiate from one central point. Great tines stretching out and folding against the plain euclidean geometries of any real township. Some great hallways in great tomb-complexes unfold like sandstone dominoes, constantly refolding and changing direction. Others swirl and curve, seeming to belly then split under their own prodigious weight as ancient early-modern architecture of townhouses and towering urban sprawl twists in subtle curves like sagging leaves in a rainstorm.

Utterly enormous, they spread along two axis, four points on each, and one concentric ring in the center apart from the rest. But at its crimson core, beats a single infernal heart that shines with a hellish glow. The whole unfathomable labyrinth swirls in the middle of a hypnotizing whirlpool of a cosmic nebulae. It was quite different than the roiling wall of blackness that the solar diarch lanced with an incandescent ray to allow them entrance.

“This is like something out of a Mareis Etcher painting.” Starlight muses aloud while cocking her head to the side to view the whole scene from another angle.

Sunset lofts a brow with a sigh, evidently glad for the distraction, “Did she do the ones with the melting clocks too?”

Starlight shakes her head, “No. That was Salvador Dolly.”

“Right.” Sunset smiles a bit, tearing her eyes off the bewildering and assuredly impossible three dimensional maze still expanding in eight directions before her eyes. She focuses on the barely seen, or rather barely perceived path. Almost immediately she had felt the chilly absence of anything, discovering a black pathway winding like a vein in a rather obtuse and round-about way within the twisting labyrinth.

And just as suddenly, the smell of copper and the faint prick of fur on the nape of her neck sends a shiver through her. Something, somewhere, was definitely watching them. The scent of cloying perfume wafts back, speeding her heart and lending a certain loose speed to her tongue. "This is a lot like if you looked down at the city back home from Sagehen mountain through one of those ten dollar crystals you buy at the museum." Sunset offers trying not to look around, trying not to turn, hoping that the soft tap of hoof falls echoing in her ears was just her and Starlight's echo reverberating around the inside of their transparent shield. She didn't even really notice the lofted brow from her new companion.

“Sorry. I got to go to a few museums and exhibits, but unless it's with Rarity, Twilight or Trixie kinda make exploring the gift shop afterward a little problematic. One always wants something and the other has something better planned or gets hooked on something and obsesses over it.” Starlight explains, still not managing to really look away from the immensity of eight massive tracks of sprawling territory. "Bet you can guess who, right?"

“Yeah.” Sunset chortles, but the dry nervous chatter of teeth and constant swivel of her ears catches Starlight's attention. A flash of purple snaps the fiery Unicorn's attention back over her shoulder.

“Sunset,” she reaches out and gives the brightly coloured Unicorn a pat on her withers, “It's alright. I got your back.” She gestures to the bubble stretched around them both, “This frustrated Twilight for quite some time, It'll hold up to whatever's out here, too. We aren't dead yet. And we trotted through a black wall of squirming hideous monsters-”

“That Celestia blasted with a sunbe-ray” Sunset stammers, twitching for a second before licking her lips. “But yeah, yeah I know.”

“We'll find them.” Starlight nods, “Or, rather you will. Right?”

The empathic Unicorn nods as they walk the perilous pathway, “Absolutely. Even if we have to wander that maze shouting Luna and Twilight's names like in one of Grim's fairytales.”

“Honestly, both of them tend to make a splash wherever they go.” Starlight smiles, trotting a little further down the winding black path as it curves inward towards two of the expanding planes. “They aren't the most subtle po-”

The crimson heart at the centre pulses once, catching the eye as sure as an exploding star. Both mares halt as one of the nearest tines, a sandstone series of corridors forming switchbacks that fold inward, suddenly stops. And with a strange base note that rattles through the void with a resonant sonic thrum.

The sandstone corridors explode into puffs of rapidly dispersing red mist, leaving a single sparkle of blue light hanging in the ether.

The vulture-like monster Anix crouches before her like a malnourished toad. His hand still clutches the skull-topped cane, virulent black and green mists pouring from empty sockets as his own eyes dance in a maleficent cavalcade of kaleidoscopic colours. The book still calls to her, the book of secrets, the book that had started her down the path to becoming the princess she was now.

Predictions and Prophecies lay open on the table, its colourful illustration of the worlds set out before her. Her own soft grey hoof rests on well preserved pages of parchment as she tried to deny what she'd learned, and to know more about the possibilities. She draws a ragged breath, eyes enraptured as she stares at a picture of herself on a throne of gold with arcing streams of light illuminating her to the starry heavens.

Anix's voice whispers, no longer from an avian beak but a soft distortion of the magic-laden air around her in his placid purr. “You search for the once-fallen Princess of Night, and now-fallen Son of Man. Luna, once again, seeks change. She aligns herself with a consort of tremendous power. But make no mistake, Little Star, they are agents of change. Not chance. It is foreseen. After all, look at them.”

A wisp of purple flame flickers to life In the palm of his scaled talons. Amid the shadows cast by grotesque firelight, she spots the fellow Alicorn. And at once, Twilight takes a breath. Luna disappears through whirring clouds of inky black smoke amid the crumbling ruins of an unfathomable city, while mountainous shapes plummet from the blood red skies. She sweeps and slices with her legendary halberd, a sight seen only in mystic texts. Teeth clenched, eyes ablaze, the midnight black avatar crowned in a corona of dread purple light, sweeps out with a vengeful speed almost too fast to follow. Her opponent, a mass of red shadows and flickering flame, blurs as it streaks across what view she had.

The world shifts, and Twilight spots another being she had never laid eyes upon. There, silhouetted against a monolithic slitted eye on a raised dais of crenelated obsidian, is a human. Or, at least, something remarkably close to a human if stretched to absurd proportions. Muscled and positively massive, clad in plates of jet, he radiates supreme power. The bald head only draws more attention to the stern glower and golden eyes that sparkle with a glimmer of madness. His taloned hand clasps the broken body of a golden warrior, lifting him up to see his face one last time.

She can see the rage, the power, the unfettered dark majesty in them both. Dark. In the dark...

'Dark... magic...'

'Twilight!' a tiny voice whispers in her mind. 'Twilight Sparkle!' a second familiar and insistent voice calls as if from behind a wall.

Twilight's eyes snap as wide as saucers as she pulls her gaze from the tome. A forked black tongue shows every time the vulture spirit speaks in its rickety warbling voice. But now it was heard through unmistified ears.

The inferno of black magic spews off the creature. It radiates power in toxic waves that grip her stomach as he speaks in that same rusty, foul scraping noise. But she had to endure. Even now, her mind stretches out as she grasps for one little sensation.

“They are the warrior gods; like the bonfire that blazes, and blazes, until the fuel is gone. They too will be spent when their purposes are fulfilled. It is not just their nature, they were made that way. And while, for now, they are in ascendance, all things rise and fall. It is the nature of change. You are subtle, but everlasting. And as such, it is not a fate you have to claim, just one that you have to acknowledge. It is all inevitable. You are to be no little candle who will write a single book to be forgotten, you shall direct all the heavens and all the earths into a new day.”

The worlds in the palm of his hand flicker, and Twilight is already vaguely aware of the solidified maelstrom's renewed sluggish rotation. Slowly, it begins to twist into the beginnings of a violent storm.

“All of them," Anix purrs, a grin plastered across his hooked beak. "In this, we and the Ancients are in agreement: Equus was never your ultimate destiny. Ponykind was meant to inherit in the wake of the cataclysm to come. It was meant to ascend.”

Twilight blinks a moment more. So few ponies thought of the lands outside their hometown, or beyond Canterlot, that it struck her as odd. Foalish. Funny, almost.

But seeing the perplexed expression, the avian clicks his tongue and smirks. “We wish for life, life unrestrained and abundant. Some have called that disruptive, chaotic. And the title they fixed upon us, We appropriated. We are Chaos. Us, the False Fifth in the Discordant prince, We are one." the creature meshes his talons together.

But he smiles, then nods as Twilight carefully studies his face. "Ponykind was the hope of the old order. When Chaos found man, we were there at its inception. We were there in its cradle. ‘Anathema’ could not kill us, for he stole from us, then bound himself to mankind far too late. Far too readily. He cannot see what festers inside when he, himself, thinks his work so fundamentally perfect. His sons, his so imperfect sons, are the agents of the future. And Luna is bound to the Bright Morning Star, the Luciferian Son. You shall see what she has decided, Princess. In her heart, she already has done as such. Remember that at the end of the day: what you will see is no mistake. For few remind her so much of herself in such dreadfully equal measure. But even now ‘they’ hope to set Nightfall and the Bright Morning Star against the Primordial powers. Yes, we are unassailable; but they hope. They hope to loose the Wolf of Ash and Fire, to unleash the Lupercal's wrath upon the stars.”

He sighs and gives her a rather convincing look of displeasure.

“That title, at least, is not poetic or prophetic, Twilight. He is a hellhound, an animal of purest devastation who has razed ten thousand worlds and set trillions on the pyres to blaze for a thousand times a thousand years. If they had their way, then his war shall become the Long War. The last war. He will burn the galaxy to ash and leave only cinders, and none will be alive to tell the tale when the last lights go out.”

The creature unfurls his wings and edges forward, crawling on all fours and setting his claws against the table edge. Twilight nearly leans away from the swaying head as it finally leans across the table... and she’s only just aware that despite how large he looked, the creature’s skull was at least the size of the nine-sided fixture itself.

“Ponykind was meant to sweep up the broken refuse that remained when those flames finally died. But now... now they can ascend. Where mankind is fuel, Ponykind can be the engine to contain it, to focus it, to channel it into something magnificent. Into something better. You are that first agent of change, Twilight Sparkle. I don’t ask for your decision now... only that you consider what I say. As a gift, I will even tell you how to leave Sicarus, and give you the means to do so. You may come and go here as you please, unmolested and unrestrained. All you have to do, is consider it. You are no longer some Little Star, but the guide of the heavens, the Evening Star.”

Twilight looks up, eyes searching the swirling pools of liquid eldritch magic. Her voice comes out raspy, but far more steady than she suspected. “Your words are poison.”

In a flash of disorienting light, the Alicorn tears herself from existence in a flash and a familiar 'bamf'. The shifting walls give way to the ramshackle alleyways as well as the familiar rattle-crack and stamp of a rickety cart. The Alicorn reels sideways from the sudden disorientation and swings her head drunkenly around, splashing down in the sickly mire now clinging to her hooves.

She spots the hobbling cart pulled by the ghastly abominations, and sees the old brass bell hanging from the frayed rope on the back. Magic positively radiates from the simple fixture and leaves little lines trailing in its wake. Conjuring up a beam of magic, she lets it loose and strikes the bell as the screeching howl of something foul washes over her from behind.

The bell crumbles with a long dull peel, and the world shatters. The few cohesive scraps eddy into a dull grey morass as it fades into a single black abyssal plane amid the screeching caw of ravens.

“PRINCESS TWILIGHT!”

All was the whirling scream of hurricane winds and whipping specks of dust. It rakes at Twilight's fur, tossing her mane and snapping at her hooves. Like being engulfed in a river of pure noise, she tumbles and curls up on herself as she tries to project the barrier spell again. But a familiar shock of fiery hues all but invades Twilight's senses, a scent of cinnamon, and a feeling of familiarity. Her body goes limp, and she blinks watery eyes as the apparition forms; turning from what must have been a figment of her imagination to something far more real.

“Twilight!” Hooves wrap around her, then a wing. A pair of aqua eyes stare into hers, appearing as if by magic. And before the Alicorn could the pieces together when a second deeper voice echoes in the swirling maelstrom of sound.

"Oh my Celestia, Twilight! Are you okay?!" A second set of hooves wraps around her from the side. Twilight glimpses soft mauve fur and feels the press of a pony's cheek to her own as she's enveloped in warmth.

“We must hurry, Empathy." A third, far colder and somewhat laboured voice intones from nearby, "I fear they know our plans. They will attempt to stop us.” The Lunar princess stands with her back to the trio, eyes darting every which way for other shapes beyond the glittering arcane barrier.

A crackle of lightning and chime of magic, and the formless void beneath them boils outward to reveal a narrow obsidian path through the screeching wall of darkness. Sunset Shimmer looks up from embracing her shivering friend to glance in the direction of the continued path. It felt like a long way as Twilight lets out a pitiful groan, ears flickering by reflex. She'd seen it more than a few times, or something close, when Rainbow Dash took a hard hit on the field. AJ said she collected concussions like Big Mac collects stamps. It wasn't particularly kind, but the groggy murmur was remarkably similar. Sunset Shimmer takes a few unsteady breaths, but enfolds Twilight in a firm and unyielding hug. Starlight Glimmer looks up from the other side of their Alicorn friend, her horn sparking but eyes reflecting the same worry.

Only dimly did Twilight find herself aware that the wing was connected to two other beings. The dark Alicorn paces like a caged lion. Luna's relentless prowling and sharp tail flicks were leagues different than the pair of calm Unicorns sandwiching her between them. But for all the world, the princess was a vigilant guardian, circling, ears pivoting. And wherever she moved, the darkness would shrink back. It wasn't the same as the steady rhythm of twin heartbeats attuning themselves to hers, but it was a kind of comfort to see the imposing princess of the night, mane sparkling with ribbons of nebulae and streaking bands of comets.

“We need a minute, Princess.” Starlight pleads while enfolding Twilight in a fresh hug with her chin pressed to the back of her neck.

Sunset's own barrel steadily rises and falls in tandem with her friends, regulating both in some synchronization. “Deep breaths, deep. It's okay, we're here now. You're safe.”

Twilight hadn't thought she was emotional, and she certainly didn't think she was on the verge of a breakdown, but tears sprang up from some hidden wellspring. After a little hiccup, a few tears spill down her cheek. But the stress melts away as she inhales the calming scent of her friends. “T-they said. Said-” A deep gulp clears the Alicorn's throat. “What they said couldn't be true.”

“Hush, Twilight.” Luna's voice calls as she half-turns, but it was still solid and firm. The younger Alicorn swiftly shuts her mouth, but instead of remonstration, the Princess turns and crosses back towards them in silence. The tall Alicorn regards all three, seeing them like a clutch of chicks by the slightly aloof expression, before suddenly flaring out her right wing and enfolding Twilight and Sunset in a pillowy embrace. With a soft soothing hiss of breath, she nestles the younger princess in the crook of her neck. "We said we would protect thee, and we shall."

Surrounded by warmth, the Alicorn's minute shivers and worries swiftly melt away. After nearly a full minute in the embrace, Twilight sniffs to clear her nostrils and smiles at her friends. Sunset and Starlight both pull back just long enough to grin as the feathery midnight wings release them all. "Thank you, princess." She whispers before looking between Sunset and Starlight who both matched her smile. “You came.”

“Hey, what can I say? You pulled me out of a dark place once, so it's only fair that I get to pay that back, right?" Sunset returns the joyful grin.

Starlight Glimmer's smile turns straight into a smirk, "It's what friends do, right?” The Unicorn winks and playfully nudges her with a forehoof.

Luna glances around, head almost on a swivel once again as she fluidly lets her gaze drift on the wall of amorphous darkness. The path disappears just in front of her, faded from existence. “Empathy.”

“Sunset Shimmer, but you can call me Sunset. Or Shimmer, I guess.”

“Empathy.” Luna's voice steels itself as the previous maternal warmth dissolves into iron resolve. “We have little time, and have seemingly lost the path with our hesitation. You said that you could get us through.”

She bobs her head, perhaps a little meekly as her ears flatten back. “Y-yes. I mean, I'm actually kinda following you.” That gets a wry look from both Alicorns. Seeing as she'd perhaps inadvertently drawn their attention, Sunset coughs once and gestures weakly. “See, I mean, I'm just mostly avoiding certain things and I can tell what each 'layer' of this stupid place is... I mean, there's six left before we get to the core, but some feel like they're growing-”

“Sunset Shimmer.” Luna fixes her with a potent glare. “Do pray tell, but be brief.”

Sunset's once steady voice breaks into a babble that might be enough to challenge Pinkie on a bad day. “You were already in here before so I'm kinda backtracking you by... well, I mean it's kinda... you know when you're out hunting and you find a trail of-”

“If you're going to say what I think you are, cease.” Luna's firmly set jaw and beady glare have the desired effect. “I've been compared to an animal for long enough, even in jest.”

“Sorry, sorry. AJ took me out on a nature hike a few weeks ago and it kinda stuck, so... sorry.” She cringes, flinching away from the unimpressed Lunar diarch. “But, uh, yeah. I mean, I can get you to the whatever it is, and back where you were before.”

“Lead the way.” Luna nods, “So long as you're able to continue: Twilight Sparkle, Starlight Glimmer,”

"All good here, princess." Starlight nods once and rises to standing after giving Twilight another hug and offering a hoof up.

Twilight's attention rapidly strays to Luna. She nods rapidly while taking Starlight's proffered help. "Yes, yes Princess. I'm okay now. But, they know about you.”

“Of course, I'd be insulted if they didn't.” The stern and prideful grin that slides across her face was one neither pony had seen from her before. But Starlight did arch a brow in genuine confusion. Luna's expression might have been natural, but it felt like it came from somewhere else.

As Luna glances at the obsidian pathway less than the width of her outstretched wings, Starlight whispers quietly, "For a second she reminded me of Trixie. Noooot a good look on her."

Sunset nods, pulling closer in conference with the two and matching Starlight's whisper, “... is it too late to say that she's not the only thing there?”

Both Twilight and Starlight shoot her a worried glance. But the princess pipes up, “What do you mean?”

“Ever caught a whiff of Rarity when she's trying on a new perfume and doesn't know exactly how much to put on?” Sunset mumbles quietly to her two friends. Seeing both ponies nod, Sunset just softly concludes, “Like that; it's too strong and definitely not natural.”

“You're sure?” Starlight cautiously whispers back. All three turn to eye Luna as she trots in front of them. She favors her right side, and Sunset narrows her eyes at her left wing that had tucked itself tightly against her barrel.

“Positive.” Sunset mutters, then follows after just as Luna began to look back in their direction.

"Come now, Empathy!" Luna barks and stamps her forehoof at the edge of the obsidian path, "Thou must be our pathfinder!"

"Coming!" Sunset calls and trots forward. She looks back over her withers at her friends, shooting both an apprehensive glance before covertly tilting her head towards the Princess of the Night. Both ponies got the message: 'watch her.'

The pair quickly trots behind Sunset and catches up with her and Luna. Sunset's horn glows as she halts alongside Luna and asks with quiet hesitation, "M-may I, princess?"

Luna carefully considers it in silence before turning back to the blank whirling wall of darkness in front of her, then nods. "Proceed."

Starlight touches her withers as her friends look on. The Unicorn's eyes glow white for an instant, and she licks her lips before gesturing forward with a weak bob of her head. "This way." and steadfastly trots ahead with the princess of the night right behind her. As Sunset nears, the pathway extends a few hooflengths in front of her and keeps going as she wends her way into the morass.

All around them is the ring of Starlight's arcane barrier, soon joined by Twilight's sympathetic ruby shield. Twilight gazes into the maelstrom, where lightning flashes to illuminate vague silhouettes of towering mountains and amorphous shapes in the darkness. The rumble of roiling rocks sounds in the abyss, mimicking the calving of icebergs in the stormy northern Celestial sea. Through the blackness, alongside the twisted denizens of this arcane-imbued plane, the quartet of ponies snake their way along a narrow obsidian pathway towards parts unknown.

It doesn't take long for the first folk to emerge. A winging pathway curves to the left, one that Sunset veers sharply away from. Likely feeling Luna's questioning glare, Sunset looks back with a weak grin, “Trust me.” It gets a nod, and the group continues on. But after only a few steps, the meandering winds picks up another sound.

Laughter.

A deep, mirthless, cackle echoes from the endless depths, halting all four ponies in their tracks. It's soon joined by the first few morose notes of a guttural song welling up from the ether.

Twilight licks her lips and quickly trots forward, leaving Starlight to pad along behind her. “Are you sure this is the way, Sunset?”

"Yeah." Sunset nods sharply with a reassuring smile, but Luna was glancing to her left, off towards the other pathway.

The cackling becomes more formed, more distinct. It was wild, manic, and bitter. Luna scowls as the mocking echo pricks her ears and sets them back flat against her skull. And from the glint of flickering lights beyond the swirling wall, the ponies each saw the towering bipedal form. “Well now, what do we have here? Three insignificant flecks of spit, and one astral whore who's wandered in so deep, she doesn't even know she's drowning."

“Erebus.” Luna's single word drips malice and venom. Her muzzle twitches, curling at the edges into a sneer of disgust. She shifts herself, widening her stance into a predatory crouch and staring daggers at the form obscured among the tines of forked lightning.

"Princess Luna, c'mon." Sunset whispers, backtracking a few steps.

But the slithering voice presses further in its contemptuous crooning, "You're a little far from home and a little far from the Lupercal. He won't be saving your worthless hides this time, little horse. Let me guess, you made a mistake, didn't you? What's the matter, did he throw you aside or did you stomp off like an entitled child when he wouldn't do what you wanted?” The deep resonating voice seemed to set both Twilight and Sunset on edge, but Luna's fur prickled as she narrows her eyes.

Starlight licks her lips, "Twilight... can you maybe see if you can find out-"

"What that is?" Twilight finishes her sentence and nods. With a flicker of her horn, she blinks, head tilting towards the hesitating Sunset further down the path. She looks out further, "what in Tartarus is that?"

"He's a Sorcerer." Luna mutters in a deep and rasping tone, chillingly familiar for Twilight who remembered the poised stance and deep resonant coldness from the ruined towers of the Castle of Two Sisters almost half a decade ago. "A liar. A snake-"

Twilight's confidence wavers as she glances back and forth between the distant bipedal form, making out the crown of horns on its head when she squinted. But the arcane resonance was off. "Yeah but the voice is coming from up ahead, not-"

"-he engineered all of this. He's set to twist and pervert the truth into something grim, something dark." Luna's teeth audibly grind as the rolling thunder of monolithic slabs crashing in the distance echo in the deep.

“I twist nothing, I merely speak the truth!” Erebus's roar shakes the void, sending shudders along the obsidian path, warbling vibrations that even the blind would have a hard time not seeing. “That's what you don't understand, what you still fail to grasp!”

Sunset licks her lips and turns back, mouthing 'Twilight, keep him talking and don't let her leave'. She uncomfortably glances at the figure, then further up the path before giving Starlight a covert twitch of her head.

The other Unicorn nods and cups a hoof to Twilight's ear to whisper, "Keep the barrier up, we'll be right back." After a nod, Twilight takes a breath and does exactly as asked.

Luna huffs dismissively, missing as Starlight carefully edges along behind her and up to Sunset. The powerful Unicorn forms another of her barriers and both her and their empathic guide head forward as the Princess of the Night shouts, "Thou art a wretched and infernal serpent! Thy slitherings and wisperings while hiding in the nooks and rocks of obscurity are henceforth revealed! A reckoning is at hoof, and thou shalt crawl on thy belly as all shall know thee for what thou truly art!"

Erebus's rasping voice continues unabated, “You still don't get it! This isn't about you, or at least, it wasn't. Mankind is meant to rule. Mankind WILL rule! We will take this galaxy from the talons, hooves, and tendrils of the xeno filth and return it to the hands of the gods! The Primordial powers created this for us, and now others are trying to usurp them. And the worthless, incompetent, utterly idiotic galactic mistakes that you are, can't even see what you've muddled into. You can't even begin to imagine just how cosmically insignificant you are!"

Luna's muzzle twitches as she keeps facing straight ahead. But her wings twitch, and Twilight spots the slight flinch and falter as her left wing pulls in closer to her body. Through the dark fur, she catches a glimpse of blackened scabs and chunks of char clinging to her barrel. The wound is a blackened scar driven through barrel and wing joint.

“Dear Celestia....Princess, you're hurt!” Twilight's whisper-shout of concern draws a flick of the diarchs tail. As she tenses to charge ahead, she receives an over-the-shoulder glare from Luna in return. Luna's pitiless snarl spoke volumes: 'not now'.

And the voice continues in a dogmatic drone, “No, no of course not. How could you know how pitifully pointless your lives are. Now you reveal yourselves, when we are on the ascendance, and the Powers rise to prominence once again!?" He cackles with a mirthless laugh, "You've committed your entire miserable race to extinction! We will find you, we will simply take you: you shall be the play things of dogs, the meat on our tables, the bonemeal to build our temples, and fertilizer for that which has more value than your lives. You are few, we are many. The powers of the Primordial Truth will drown you, and the faithful legions of the astartes-”

“Horus denied thee already! His sons will put thy head on a stake before this day is through, Sorcerer! Mark Our words, they are already coming for thee. They will set right all that thou sought to corrupt, and then burn thy unhallowed temples to the ground! TODAY IS THE DAY THOU SHALT RUE THY MISGUIDED CHOICE, AND THE PONY THOU CALL'ST INSIGNIFICANT WILL STAMP THY CORPSE INTO THE MUD!”

The rolling boom of Luna's voice crackles like thunder, sending up shocks of pure blood red smears through the inky black walls. Her muzzle contorts into a snarl, exposing a row of serrated teeth. Shocked to a standstill, Twilight's ears ring from the sudden explosion of noise that drown out even the scream of the void. The Alicorn in front of her stands silhouetted by the blood red whirlpool, staring through it at some monstrous horned Sorcerer on the other side. But from there, Twilight could see only a near-black Alicorn, her mane and tail flickering nubulae and starts, comets and ever changing astrological patterns.

"CEIFADOR!" The Alicorn roars, and the halberd of myth and legend congeals from the gathering darkness. Its silhouette forms in a deep unlight of nocturnal gloom as the princess stares pitilessly at the figure, her icy glare dripping malice as a crown of deepest shadow gathers around her.

Anix's sickly voice all but whispers itself in Twilight's ear as she's stunned to inaction. “They are the warrior gods; like the bonfire that blazes, and blazes, until the fuel is gone. They too will be spent when their purposes are fulfilled. It is not just their nature, they were made that way." The image almost exactly the same as she'd been shown.

“Yes, that's just what he said before he succumbed. You are too late, my little starry whore." he spits and she can almost feel the malicious grin, "You left him there to die in agony, to suffer the ages alone, waiting for your return. Perhaps together you might have stood a chance. Together, maybe your interference may have meant something. But he is a martyr now, he is ours. Horus Lupercal is no more. The Warmaster will arise to lead the final march of the gods. The few feeble sons that may well have tried to attend them, are just as dead as those you left behind a thousand years ago... or did you think your own little issues were a mystery to us? That we wouldn't know about that little mistake, too?” Erebus's voice slowly grows more distant, echoing the same mocking laugh.

Luna plunges through the veil of smoke and darkness with an enraged roar, flinging herself at the distant shape. "Luna, wait!" Twilight chokes out as the walls of sanguine smoke engulfs her completely. Twilight lights her horn, expanding the sheet of crackling ruby red arcane power pulsing outward.

“Would you like proof?" Erebus mockingly goads with a breathy sigh, "perhaps for the sake of one we both held deer, I'll be benevolent and grant you one little gift to ease your mind. I know all about the Lupercal's wayward son. Now, I'll let you watch him die. Just remember, horse, his blood is on your head."

The arcane barrier flickers around her just as a pair of familiar pony voices reach her ears, "Twilight, it's a trap! That's not the Sorcerer!"

Twilight grunts in exertion as the sudden tide of darkness crashes in on her barrier like an ocean. The discordant chant is matched by discordant music, chants and pipes, primitive instruments entwining in a barbaric dirge. The field shrinks drastically, leaving her barely enough room to gallop without striking the barrier. The cloying noise seems to whip the storm into a frenzy. A cry of surprise and pain rings out from behind her, and Twilight turns in time to spot the distant pale blue glow flicker and begin to fade. With a hesitant glance between the wavering arcane barrier and the disappearing princess of the night. With a resigned sigh and muted whimper of worry, Twilight plunges back towards Starlight and Sunset.

'Please hang on!' the silent words spring to Twilight's lips as she takes to wing and streaks towards the flickering cerulean glow.

“LIES! DAMNED LIES, ALL!” Despite the Canterlot shout, Luna's voice echoes tinny and distant, as if underwater. The pair of Unicorns nearly blunder straight back into her, but the damage seemed done. Starlight was panting, sweat pouring down her face as exertion took a hold, and she leans heavily on Sunset who supports her as best she can.

But then the Alicorn sees her friend's eyes drift to a spot just over her left shoulder. Sunset's face pales to ashen white, eyes widening as she freezes in place. Twilight calls, "Suns-"

"S-she's h-here..." Sunset trembles, rooted to the spot and points.

"Who?" Starlight groans, narrowing her eyes and blinking back the stinging sweat dribbling from her brow. But Twilight had caught sight of it: a lithe and slender figure towers over the distant Alicorn's narrow frame. A second set of scythe like arms splits away from its body as a deep and feminine laugh rings in the deep.

"The Lurker."

Chapter 28: Defiance and Betrayal

The brief foray into Erebus's sanctum had been an uncomfortable one. Even now, Kal Belekar's senses were swimming with the unnatural touch of the warp as he emerges from the cairn. The Warmaster's attendants fade away. His retinue stood awaiting him, all but his lieutenant who had disappeared. Not that it was unexpected. There were greater plans ahead for the chosen sons, and the captain was under no illusions as to what would happen

"Captain," Sergeant Danok respectfully inclines his head, "What are our orders?"

A gentle quiet greets the question as Kal Belekar takes a steady breath. He doesn't stop, but carries on outside the neos, and into the rancorous main chamber. All around him was the revelry of mortals, each according to their appetites and tastes. But the solemnity didn't escape from the dozens of grey armored figures who stood facing him, detached from the world around them.

'What a marvel it is, that it should be destroyed.'

The Word Bearer's captain skims past the mortals and looks too the neolithic crafting that had given birth to the Delphos. The ancient black stones shine, lovingly polished monoliths rise next to rough stalagmites fifty meters high to the bubbled and pitted ceiling of the ancient grotto. For countless tens of thousands of years this was here, a conduit to the gods.

And he knew what would happen.

What was destined.

"Well, Danok, we have our orders. While the esteemed First Chaplain is indisposed, I hope you'll forgive a captain trying t play the part of a chaplain." the captain looks to the group of astartes around him. Kal Belekar could feel the smile slip onto his lips, knowing a few of his legionnaires would do the same behind their unyielding helms. He knew them for decades in some cases, seeing the austere group of devotees arrayed before him. He'd caught their attention, and thus the captain pauses, gathering himself up for what he had to do.

"Brothers," Kal Belekar begins in deepest solemnity. The astartes vox net crackles for a moment. The revelry of the unaware mortals go on unchallenged, but the warriors atop the steps and perched atop the marvelous monolithic blocks all turn their attention to him.

"We have been given the deepest and most sacred of distinction. Here, upon Davin, we chart the course for ages to come. Our father, the Urizon, has let it fall to us, the chosen of the Colchis, to begin this great reclamation. Each and every one of us knows what's at stake. We have been privy to the lies and falsehoods of those that would deny the very existence of powers beyond their ken. We have heard their sacrilegious orators and bore witness to the depravity of the unfaithful."

With a silent gesture, the captain holds out one hand, palm upwards and spread. "Let us give thanks, for we were gifted with the knowledge of good and evil. We were allowed the first glimpse of truth, so that we may share it with the galaxy. We are the champions of mankind's freedoms, the guardians to the gate of tomorrow. But if we were to suspect that we would defend our freedoms without sacrifice, it would be to say that what we treasure is worthless. Today we have been called upon to defend what we hold dear, and in doing so, may pave the way for our misguided brethren."

The Word Bearer captain takes another long breath, waiting until his warriors turned their hands upward in the ritualized symbol of their congregation. He didn't need to look around to know when they had all done so. "Already our brothers march to the gallows against those we would call kin. This is their day, this is our day, a red day. The First Day. Gird yourselves for war, and wrath. Carry out your orders and do our legion proud. For we shall be the first to stand defiant against the False God. And let us pray that our brother's eyes are opened. From the darkness, we bring light. From the Shadows, we shall arise. We are not afraid of standing against the Great Usurper. From Dawn till dusk, in night and in day, from birth to death, we live to serve. And even in death, we still serve."

As one voice, scores of legionnaires intone, 'Glory to the martyrs!'

Their captain reaches to his sheathed blade, drawing it in a silver flash and holding it aloft. "Glory to the Warmaster!"

"Basek, any news?" Loken whispers into the too-quiet hallway.

The vox operator shakes his head once. "Negative. Auspex is out, too. We're going in blind."

"Garvi," Torgaddon counters, his voice an atypical rasp. "Got a bit of a chill there for a second. You know that feeling right before a bad drop?"

Loken snorts into the vox link, "Every time, Tarik."

"It's exactly like that," Torgaddon whispers, "but I swear I feel eyes on me."

And in truth, Loken felt it too. The sensation of a Remembrancer staring holes into the back of his battle plate, or a serf watching from a high gantry, but he knew they were being observed. It was there, like a buzzing energy that set him on edge. No, it was worse than that. He knew exactly what it felt like.

"Do you feel that, Vipus?"

Loken flexes his grasp on the chainsword's grip, brushing his thumb reflexively across the deactivate weapon's ignition stub. He'd turned it off to avoid its roar in an otherwise eerily quiet hallway. Even the insect-like buzzing of the powered armor's servos were nearly deafening in the oppressive stygian silence.

Vipus slowly nods, "I feel it, Garviel. It's like the Whisperhead."

Marr broke the silence of footfalls and inter-unit vox whispers that suddenly jumped and crackle with static, "What happened at the damned Whisperhead!?"

Nero Vipus grunts, swinging his head to stare at the irritated captain just two paces ahead of Loken, right in front of him, "Horus Swore us to se-"

"It's okay, Nero." Loken chimes in, still staring ahead at the black winding passageway flanked in ossuary bones embedded in the walls and ceilings. "He's one of us now. Just like Tarik."

He sighs and takes a long moment, drawing that rasping breath and leaving only the momentary thump of armored footfalls. "We found a fane beneath the mountain that those rebels had dug themselves into. By the time we got there, I'd sent Hellebore under sergeant Jubal up ahead. Something happened, he changed, something took control of him. He killed his squad... then seven more from Breakspur before we put him down."

The squad may have known and Vipus had been there, but the uneasiness hung on the air until it was broken by Torgaddon's staggered gasp. "Sacred oath Garvi, how did I not hear about this?"

"Horus." Loken snorts, "Or more likely Maloghurst convinced him... but Horus said for us not to report it. Not to make it official. Whatever was in the Whisperhead was dangerous enough to turn Jubal into something else."

Marr grumbles into the vox and kicks his shuffle into a run, "And we left two of our own back there with some creature who might be the same? Damn it, double the pace, get Horus, and get out!"

"It doesn't mean they're dead or turned, Captain Marr!" Vipus calls again, "Caphon and Larekkon were veterans, I'd have never sent them into something I didn't think they could handle. And they knew about Jubal and the Whisperhead, so they should expect it."

That got a bit of a glance as they squad passes through another long chamber, down among a tomb and towards a gently sloping downwards hall.

Tybalt Marr's redoubled pace carries him a little in front of the group, who lope to keep up. He almost spits into the vox, "Wonder what else we managed to mi-"

Loken catches the same sudden ping from his armor's preysense less than a heartbeat after Marr's. A shift of movement to his right, a glint of the helmet lenses reflection picked up off polished metal, then the unmistakable 'ping' of three friendly legionnaires in dull ceramite grey at the mouth of the hallway.

It reads simply 'XVII'.

All three stand just meters in front of them at the bottom of the drop as an unfamiliar voice calls.

"Cousins."

And that breath, just that single hesitation, unleashes the thunderstorm.

Bolters blaze in the darkness of the temple's undercroft, bathing it in blinding flashes. The screaming whine of warning sigils flash through helmet displays, and whip-cracks and hammering bangs of shattering ceramite fill the narrow hall.

All of their training, all of their experience, everything hammered home one fundamental truth: an astartes of any legion was still one of their own. Even through arguments, rivalry, or anger, they were still the same. Loken had known Erebus was involved, and that they had been fed into some Machiavellian machination. But from the first scent of something wrong at the Whisperheads, he had never quite expected this. Jubal wasn't a legionnaire anymore. He was a 'thing'. Hijacked. Possessed. Surely it was some alien cordyceps polyp that had changed the warrior. This wasn't the same. And as the Word Bearer's mask lights of muzzle flashes, Loken's mind pulls together the unthinkable: this wasn't a mistake.

This was betrayal.

Loken's hesitation lasts a tenth of a second before his hand moves. He snaps his pistol up to his waist to fire. But two bolts already had his number. The first impacts on his pauldron, turned away in a shower of yellow sparks. The second deflects off his bracer with a metallic ping and undulating scream before bursting against black stone with a concussive 'crack'.

The pistol roars, the shot missing its mark from the jarring bolt rounds. Red flashing icons down the left side of his prey-sense display is just as distracting as the gunfire.

The ungainly crash of armor on stone pulls him from the second-long fugue. He hears Marr howling his rage into the vox as the captain plunges forward into the maelstrom with Torgaddon at his side.

Loken catches sight of another figure to his left, spinning hard and firing point blank. The snub-nosed pistol bucks, reflecting light off dull black lenses.
The shots catch the figure high as it tries to duck back into cover behind a carved pillar. The round glances upwards from its cuirass, bouncing off the pauldron and into the ceiling while two follow up blasts snap in nearly the same instant. Blossoms of yellow spark and flecks of metal spall as the ceramite plates buckle.

The Word Bearer roars as Loken lunches forward and thumbs the activation stud on his chainsword, goading it to roaring life. That rushing leap carries him right to the figure, pauldron set down to slam into the legionnaire and shove him back. The impact flings the Word Bearer into the far wall, boltgun wedged between Loken and the Legionnaire's own chest. The warrior twists hard, collapsing sideways and bringing the bolter up sharply as he pulls the trigger.

Its bark is deafening, blasting apart Loken's polyn knee plate and sending scraps of ceramite skittering across the crypt floor.

The chainsword hacked sideways, metal teeth banging off the bolter casing and tossing the legionnaire's weapon to the side. The momentum carries Loken forward, collapsing against the fallen legionnaire and forcing the barely moving blade up and against the legionnaire's left forearm and cuirass. Loken's close enough to see the carved Colchisian script and XVII numeral on the legionnaire's helm.

Word Bearers, one of Erebus's personal contingent

He didn't need to think about it as the Word Bearer's hand lets go of the bolter grip and he clutched at the near-motionless chainsword grip to foul the teeth.

Loken guns the choke as the legionnaire's palm clasps the blade, and in a roaring whirl of monomolecular teeth and spatter of red, four fingers and the top hard of the legionnaire's hand fling across the floor. The chainsword carries in with a screaming scrape, juddering across the thick armoured cuirass until the teeth finally bite.

Despite a single punch in the face with the stub of his ruined hand, Loken's chainsword roars to life and rips deep in the marine's chest in a fountain of syrupy red blood. In a heartbeat, he's cut through to the spine as the blade is wrenched free.

"Captain!"

Kamphaddon's warning comes an instant too late. A sudden impact from behind slams Loken's helmet into the rock face, jarring him for a moment as he feels a sting in his upper back. Armour integrity icons flash warnings runes that he blink clicks away. Dragging in a breath was tough enough with pain balms being dispensed to a yet-undiagnosed injury. Twisting into a crouch and bringing up his nearly spent bolt pistol, Loken spots another concealed Word Bearer.

Kamphaddon's pistol blazes, shattering the pillar that the Word Bearer was concealed behind. The Legionnaire angles himself against the shot, stepping out from hiding.

But there was no damage to Loken's arm or eyes as he lined up a shot on the figure. The pistol bucks, the racking slide locked back empty. The shot rings once, sending a screaming bolt past a kneeling Marcellus. The Word Bearer's head snaps back with a satisfying wet snap as the armourglas lens explodes in a gory pink mist.

His opponent collapses, but already Loken is up on a protesting knee and surging towards the sound of a screaming chainblade and snarl of legionnaire voices.

At the bottom of the rise, one Word Bearer was already laying headless on the floor, the helmet still rolling in an oblong circle pouring arterial blood. Marr's follow through swing carries the blade up and sideways to protect his face just as a flat burst of bolter fire pings off the energized Cthonic steel.

Two paces away, another pair wrestles for control. The Word Bearer had clamped a hand around Nero Vipus's throat as the veteran sergeant plunges his knife down and twists it between gorget plate and neck seal. The legionnaire grunts as he's slammed to the wall, spoiling another shot at Marr as the bolt gun flies from his grasp. The pair are sent skidding along the rockface in a grunting mass of protesting servos.

Torgaddon had the worst of it, his cratered cuirass smokes and winks as the shattered plate barely keeps his brutalized chest from pouring out. The fellow captain cackles, wet sloppy breaths coming from his lips as he took another burst of bolter fire from point blank range, only for his bolter's chainblade to slice upwards from his kneeling position, drawing across the third legionnaire's groin along the flex-steel mesh.

With a howl of rage, the weapon fires, detonating deep in the Word Bearers stomach and blasting out the power cabling beneath the central plackart. The Colchisian clutches his stomach as Torgaddon's armoured fist slams into the inside of his knee, toppling him sideways and crashing into Marr's thigh.

Marr grunts and whirls on his opponent, driving his longblade down and next to the pauldron, sending the blade hissing through the legionnaire's torso and out from underneath his arm to pin him to the floor. The Word Bearer turns his bolter, trying to angle it up and under Marr's chin. Torgaddon's shot from two feet away ricochets a bolt up from the armour's gorget, under his chin, and into the helmet with a muffle thump.

Aside from a few growling breaths as Vipus saws his combat knife back and forth, the catacombs plunges back into silence.

"Status?" Loken growls, blood bubbling up in his lungs as draws in a wet breath. Only then can he feel the sting in his back, figuring a lung had collapsed and hoping that was the worst of it.

Vipus wrenches the word bearer's helmet off in a savage snarl of rage and slams the meter long blade through the legionnaire's temple, splitting it wide open. "For Basek, you motherless vat-grown bastard!" Vipus growls and pulls away.

Loken let the pain balms heady neurotoxin blunt the radiating pain in his chest, but looks around the smoking chamber where vaporized ceramite, blood, and bolter discharge wafts down in clouds of powdered stone. But he meanders, sweeping the ground to spot any of his other legionnaire's, though the squad-link painted a grim picture in steady red and blinking orange glyphs.

Basek lay torn open a few feet in front of him, a blackened twisted mass of shattered green armour punctured and bulging at the sides where armour piercing shells had detonated and scrambled his innards.

Setar was on one knee, covering their rear with a smoking bolter held in one hand, his other ruined appendage propping up the front.

Marcellus clutches his chest as he slowly rises to his feet, all the while muttering, "Fine. Just fine. Got a little winded..." and coughs wetly into his helmet. The echo of Loken's own voice might have sounded mocking if it weren't so perfectly in line with his own injuries.

Kamphaddon fires a last shot into the Word Bearer that he and Loken had dispatched.

"Tarik? Marr?" Loken calls.

"I'm fine, Loken." Marr snarls, still peering out ever deeper into the gloom, though the scrape of silver across his helmet could be readily seen.

Torgaddon wetly chortles, "Fine here. Damned sloppy work, Lorgar's worthless runts couldn't... couldn't even kill me when they got the jump on us." he pulls himself up to standing but keeps a hand clutched to his chest. The blood still seeps from between his fingers as massive gouges spew thick streams.

"I wouldn't say that." Vipus growls and swiftly plucks the bolter from the Word Bearers dead hands. Dropping to one knee, he nods into the dark hallway. "Hear that?"

Marr growls as the sound reaches even Loken's ears, now that he was aware of it. In the distance was chanting, a dozen voices meld into a layered monotone hymn. A dozen. They'd barely come out on top of five, now there was more than twice that number. But the arithmetic of war was cold and clear cut: they were combat ineffective.

"More of 'em headed our way." Vipus seethes with a malign growl. Taking the corpse of the Word Bearer, he props it up in front of him as an impromptu shield.

"Strip them of arms," Loken calls back to the rest of the squad, getting vox-clicked acknowledgements. "Make every bolt and every grenade count."

"Luna, Luna! Come back!" Starlight calls into the void. They'd gotten closer, the shimmer glinting through the darkness appearing like a distant lighthouse.

Shades loom through the spiraling red-hazed darkness. Horns and sickly limbs, mutating shadows and grating screams mix with the howl of the ever present wind threatening to swallow them all up. But through the pall of black and scarlet, all three ponies spot the dark outline and unnerving halo of false light around the Alicorn. And just beyond her, the monster.

The Lurker, Kanathara.

She towers over Luna, easily four times her size. The creature sways in a way that betrayed the absence of joints and bones that should be there. Two enormous scythe like claws protruded two and a half meters long each, and a staff floating in easy reach curved into a sickle bladed glaive every bit the size and lethality of Ceifador.

"My my, little Luna. It's seemed like an age." The sinister feminine lilt whispers through the haze only to be answered by Luna's vicious bellow of rage.

The Alicorn darts forward with the speed of a lightning bolt, swiping the blade across to disembowel her opponent, only to find the dark spirit had taken a pace back and thrust down with her own glaive to lock the two polearms together.

She tuts, a scything limb reaching forward and warding Luna back. "Not the most formal, perhaps something changed?"

Twilight and Starlight gallop forward with Sunset silently following in their wake. She was whispering something, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. But her own movements were mechanical, stiff, awkward. Twilight careens through the barrier into the 'ring' around Luna and the Lurker, stopping in a skidding halt as Sunset barrels into her and flattens them both.

With a cough, Twilight can only look down, then realize there is a floor. It's a rich puce marble streaked with swirls of deepest azure. Twilight's eyes rise as the sickly feeling of familiarity descends upon her.

"Twilight." Starlight whispers, but by then they were staring at the onyx furnishings an elegant accouterments of Luna's own bedchambers. Soft sapphire light diffuses from tall standing candelabras in the rooms recesses, and the soft breath of wind gusts in from open windows.

The Alicorn stands with her back to the windows while Kanathara merely edges back, a smirk plastered on her bovine muzzle. The creature's laugh echoes in the same star-spanning roll just like before. "Is this a little better? I was growing a bit tired of Erebus's idea of luxury-"

"Be silent, spirit!" Luna bellows, darting in again, thrusting the halberd and loosing a blast of magic from her horn.

Kanathara parries the blade and vaults aside. She leaps across the room in a somersault and rights herself on scraping hooves with no trace of effort.

"What? Don't you like it? Are you so set to shed blood here in your own bedchambers? But that would be a first, would it not?" The creature's smile widening as a slender black forked tongue flicks between narrow lips.

Luna's face twists into a mask of hatred. She bites her tongue to stymie her building, "You dare mock me with something so debased?!"

"Merely a reminder, little princess." Kanathara flicks her glaive in an arc that sounds an eerie dirge as it slices through the air.

Luna's face screws up in a twitch, and between another blazing beam of stark moonlight, the creature was darting towards the balcony nearly as fast as the eye could see. With a mirthless laugh, Luna's dark blue magic grasped candelabras and furnishings, flinging them at the creature with unerring precision.

Kanathara slips and dives, using all of her limbs to propel her forward in unequine, impossible jinks and contorting spins as she slips from the room. Her mocking cackle echoes as she crosses to the balcony, Luna grasps a pair of window poles, stripping them of their drapes and hurtling them like spears. Both are neatly sliced in half in a delicate figure eight of Kanathara's glaive as she hops up onto the railing of Luna's room.

"I rather like your city. Sure, it's a little small, but there's so much to see. Maybe I'll stop by and see the real thi-"

She's interrupted by a blazing vortex of magic from Twilight's horn. And for a fleeting second, the spirit's lips peel back in a fanged snarl as drops from the balcony into the yawning abyss leaving a blackened scar behind.

Something sizzles as the wide black scorch mark burnt across the marble floor had gouged out a considerable chunk of the balcony. Twilight lay at the foot of Luna's bed, panting as her horn's glow subsides.

"Princess... Luna." Twilight swallows hard and stands.

"Are you okay?" Starlight picks up where Twilight left off. Looking back and forth, the Unicorn nods at Sunset who staggers to her feet, still shaking with the sight of the room in ruins around them.

"I'm fine." Luna growls. "Come now, she can't have gone far."

Starlight lofts a brow but slides to a stop next to the princess. "You sure, because I think a dark spirit just jumped out the window after taunting you. Not to mention your wing's-"

"I said I'm fi-"

"No you aren't!" Starlight cries and circles around to face the princess eye to eye "You're hurt, you can't fly and you want to jump off a balcony! You ran off ahead and now we're... here." she gestures around, "Stuck in here with another spirit in their own little world. You have to let us help, and we have to work together!" The Unicorn reaches forward to lay a hoof on the princesses chest, "Please, your highness?"

Starlight's question rings in the dark, and the princess breaks eye contact first. But she brushes past the Unicorn who staggers back only for the larger Alicorn to focus on something laying near the charred and smoking balcony edge.

With hum of arcane magic, she levitates the object over to her. It was bent, dogged, blackened and oozing smoke. With every second that passes, more of the object flecks away to ash. "You see this, Starlight glimmer?"

"By Celestia," Twilight gasps and cranes her head forward, "I-is that-"

"An arm." Sunset's whisper breaks the silence.

Luna nods once and with a flex of magic, bursts the limb into a puff of dust that drifts off into the breeze. With a sigh, she looks outside and over the landscape of a quiet Canterlot night. But the lanterns were more interestingly coloured, the streets positively alive like mid-day, ponies and... other things, coming and going as they pleased in the silent world below.

All at once, the heady ring of musical instruments rings from the castle's lower chambers.

"So, what do we do now?" Starlight asks with a warble of apprehension, quickly glancing between the trio of ponies.

"At the center of each of these was some foci," Luna starts, only for Twilight to nod and eagerly explain.

"If we can determine exactly where the magical focus originates from and destroy it, then we can get out of here. Then we can help your friend."

"We help Horus, then we find Erebus-" Luna's muzzle twitches, "And obliterate him."

In the hallway outside the room, the sound of howling screeches emerges from the musical cacophony.

"Hold fast..." Luna growls and sets her stance wide. But all three ponies catch the mirthless grin that worms its way across Luna's muzzle, "They're coming."

Chapter 29: Grasp

The illusory bedchambers of the Princess of the Night felt larger than in reality, but despite the scattered spars of twisted candelabras and shattered ironwood furnishings, it was her room. Luna knew every bit of it, and as she glares at the door and the twisted shrieking that melded with an utter cacophony of noise, her heartbeat quickens.

“Sunset, keep a watch behind us on the balcony. They may try to sneak in there while keeping us occupied here.” Luna flares her nostrils and conjures her barbed halberd of midnight, holding it out in front of her at the wide dual doors.

“Alright.” Sunset nods, spinning around and backing up alongside Twilight.

A soft glow of inoffensive lavender light spills underneath the wide doorway. A few flickering shadows momentarily interrupt the light, letting the Princess track them with assurance.

“Twilight, shield. Starlight, don't let them get close.” Luna nods and wets her lips with a somewhat sandy-feeling tongue.

Her slow spreading smile doesn't go unnoticed as Starlight uncomfortably watches and then turns back. “Alright, princess. If you say so.”

The shrieking sound stills, but the discordant chaos of tambourines and horns mix with a guttural wail. In the few moments that anything but the riotous clamour could be heard, the sibilant hiss of unequine breath washes from beneath the door.

Twilight licks her tongue as she focuses on the doorway, “Are they just wai-”

With a thunderous boom, the ironwood door shatters sending splinters rippling across Twilight's barrier spell. Five lithe figures dart in, shrieking all the while. The too-sickly, too slender figures sway as billowing manes of red and lavender stream behind them in gaudy locks while stretching out serrated talons. They careen into Twilight's barrier, gnashing needle teeth and lashing at the barrier.

A sixth beast snorts and wickers, its elongated muzzle twitching as it bows its head under the lintel and flicks side to side to scent the air. But it was a grotesque mockery of the equine form. The creature resembles a centaur of sorts, though a far cry from Tirek. Its fleshy pink skin stretches over a sickly frail frame, blending with black skin at its withers and haunch that stretch down to cloven hooves. A scorpions tail flicks over its back, weaving a pair of barbed stingers flicking back and forth just behind its elongated equine muzzle. The crown of antlers around its head twist with tiny silver bells, while four eyes blink independently of one another.

But as it raises its mantis-like claws, the reeking musk washes in. The deep pheromone perfume was heady, familiar, distracting. Twilight had taken a sharp breath at the towering creature's appearance, and choked with a gagging cough.

Twilight's eyes widen as she stammers, “P-pr-”

“Ignore it!” Luna commands, sweeping her halberd out and beyond the barrier, cleaving off a leg from one of the lithe figures. It hisses, tumbling backwards as a blaze of cyan arcane magic streaks through and pulverizes a second, obliterating it in a wisp of soft pink smoke.

Even by then, Starlight was quivering, looking at the graceful beast as it stepped into the room on joints that curled the wrong way. “What in Tartarus is that?!”

Luna's blaze of magic evaporates the third shrieking beast, leaving only the lone equine form. It's silhouetted against a bright orange light from the hallway, presented as if by the deafening clamour of music from somewhere nearby.

Twilight's ruby red field flickers as she coughs again, but stares at the creature as it warbles in some alien wicker. The equine beast flicks its tongue out, focusing each of its eyes on one of the ponies in the room. Evidently seeing Luna, its tail shakes, producing some harmonic rattle of loose skin folds on the underside of its twin scorpion barb.

“Back, fiend!” Luna jabs the halberd out as the creature rears with a snort and snaps out with its claws to ward off her probing blade. Two more of thee lithe figures scream as they lash and rage against the barrier, sending spidering cracks across it.

The creature turns, scuttling to the side. It's wide stance and huffing breath come out primal and bestial as it focuses on Twilight. A flick of its tongue, it darts forward, a loud squelching sound in its throat. The shield flickers and dies as Twilight's eyes glaze over for a moment.

A body suddenly slams into her own, scrabbling over the Alicorn and dragging her to the ground. “Twilight!” Soft fur hugs Twilight's frame, the smell of a familiar sunlit beach, prickles of warmth along her spine relaxing. Even as her wings try to fan out in relaxed ease, a sharp holler in her ears shakes her out of it, “TWILIGHT!” And a hoof covers her muzzle.

Sunset tackles her as she struggles to draw in another breath. The Alicorn protests as the ruby shield flickers and dies, leaving the pair of surviving spirits to pounce at them.

Starlight draws in a breath, ducking to the side and sending a scything beam of magic into one's chest as it mirrors her own movement. The cyan blast carves a scar across the wall and instinctively the Unicorn calls, “Sorry!”

“Not our room, Starlight!” Luna calls back, “Just kill it!”

“K-kill?” Starlight warbles as the thing gets close enough to turn her eyes to pinpricks, seeing the creature's inky black eyes blink and lipless mouth opens to bare rows of needle sharp fangs.

The face utterly dissolves in a geyser of torpid pink ichor as Ceifador rams through its temple from the side. “Fine, banish!” Luna snarls as another yowl echoes through the room.

The fifth lithe figure pounces, crashing into Luna and sending her tumbling. It rolls with her in a ball of pink and midnight blue, claws already lashing out in wide sweeping strokes, straddling her barrel.

“Luna!” Starlight's renewed cyan bolt strikes the creature in the back, carting through it and setting its flesh alight as it screams and burns away to nothing.

Luna hisses as the quadruped fiend warbles its primal zebraic bray and takes a few lanky disjointed steps towards Starlight Glimmer. Its tongue flicks out, its chest inflates as it scents her.

The Alicorn princess of the Night grits her teeth, staggering as she struggles to rise. She clenches her teeth and with a single telekenetic shove, hurls Ceifador. The mythic blade spears through the air and slams into the fiend's flank. The creature's shrill cry breaks the silence as its mantis claws clamp down at the fluted haft.

Its wickering squeal breaks Twilight's fugue, and the Alicorn looks up wide eyed at the monstrous fiend. Scrambling up, Sunset tries to push her back, “Tw-”

“Mmmmf'okay” she wheezes past Sunset's hoof as her mind clears the perfumed fugue. But as she rights herself, the creature rounds on Luna, rearing up as Ceifador is carelessly tossed aside.

The scorpion tail rattles as Luna pulls herself up to all fours. The monsters inky black eyes roll in its skull and its tongue flicks out, but it twists, half focused on Luna and half on the quickly backpeddling Starlight Glimmer.

Long strips of the princesses hide along her back and barrel were torn free, showing bare bloody tissue. She snarls, teeth bared and jaw jutting in defiance as the creature rears and the barbed stringers plunge down at her with a snap.

The Alicorn rolls, sending an arcane bolt at the creature who dodges with the same disjointed speed and follows it up with another sweep. The thick tail slams into the bed, shattering the headboard and hurling splinters across the room.

Starlight yelps as the fiend rushes at her, claws strike out with unequine speed. As the mantis claw snaps down and Starlight cowers as a ruby red shield blurs into existence to surround the mare. The monster's hooked claws scrape down the bubbles side. Wickering its undulating cry in defiance, the beast smashes its forehooves into the barrier. Spider-line cracks flicker through the arcane shield under its assault.

Luna's howl of rage melds with a sharp snort from Sunset. The princess's arcane beam roils through the air only for the beast to dodge and crash right into Sunset's golden ray. The narrow lance of arcane energy sets the beast's flesh to a boil, a ragged rent of burning skin flecking off in scorched ribbons smouldering at the edges.

Its entire haunch is scarred, left hind leg barely hanging on by a thread. The nightmare beast turns to them in its pained braying before it unleashes a clattering scream that physically shoves the ponies. Drapes, furnishings, and pictures come loose and crash to the ground as its sonic shriek rattles the room and deafens the quartet.

Through gritted teeth and ringing ears, Twilight rises to her forelegs, still half splayed beneath Sunset. With a huff of effort, the Alicorn alights her horn and gathers a massive glut of arcane power. The creature rears back, snapping its claws out as its tail coils to strike. It lashes out just as Twilight's glowing orb of power builds to a cascade. Determination flashes in the Princess of Friendship's eyes even as the scorpion barb streaks at her face. If the creature screamed, her ears still rang loud enough to blot it out.

It feels like a breath of wind and little else as the monstrous beast crashes into the arcane orb. The lethal stinger dissolving as it crackles into the magical field, rippling lines racing up the tail and into its body like fire through its unholy veins. It cascades through its form, burning its flesh away and kicking up drifting motes as it comes completely unraveled.

In seconds only drifting flakes of charred parchment drifts through the ruined chamber, leaving four ponies and a door off its hinges.

Luna shouts something, though everypony elses ears were waggling as they tried to register sound again.

Words didn't need to be exchanged as Luna hobbles towards Starlight while Sunset helps the second princess. The Unicorn pulls her friend into a tight hug, breath tickling the larger mare's ear as she said something that still barely came through any louder than a whisper from underwater.

The burbled 'What?!' didn't help much either. But Sunset pulls back, and for a moment, she saw the smile before the Unicorn laughs and pulls her into another affectionate embrace.

But the good humour dissolves quickly as the other Alicorn in the room limps uncomfortably, hide torn where the lithe spirit had drove its hooks deep. It didn't look like a bleeding, ragged wound, but the flesh was bare, her lustrous coat gone, and cankerous black scabs swelled on her flayed skin.

Starlight was already babbling something, though the Alicorn swung her hoof up and over the mare's withers, pulling her to her chest protectively. She looks back and forth, letting Starlight calm.

“Princess Luna?!” Twilight calls again, and finally Luna's ears flick at the call, before she looks at the fellow Alicorn. “We have to get you ho-”

“'Tis not real, Twilight.” Luna tilts her chin up, staring on regally, “These are merely... shadows of injuries. It is, perhaps, slightly taxing-”

“Horse feathers.” Sunset says and nods to the Princess's left wing still tucked firmly to her side. “You haven't been able to use that at all and now you're limping. It still hurts you even if we're here and none of this is real-”

“it is, though it's a metaphysical... reality...” Twilight's explanation winds down as she senses the stares of everypony else. “And that was theoretical, wasn't it?”

Sunset nods, still helping the princess as the pair cross over to stand in front of a somewhat daunting stone-faced Luna. “I know you don't want to go back, but we still should. Maybe if we get some help-”

“I WILL NOT!” Luna's shout rocks the room just like the fiendish creature's had before.

And standing there, clutching the slightly straining Starlight, Luna stares impassively through bloodshot eyes. She glares down her muzzle at Sunset, who stares right back.

“I know.” says the Unicorn before breathing out and looking out the wide open door to the hallways. “I just felt like I had to try.” she grumbles something else beneath her breath, "Princess Celestia would never forgive me if you came out of here looking like that." But she sighs in finality and wearily glances over at Starlight, “How are you feeling?”

Starlight pulls her face from Luna's chest tuft, face a little flush. “B-better, thanks. I thought it... I thought it got me.” She licks her lips and takes another breath that wavers at the end. “Fast.”

“Verily.” Luna snorts, “And still not enough.” Before unfurling her right wing and gesturing to the door. “Does everypony else feel that?”

The thrum of the music threads its way back into the room, its melody far more regular and instruments matching a classical orchestra. Where before it was a contorting miasma of sounds only just similar enough to be called 'music', Sunset was now casting a glance to Twilight as Luna was glaring dagger at the wash of warm incandescent light.

Sunset narrows her eyes, ears flicking in concentration. “Is that Handle's Firework Suite?” Sunset uncomfortably looks over to Twilight.

Twilight cocks her head to the side and swivels her ears. “No, the rhythm isn't right. Listen-”

“Twilight,” Starlight Glimmers sighs as the pair of other Unicorns strain to listen to the music. “I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to be listening for.” It was an, admittedly, pleasant piece. The music was a regal symphonic meld of strings, horns, and a harpsichord. Sure, there was a sound in there that wasn't quite fitting, the drawn out squeak of a rusty hinge, but no more odd than any other fancy orchestra.

“They're mocking us.” Luna's teeth audibly grind and she stalks unfalteringly into the hallway.

“Wait, what?” Sunset lofts a brow at the Princesses sudden surge forward, glancing to the other two and trotting to catch up as Luna turns the corner. Starlight rises to all fours and quickly pads out with Twilight shooing her onward with a wing, then galloping to catch up to the ever hastening Princess of the Night.

“Oh... OH.” Twilight's eyes go wide as realization hits. “You commissioned this-” Twilight's eyes rove across the stiff posture and haughty glare of the Princess of the Night. Luna's stride neatly matched the slightly-off tempo of the song, the underlying note coming as a longer creak as if from a rusty gait which matched Luna's slight limp. “This... oooooh.”

As they stride the empty marble halls of Canterlot, the music swells in volume and grandeur. Where guards should be stationed is only shadows of ponies cast on the walls. They look at them, the movements made by flickering wall sconces as they pass through the gleaming white and gold passageways.

Give minutes, and by now, everypony knew where they were headed as they descended from Luna's tower to the castle proper. And, in minutes, they were set in front of the wide filigree etched doors to the Galloping Hall. The music came from beyond the white wooden doorway.

Four ponies stood on the wide red carpet in front of the doors, Luna's face betraying twitches of anger. “Enough!” Despite her shout, nothing changes.

Shadows of tricorn pony heralds were thrown long against the walls, everypony present entirely missing in the towering caverns of Canterlot. But as the door yawns open, it wasn't exactly the case.

The ballroom was full. Swirling figures in elaborate costumes of silk, woven mesh, metal, velvet, and lace swirl to the pace of the music played by a wide stretched band on a raised dais. The Galloping hall was remarkably accurate, untouched.

The harlequin mass of bipedal forms and quadrupeds alike spin and wheel in an formal waltz, perfectly formal with an unbroken cadence.

Luna glares at the masses, eyes darting to and fro as she cranes her neck up to see over at least some of the pony-forms. Twilight and Starlight both look across the hall. It was even more cramped than the last Grand Galloping Gala had been. But Sunset merely shivers, biting back an uncomfortable cringe as she inspects the faceless crowds for some sign of perfidy.

“What in Equestria...” Starlight mumbles dumbly as the phantom-like form of a mare sweeps by her. The lacy hem of a blue velvet dress brushing her forehoof. The mare is supported by a tall bipedal creature. A human or close to, in a forest green tailed suit with sharp golden epaulets. But both wore masks, ceramic full-faced things fringed in precious metals and painted in harlequin diamonds.

Twilight takes in a sharp breath, “Lookattheclawslookattheclaws!” she babbles and gestures wide-eyed at the legs and feet of the bipeds.

Sunset spots it at once; each of the figures limbs were recurved, identical to the lithe spirits that attacked them, rather than humans. She looks around the crowd, where hands ended in gloves or nailed talons while spaded tails poked from formal suits and dresses.

“Twilight.... please tell me they're not all...” Starlight's voice peters out.

A chill engulfs her as she realizes it all at once, but Luna gives voice to the answer first. “Dark Spirits. Devils. The same kind of loathsome creature as a Windego.” She snorts and steps over the threshold.

But as the Princess of the Night walks forward, a path clears for them with the dancers swirling in some elaborate upbeat waltz. It was easy to forget, for a moment, that they were dark shades of humanity and pony kind.

Twilight quickly scuttles forward to be next to Luna, “Spirits? I suppose that makes sense, they're strongly influenced by Dark Magic.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Luna eyes the creatures with loathsome disgust, scrunching her muzzle into a prominent scowl.

While Twilight herself doesn't see it, Sunset catches the hissing forked tongues slip from the open slits of drama masks and flicker in irritation as she passes by. But the glare from sightless sockets she gets isn't any less bitter. Sunset watches as the dancers recoil from her more swiftly and violently than even Luna. Snapping her attention back, she pads off next to Starlight Glimmer and keeps watching the crowd.

“Keep close.” Sunset whispers in Starlight's ear and gets a sharp nod in reply.

“Oh don't worry, I will... this place is right on the edge of creepy and incredible.” Starlight clicks her tongue and bites her lip.

“I have an awful feeling Rarity would love it.” Sunset lets a wane smirk pass her muzzle.

Starlight quietly chuckles, “Oh mare, I was just thinking that.”

The mirthful sound sets even more of the creatures looking at them, even as the dance continues. But something was different, the Unicorn was looking around and couldn't quite put a hoof on it.

Luna's attention was fixed on the rising figure on the raised dais by the orchestra. She growls bitterly and redoubles her pace, “You bovine cur, there's nowhere to run now!”

Twilight looks around, tracking the tall white pillar stretching up to the ceiling. “Princess Luna, there's a gallery.” She points with a wing, and sure enough, the Galloping Hall had a second balcony overlooking the hall's main floor.

Hundreds of masked figures stare down at them, crowding around elaborate fluted railings and gazing at the party of independent ponies carving a swathe across the ballroom. But in the recesses, Sunset's eyes fall upon something different. An immensly tall giant in a half mask, merely a glittering amethyst thing showing a shock of white hair.

“Mistress Luna!” A feminine voice seizes the gathering as the music plays on, though not loud enough to drown her out. “We're so happy to have you here.”

From the crest of the orchestra's stage, the towering figure of the Lurker rears herself up with three arms wide open. The fourth, her left talon, was wreathed in white lace to hide the ugly black charring where it had been burned off at the joint. An assortment of intricate gold and silver chains string jewels across pale and almost completely bared flesh as she greets them. Only a carved amethyst mask decorated with platinum ferns and tall monochromatic plumes adorn her lithe figure.

“It seems Princess Sparkle's magic did a little more than give you a swat, didn't it?” Luna grins viciously only to get a remarkably smarmy grin from the Lurker.

“Mmmm, she did. I'm almost proud of her. It did hurt.” she hisses and looks at the lace, golden stare peering out from the mask's eyeslits, while a second pair of amber jewels set behind a similar feature gave her the appearance of another set. “But it's not unexpected, and it's one reason I'm here.”

“Are you surrendering for judgment?” Luna asks, eyes cold and muzzle still twisted up as she redoubles her pace. And sure enough, the dancers part before her, forming a bubble that shifts around the Equestrians.

The creature gives a high pitched giggle that descends in musical scale, “Oh, no no, not that.” she waves a hand dismissively, “Mmmm, still delightful to see you here, my little Sunbeam.”

As the Lurker's gaze falls on Sunset, the Unicorn frowns and tries to glare back. Starlight's presence and direct physical contact kept her from shaking too badly, but with ears folded back and eyes narrowed to slits, it was easy to guess Sunset's mood.

“Enough prattle-” Luna stamps, though the orchestra didn't so much as skip a beat. “Let us go, or submit to judgment. Or you and all these spirits will be destroyed.”

The Lurker just holds its arms wide, “I have no do-”

“Stop toying with them, Kanathara!” A strained voice hisses through the ether, loud, commanding, and bitingly familiar. “Slaughter them.”

The female jolts as if shocked, or something tugged on her strings. She rolls her eyes and wets her lips before winking at Sunset, “Maybe next time, my little ray of Sunshine.”

With an angered snort, Luna's horn glows with power as she pans her gaze across the ballroom, "Erebus?! I know that's you! Enough games!"

“This is more for the spectacle,” The animalistic female smirks, winking once and letting her forked tongue flick out while tearing off the mask. "Or, rather, a display."

Luna's horn blazes, cutting a swathe across the stage as the Lurker careens to the left. The torrent of pure magic rips across the stage and dozens of ballroom figures, gouging into marble flaying the gaudily dressed guests.

But the Lurker merely springs through the crowd, crouching for a moment and diving to a pillar and spinning around it before shooting up its smooth side to scale a balcony. The entire railing disappears in a blast of roiling azure energy as a score of spectators disappear under the lancing ray. But the Lurker wasn't among them.

Luna draws in a breath admid the bevy of hissing screams in the hall while the orchestra still plays on. Scraps of flaming parchment and cloth drift freely through the air, kicked up by spiraling curls of wafting corpse smoke and pinkish hued clouds. “Face me, Spirit!”

"Oh, I think I'll decline for the moment. But soon, little princess. Soon." Amid a cackling laugh as the hordes of dancers continue on in some delirious waltz, a mask hurtles over the balcony towards Luna. Reflexively, the Alicorn swats it from the air in a single burst of magic.

Even as the world thrums with power and crackles at the edges, Twilight can see the narrow bovine face of the Lurker as she grins from just above the parapet of the balcony's ruined edge. Behind her, the grinning giant raises a thin stemmed flute, as if in salute. All the while, the world falls away and the aetheric energies start to dissipate, leaving them in a rapidly expanding void to the tune of softly fading music.

There was a certain familiar kinship between astartes and their machines. The captain's chest tightens as he listens to the avian scream of the Stormbird's retrothrusters as the swept wing behemoth settles on the mudflats outside the temple walls. Rain still pelts down in roaring sheets, blurring most of the noise that wasn't made by roving gunships.

Horus Aximand anxiously sweeps his gaze from the slowly settling drop ship to the nimble Storm Eagle perched atop the now somewhat shorter bastion tower.

“Damn it Abaddon, why did I expect anything else?” he mutters to himself, letting out a breath of irritation from the side of his mouth.

Captain Aximand taps the hilt of Mournitall, the greatsword resting on his shoulder nonchalantly on his pauldron as he watches the Storm Eagle in the distance. A sleek Fire Raptor gunship pitches back and starts its short climb to a better altitude as it circles the tower, looking for prey. Meanwhile, that Anvilus Dreadclaw had somehow remained latched to the side of the tower like a limpet. Most likely, it's deeply set mechanical limbs was probably the only thing that kept that side of the tower together. The rest of the dull grey stone had slumped down into the caldera when the assault gunship's rockets had blasted away most of the bastion's face.

The sight lets Aximand's attention return to the yawning assault ramp at the beaked fore of the Stormbird as it disgorged another flood of green armored legionnaires. It had been too dangerous and cramped to land a Stormbird inside the temple grounds, so they were stuck debarking from the flats at the base of the Delphos.

Meanwhile, six clusters of legionnaires gather in neatly formed packs along the upper steps, while others wait near the wide stone plinths supporting the bronze braziers leading to the temple's entrance. His troopers may be lined up in parade ground fashion, the front two ranks hefting thick breacher shields, but it all belied the crack elements of his own company.

Several of Ekkadon's black clad Catulan reavers had scaled the plinth nearest to the door and stood atop it, watching like vultures as the rest of his company slowly ferried in from the Vengeful Spirit.

He still caught the movement of one black plumed officer hustling down the steps. “Captain.” a familiar voice snarls into his vox, some atmospheric disruption clogging communications even at this minuscule range. His lieutenant claps a clenched fist to his chest.

“Yade.” Aximand acknowledges before going back to looking at the dispersal pattern of the newly arrived Stormbird. It garners only a single muted grunt and upturned lip.

'too slow.'

“Captain, forward elements are here, but Abaddon's made the breach before we could get the rest of the company on the gro-” A low throaty growl erupts from a second, third, then forth tower forming a semi circle all around the front of the fane's courtyard. Yade spins, hand flying to the hilt of his powersword while Aximand swings his chopping blade into a readied position.

Fires of pale green and red flash through the gloomy sheets of rain. Spears of light race skywards in pillars of multi-hued flame that boil the clouds and whip the winds into a frenzy.

"Sacred unity, what now?!" Yade growls, glancing at the spewing pillars of light geysering from the shattered towers.

“Beacons. Oaths damned it if you're right, Loken. Because If you're wrong...” he hisses and claps Yade on the shoulder before pointing his massive double-handed sword down the slope towards the impromptu landing ground. “Yade, get down there and organize the reinforcements. We've got two more birds coming in and we'll need every trooper at the front. Level the courtyard if you have too! Gather the second wave and follow us in!”

Slinging the blade over his shoulder, Aximand didn't wait for the salute that time. He knew his second in command would obey. Sprinting up the slope, feeling the rain splashing in his face at every step, he pushes himself upwards as the winds slam into him with hurricane force. The rush of blood thunders in his ears as an acrid tang gathers at the back of his mouth. It was all inconsequential next to the worry gnawing at his mind.

Loken. Torgaddon. Abaddon.

Damn them.

They'd all made their choices. He was left again. Reacting. Always reacting. Always responding to others. A legionnaire that couldn't fight was useless. A captain who didn't seize every opportunity was equally useless. A mournival member who had no plan of his own was the pinnacle of useless. He was useless.

Aximand didn't feel when he clenched his jaws against the rain trying to scour the courtyard clean, but he did hear when the snarl slipped unbidden from his lips. “Come on!” The mournival captain roars, half to himself, half to the gathering of legionnaires up ahead.

A few sea-green warriors glance back at him, but only those that had to make room for the captain as he barrels up the steps. Aximand passes rows of his soldiers and watches as the wall of breachers parts to allow him his place at the forefront. The captain reaches out, snatching a heavy cylindrical charge from one of his assault troopers as he ascends the pronaos steps.

“You two, with me.” Aximand calls with a sharp glance, indicating two more of the nearest breacher squad.

The captain slings the melta bomb low in his grip as he reaches the summit. There's no pause as the astartes slams the charge home on the subtle fissure at the base of the carved tree spanning the door to the temple. With a quick flick of the charge's ignition trigger, the astartes leaps back and spins on his heels. His warriors follow suit and return to the safety of the formation.

“No words, just deeds! Sons of Horus, fifth of the line-” Captain Horus Aximand thrusts the greatsword up at the lightning forked sky. The melta charge thrums behind him with a high pitched squeal, superheating the stone from dull grey to blazing white as it crumbles to dust. “Forward! Forward for the Lupercal!”

Chapter 30: Magic and Sorcery

The third pathway crumbles to dust, plunging the quartet of ponies right back into the fluid expanse of the ether. Sunset, for her part, merely groans and paddles her hooves uselessly in the nothingness. A few grunts of discomfort and surprise escape her throat, while Luna stretches uncomfortably, righting herself more by instinct than anything else. She moves a forehoof out, touching the nearly invisible obsidian pathway beneath her while Starlight and Twilight only just begin to stir from their curled up fetal position in the void.

Already the pale pink haze was clearing into the glitter of a cosmic nebulae of whirling blue, lavender, mauve, and yellow. The black obsidian path is nearly in hoof reach of the others. Though, as Sunset floats in the murk of the void, she merely mutters an unbecoming curse beneath her breath, it was still straying awkwardly away from her waggling hoof. The Unicorn uncurls and stretches a hoof towards the pathway only to come up short again. She stretches, kicking her hind hooves and gritting her teeth, “Oh c'mon!”

Already Twilight was twisting herself with her wings to 'right' herself. Luna still kept her left wing clamped tightly to her barrel as she reaches out with a hoof to grasp Sunset and pull her onto the pathway. She tugs the fiery Unicorn down, letting her land a little hard as she tumbles into a heap on the pathway. "Empathy, we hath little time to play. Starlight Glimmer." The mauve Unicorn looks back and forth before she's surrounded in a blue aura. Luna swivels the pony around and sets her down on her rump.

"T-thanks, princess." Starlight replies with a slight stutter, but Luna was already looking elsewhere. Sunset just blinks as she sees the princess from a somewhat unflattering angle. Even with her left wing tucked tightly to her body, the Alicorn's wound could be glimpsed from her spot on the ground, along with the crystalline black and red scab forming from where she'd been lanced through her wing and barrel.

"Now, where art thou?" Luna whispers to herself, eyes darting back and forth through the vastness of the fiery nebula rotating slowly around them.

"Starlight?" Sunset whispers covertly as the Alicorn wanders off further up the path. "Did you see that?"

The other Unicorn flashes her a blush and slightly insulted glare, "I have a marefriend, I wasn't looking at anything."

"No... no not..." she sighs, looking back, but by now the Princess of the Night was too far away, merely a tall dark figure. 'Was her coat always so glossy?' it reflected the red light of the nebula remarkably well in her silhouette.

Shaking her head, the Unicorn rose to all fours and nods as Twilight trots up behind them. “Alright, alright we just gotta keep going. I think if we follow this exactly-" she shoots a look to Luna for the benefit of the other two near her, "we should go right through to Luna's friend. It should all be between these layers.” she gestures offhoofedly at the vague shapes hidden amidst the nebula's mists.

“Then tarry not!” Luna draws a sharp breath, "Soon shall be a reckoning!"

Sunset glances swiftly to the youngest Alicorn who was cautiously taking up the rear. Sunset does catch Twilight's eye after a moment as they share a wordless glance, one that carried a worried hint of apprehension. Something's wrong. Twilight, for her part, responds with a clipped nod before peering sidelong at Starlight.

“Hmm?” Twilight's expression goes unheeded as Starlight was already trotting forward towards Luna, “ Shouldn't we just focus on finding your friend and just ignore the sorcerer unti-”

“Nay! The wretch is the source, and he must be found and be henceforth brought to justice!” Luna's quick trot turns into something just short of a fast canter that leaves her three companions galloping to catch up.

"But wouldn't it be better with some more help?" Twilight asks the open air, getting an unflattering glare as the taller Alicorn glances back over her withers. The tail flick of irritation is her only answer, though Sunset redoubles her pace and tilts her head towards the princess taking up the vanguard. Her message was clear, 'watch her.'

Sunset's attention swiftly turns to the sudden shapes looming above them. The path curves between the enormous foundations of two separate tines of the maze's twisting sprawl. Unnatural spans form around them, but already something was different. As the ponies dash further up along the pathway, a low steady hum rolls across the void. A high pitched keening howl erupts as their path dips beneath the twist of some organic-looking tower, each twisting spires looking like it may have come from the depths of Equus's ocean deep. And after another few minutes, the Alicorn Princess of the Night breaks into a full gallop. The wailing howl swells to a deafening crescendo as the path twists one last time.

What meets them is a blistering cold white light that the ponies have to shade their eyes from. Four enormous metal bands surround the glowing orb that pulsates with power, each metal ring spins in a rhythmic gyroscopic pattern to reveal the blaze of uncomfortable light. And from within the core the size of a sporting field, is a single shackled figure at its beating heart.

The ponies near the incandescent glow and hear the almost methodical whir of the building sized metal bands as they swirl around the glowing core. Beyond that is the unmistakable drone of arrhythmic chanting and clamour of tambourines and horns. Luna looks at the bands, spotting where they cross right through the obsidian path like it wasn't there... and perhaps, it never had been. Twilight's fur stands on edge as one of the bands passes straight through with a 'whompf', feeling the suction like a fan blade for a moment. But even as she staggers to remain standing at the sudden pressure, Luna was darting through and into the core.

“You'll not be rid of Us!” Princess Luna howls, blade forming even as she darts through the dangerous bands and starts to fade into a silhouette. A silhouette taller, more wild, more uncomfortable. Twilight licks her lips, then locks up. Her eyes widen as she zones out for a long moment, and a simper of surprise bubbles from her throat in a creaky rasp of hesitation.

Of the three ponies that watched the Princess of the Night plunge through the whirl of churning blades, only Sunset's voice comes out as anything understandable. "Twi-twi-TWI, something's definitely wrong here!” Sunset warbles and charges forward, leaving Twilight and Starlight to catch up.

And as they cross the threshold, they see it too. Unknowingly, they had entered another such plane of swirling energy ribbons in some monolithic whirlpool. It was no longer the cold unfeeling glare of blinding white light, but the constantly shifting luminescence of a full spectrum streaked with serpentine bands of darkness spangled with auroras and lights. They'd emerged into some cosmic garden, some gestation niche that reeks of ozone and copper. And, hovering at its center of a rotating disc of black and purple light, is the Sorcerer.

He stands taller than Luna, upright like a human, clad in armor colored a sickly clotted red with spines and spires of brass sticking out from beneath thick metal plates. Horns spiral like a ram from what had to be a helm surmounted by a darkly radiating halo of crackling purple energy. But behind him is something else, a rippling gash in reality that flickers and strobes with pulsing light like blood around a sucking wound.

"Please say that's not Sombra..." Sunset whispers in concern and shoots a look to Twilight, the only one to have witnessed the blighted King of the North. Twilight can only peer at the slowly clearing frame. The baroque crimson plate looks unalike anything any pony had seen. But Twilight's eyes narrow at the stance as subtle runic figures whirl around the edges of the disc.

“No, no it's not. But he is definitely using Dark Magic! Look at the wards and charms!” she mutters to herself, seeing the subtle incantations of primitively scratched runes in the pool of swirling energy.

“I get the feeling this isn't what it looks like.” Sunset narrows her eyes as she takes in the sight of the levitating Sorcerer, hands outstretched, four nearly imperceptible metal chains wrapped around his splayed fingers. But two on the left and two on the right had been snapped, and now whirl around him in gossamer threads of silver, brass, iron, and gold.

Luna doesn't so much as glance back at them, her astral mane and tail flaring in an incandescent tapestry of colors beyond its usual glow. It was the orange and red of fire and blood. The sorcerers gaze shifts slowly, eyes glowing pale blue bale fire that roils in wisps of eldritch flame.

“I really must commend you.” the voice spills from a mouthless grate of blackness in his short muzzle. Despite its evident malice, it's still smooth and insidiously charming. Twilight's hackles prickle as she all but feels the smile forming on the Sorcerer's lips. He continues undeterred, “I never expected that you would be even half this disruptive.”

Princess Luna trembles, her glittering halberd flaring with red sparks as it forms in the midst of the void. It doesn't look anything like what Sunset had expected the mythic Ceifador to look like. It certainly wasn't the same that she'd glimpsed in Luna's bedchambers: the moonlit blade never emerged from its ashen black pallor, and the barbed twists of primrose and moonflowers had the hooks of a hawthorn. Waves of radiating malice pour from the weapon like a waterfall, sending shivers running through the Unicorn.

“Luna.” Twilight whispers as the dark Alicorn shakes and glares at the figure not ten paces from her.

“I'm unarmed.” Erebus lifts his hands wide as the chains pull taut, “Go ahead. Try to kill me. You will never stop the Hand of Fate. No animal will over-rule the will of the gods.”

Luna snarls, drawing closer with the halberd extended in front of her. “Thou art a serpent and a vile warlock, thy punishment should be death!" spittle flecks her lips, making her three companions shrink back as the princess drops into a predatory crouch. "We should tear thy throat apart, but then how wouldst we hear thee beg for mercy?" She growls as Twilight and Sunset rush to her side, though both shied away from direct contact. The hairs on her coat, normally glossy midnight blue were tipped in red.

“Luna.” Twilight's voice pricks the Alicorn's ears, but she doesn't turn. “Luna c'mon, we're here to find your friend, right? If we can get around-”

“Nay! We are here to bring about the end of this! The knave is responsible for it, for the death of many! For such crimes, he must be held accountable! And he shall be made to-.” Luna gestures using the point of Ceifador, only then seeing Twilight and Starlight's eyes staring at the socketed head.

“Princess STOP!” Sunset charges forward as Luna's face morphs into a mask of rage. The Unicorn winces as she crashes into Luna's back, it jars her left wing coaxing a feral cry of pain from the Princess of the Night as the fellow princesses hooves wrap around her neck. But from the moment she collided with the princess, the heady thrum of adrenaline started to pulse through her body. Fear. Pain. Rage. It bled from the Alicorn, oozing like sweat from her pores. But the Unicorn's eyes escape Luna's dark glower and focuses on the slender metal blade levitating in front of them.

Starlight's worried trill sounds higher than before, “When'd that get a skull on it, for pony's sake?!” Sure enough, Ceifador's blade and pick socket were fed through the mouth of an metal equine skull.

With Sunset draping her forelegs over Luna's withers, the Princess of the Night still stares daggers at the astartes. Her lips still pull in barely restrained twitches, showing serrated teeth, eyes narrowing to slits. “We should kill you.” Luna's voice slips deeper into her husky register, never quite recovering from the outcry of pain.

Sunset closes her eyes and whispers, "We're doing this for your friend, right?" and points a shaking hoof past the Sorcerer to the almost forgotten rift. And past the Sorcerer, through the wavering heat haze, the Dark Alicorn glimpses something. A shape. Through a narrow winding passageway, she can see a figure laid upon a stone dais, all clothed in white. With a blink, her pupils snap back into her more equine form as little flecks of gathering red dissipate from the cyan sea. "Please." Sunset whispers.

Luna swallows and nods, "But We won't. For their sake."

“No?” The Sorcerer's smirk was nearly palpable from behind the twisted helm.

The pause was there, and the void crackles with energy as Erebus snaps a hand up like a slap. Trailing whips lash as fast as lighting at Starlight and Twilight. The tendrils streak out and snap against unprotected bodies. With a scintillating whip-crack, Starlight's cry rings out and four gory red strips are shredded through her mauve fur.

“How about now?!” Erebus laughs and swings his other hand as Twilight covers Starlight and throws up a ruby red shield over the quartet. A second crackling lash stretches from a point just in front of the sorcerers open palm as it twists like a whip.

In a shower of dark sparks, it bursts against the bright raspberry shield as Sunset covers the struggling Alicorn of the Night. Straining against the lashing whips of energy, Twilight's eyes flicker back and forth and her ears swivel as if hearing something in the distance.

“You'll be a feast for the Neverborne!" Erebus cackles, "You'll be nothing but dust, your souls torn from your pathetic mortal-”

Luna's undamaged wing fans out, throwing Sunset aside as she lets out a shriek of virulent rage and lunges at the taunting sorcerer.

“Princess Luna?!” Twilight calls, hovering over Starlight, seeing hoof-width strips of skin flayed from her coat. But there was no blood, no lacerated wounds. Twilight's hoof hovers over the ragged strips gouged out, seeing taut red muscled flesh just underneath and the rapid growth of crystalline scabs oozing sickly black ichor. She'd seen it before, "Sombra." she whispers mostly to herself, but winces and glances up at the sorcerer as the lashing tendrils still flicker across her shield.

Ceifador slams forward, “NO!” But comes crashing down with murderous force. The Sorcerer forces a hand up to project a rippling roundel of force to hold Ceifador's red-hued sparks at bay. The Astartes grunts with visible effort, having to brace his feet in the ether as if on solid ground.

Erebus's constant laugh drives Luna's howl of rage even louder. The Alicorn forces every bit of herself into the halberd as she throws herself at the blade to physically drive it through the shield of energy. The magic cracks, yielding to her weapon as her jaw sets and her shriek whips the swirling maelstrom into a vortex of swirling red.

“Luna, STOP!” Twilight cries, looking around. Sickly skeletal figures gather at the edge of the maelstrom, burning ember eyes staring at the princess whose mane flickers with flares of cosmic wrath. The reflection of comets and meteors streak and flare from Luna's ephemeral mane and tail.

Sunset scrambles to her feet and charges forward as the Sorcerer snarls. The Unicorn watches his chained hand reaching towards the back of his belt where a vicious curved dagger rests. Luna heaves herself up and pushes herself fully onto the butt of the halberd as her horn crackles with untapped power.

This had to stop, she might not see it but Luna had to know. The Unicorn leaps forward, pressing her forehooves against both Sorcerer and Princess.

Flashes of memories, hours... days, lifetimes, flicker by in the blink of an eye.

The crackle of weapons, the fall of knights to betrayal, the roar of war. But beyond that was something Luna had kept far down, comforting ponies and then something else... A child. A human, or something so close it could be mistaken for it. She wrapped it in her wings, and spoke words of comfort with a lullaby. And then she'd told him that his father loved him, that she was sent by him, that he should be a good little colt and find the others.

And she saw the decay. The passage of years on a broken mountain top castle, the clash of rusting blades, and the image of a single demigod of mankind surrounded by monolithic creatures spawned of primal terrors.

A sightless bird screeches into the dark as countless eyes bubble and burst from its feathers. Thousands of legged insects crawl over a rotting corpse that slowly mouths a long forbidden word. Writhing half-monsters twist and cavort around a morbidly obese creature that bore only passing resemblance to a woman. And amidst it all reverberates braying snarls and thundering hooves that pound the arid earth. The Sorcerer knew, he had been told by a shape lurking in the shadows. And thus the Sorcerer told another, racked and ravaged in body and mind as he was dragged through halls by twisted cadres of bestial simian shapes.

'We aided her in her escape, but your time is up. Horus Lupercal. This choice is yours, now. Not mine. I wash my hands of this.'

She sees the crumbling of Canterlot, the white gold towers split asunder, it's nothing more than ruins in flames. Accept the demand: give in, or all will be turned to ruin. And there's nothing that can stop it. The hillside of Sunset's home lay in tatters, staked with ragged banners devoted to fell powers, the ashen wastes of magic scoured fields that once sang with life.

And it was all his fault.

Erebus, that sickly sorcerer with a face of carved gold and inked with etchings, offering a mocking hand in some pantomime of friendship. It wasn't an open palm, but from his pinched fingers hangs a brass sigil of a slitted eye. And the demigod, with shaven head and straining limbs, merely glares through golden eyes. Even then, he was alone.

And the gaze turns to her, even in her trance, even though another couldn't possibly know. The Sorcerer's lips pull into a joyless smirk.

“It didn't have to be like this. It was all her fault... are you listening now, 'Little Moon'? Are your petty magics enough to intervene now? For everything happens under your moonlight, your guidance, and you couldn't see this coming? Even now you're blood drunk and fit to follow the eight fold path. Stupid, stupid animal.”

Twilight strains against another arcane lance of energy that shatters to blue sparks against the flickering shield around them. Luna snarls, teeth bared, but they weren't the dagger-like fangs of Nightmare moon, and the red-flecked slitted eyes start to widen back to their equine norm. "You were right, Sunset..." Luna growls, her formal speech wilting away, "They were playing us."

And with a sickly judder that ripples through the void, everything hesitates.

The tines of magic, the thrust of the halberd blade, even the slow blink from the Alicorn as reflections of sparks flare in her eyes. Even the very sway of the princess's mane slows to nearly nothing. She's about to say something, but Sunset's gaze drifts to a wavering crackle of energy in the sorcerer's left hand held upturned towards her, the horned helm fixing its piercing azure gaze on her and not the Alicorn near-frozen three paces from her.

“Well well. I said I'd see you again, didn't I?” A familiar feminine voice calls. Sunset whirls on her hooves to face the rip in reality, and the figure that stands in front of it. The Lurker merely smiles, swaying in a sashay meant to be as eye catching as possible. The lace on her ruined claw was still there, but now it jangles with golden beads tapping together as she moves.

The creature nears, still looking at a frozen image of Luna. She traces a claw near her, but with Sunset's warning growl, the bovine spirit shrugs and doesn't even let her claw tip come into contact with the princess. “It just so happens that everyone's busy, so I figure I'd take the chance to chat with my favorite little Sunbeam.” The gangly bovine sits cross-legged in front of her, stooping down, abs flexed and chest hanging low as she's nearly bent double to stare at Sunset on nearly the same level.

“No-no-no, I said NO!” Sunset draws back against Luna, hind hooves nearly tangling with Luna's injured left wing.

“Huuuush, hush, my little ray of Sunshine. I didn't mean to give you a fright.” Kanathara chortles, the sound like the pattering fall of a xylophone in some weird musical burble. “I said I'd see you again. Erebus is merely facilitating a little bit of a reunion by keeping your princesses occupied. Lovely boy. Not my type.” she offhandedly gestures with her remaining razor limb in a little circle before tracing it closer towards her. “Not my type at all.”

“Get out of Luna... Luna's...” Sunset's eyes fall on the dark Alicorn who's eyes were slowly starting to clear. “You're not in her head.”

“Cute and clever. Quite right, I'm not.” The Lurker casually flicks a hand dismissively at the Unicorn. But the smarmy grin shows teeth, for the first time, a dual row of perfect white razors. “Of course, the Great Ocean has many inlets. No, little Sunbeam, I'm not in Luna's head.” She leans forward just as Sunset rocks back. “I'm not in her head at all.”

The searching eyes, the winning grin, the nearly cosmic smirk that could span the stars. She doesn't need to say a whisper as a cold shiver traces down Sunset's spine. Sunset steps back, or tries, and merely wobbles with one forehoof hovering in mid air. “O-oh buck. T-there's no way...”

“We spent so much time together, are you really surprised? Don't remember quite how you got out? Hmmm... I should be insulted.” Sunset's eye flicks as she sees the black forked tongue slip from between the lithe creature's lips like a serpent tasting the air for its prey. “There's no need to be afraid of me.”

Something brushes against her hind hock, and the Unicorn's neck stiffens so she can't even glance back. She swallows the saliva in her otherwise parched throat. The spirit sits in front of her, but her voice whispers hotly in Starlight's ear. “Surprise, Sunset Shimmer.”

Slowly Sunset's head turns with the help from an icy cold hoof. She lays eye on a nearly featureless inky black mass broken only by the grinning serrated teeth of a pony's grin. It's her size, made of oil, and slowly dripping over her withers as it leans against her side.

“Let little Luna find her, how would one say, coltfriend? Hmm, yes, that sounds about right if that's what They're hoping. Group them together and it'll make them an easier and they'll either find cracks, or make them. Now, Erebus-” the sickly pony facsimile gestures again and spatters black globs into the ether, “has some very legitimate concerns. I mean I should be helping try to overwhelm your little friends there.” She nods pointedly at Twilight who still hunches protectively over Starlight. The Unicorn's face is locked in that rictus snarl of pain and isn't going away as four strips are carved from her shoulder and chest.

“Don't you dare touch them!” Sunset gnashes her teeth at the eyeless black mass who still grins in its own demented way. The bovine figure was gone completely, leaving her with the twisted abomination of a pony.

The creature just smiles, biting her lip again before stepping away from Starlight, leaving a sticky bridge of ooze between them. She approaches the raspberry hued shield bubble, levitating a pseudo-hoof over the surface. Sunset, for the first time, sees the creature shiver. But it curiously asks, “Do you think I could? Just... Snap this closed, surprise your little pony friend, and let one of the others drag her off for their fun?”

“NO!” Sunset shouts and steps closer, finding her footing for the first time, “I don't think you could. I'd stop you, Twilight would stop you. She's the element of magic, princess of friendship!”

The Lurker smiles and nods. “Oh, you're probably right. I'm amazed she hasn't been courted by Ix'thar'ganix or even Kairos himself. But all in good time. Luna's most deeeefinitely met at least the Skulltaker. Look at her, she's positively radiant." the creature points to the rage-fueled Alicorn, "And lo, the cracks doth appear, just like I said. And don't think your other friend isn't at least considering something drastic as well." the oozing form looks back to Twilight. "Still, trying to make your friend's day end in screams that last a thousand generations isn't the only thing I could do for you.”

The amorphous slick of a creature slides back over, and with a dancer's pirouette that sends trails of slopping blackness in every direction, she slips behind Erebus. This time, the enormous grin nearly caresses the back of his neck, exposing the razor sharp teeth. She lets her tongue flick out, this time caressing the Sorcerer's helm and wrapping around one of his helm's golden horns. It coils around it, leaving a sheen of wetness, “What about this, my little Sunshine? What's it worth to you? Mmmm, come on, I'm nearly begging now. What if I let you have Luna and the Lupercal, what would you give me?”

“Nothing. You won't get anything from me!” Sunset glares. "Or from any of us!"

“I have to warn you, my little Sunny Bunny.... I like hard to get.” She steps back from Erebus. “But if you insist, I guess our time's up for today. I'll see you soon, my little ray of sunshine.”

With a warbled 'thump' Luna's eyes had refocused and her senses swam back to her. She mouths some incantation faster than the eye could see before she darts to the side to covers Sunset with her good wing.

The sorcerer snarls at the same moment, looking down as the sigil on his hand scorched white as the crackling blasts of magic rack against Twilight's shield in a screaming torrent. Twilight grits her teeth, hissing in concentration as she keeps the barrier up against the tide. Twilight's barrier drops for just a moment, long enough to infuse her horn with magic and send a rippling blaze of lambent eldretch energy spearing towards the Sorcerer. The energy slams into his outstretched arm, consuming it in white light. His scream of anguish melds with the fleeting guttering flutter of the world around them.

Ceifador howls down, brought out and around by Luna in a heartbeat. It slices through the void, then shears all four of the remainign chains from the Sorcerer's outstretched hands. The weapon hangs for just a moment as the thunderous concussive boom blasts the blood mists away in every direction leaving a silent starscape as far as the eye can see.

Motes of twinkling silver light sparkle into the starry distance, leaving a quiet starscape around them. A thin pane of black glass leads to an uninspired stone door just a dozen paces away, resting exactly where the rippling tear in reality was moments before. It yawns open, showing a rough stone face and the tempting glimpse of a familiar form laid out on a great stone table.

The Sorcerer clutches at his arm, the blood red armor on his limb bleached to an ashen grey as he slumps to one knee. His other gauntlet clutching at his wrist as he grunts and seethes in pain. Luna seizes him in her magic, hauling him close. But it wasn't the only magic to form. Twilight swiftly uses her magic on the crystals jutting from Starlight's wound, turning the sickly black clusters to vapor. But the Sorcerer was focused on something behind the quartet, the faint golden glow touching the surface of his armor and sizzling away the scraps of parchment affixed to his pauldrons in the same way as Starlight's sickly wounds.

Luna forms the dark halberd right behind the Sorcerer as he reels back. The bloodthirsty blade poised to strike at the nape of his poorly protected neck.

“Don't!” Sunset latches her forehooves around Luna's neck. “Remember, It's what they want! It's what they WANT!” She clutches the dark Alicorn, and despite Erebus fumbling forward into the perfect path of the killing stroke, the blade doesn't fall.

“Come on, we have to leave.” Sunset implores, clutching Luna's hooves with her own and staring into smouldering cyan eyes.

Luna's visage twitches and spasms with anger, they keep flicking to Erebus as Twilight groans with the effort keeping them safe on the obsidian path. Starlight struggles up, shaking and evidently still in pain. But her horn flickers with power as she leans against her mentor, fusing sapphire chains of arcane energy around the Sorcerer's limbs.

Luna snorts, “We can't let them-”

“Luna!” Twilight interjects, standing and helping Starlight up. Both ponies slowly close the gap and return to Luna's side, but it's Twilight that reaches out a hoof to rest on the princess's shoulder. “Please, Princess, let's just go. The way's open.” she gestures to the doorway a few paces behind the kneeling Sorcerer.

Erebus cackles, chest wracked as he shakily peels off his helmet to reveal the bright bronzed skin of a native Colchisian. Intricate black etched tattoos cover nearly every surface of his skin in tiny lines, marring his otherwise handsome features. “You can never escape, and you're already too late. But you have caused me some consternation, so beg." he grins and leans heavily towards Luna, jutting his chin in defiance to the smaller Equestrian, "Beg, and perhaps I shall show you some mercy, otherwise-”

Luna stretches out her hoof, seizing the astartes and dragging him with a swirl of lavender magic. Pulling him up, eye to eye, seeing cyan meet gold, she speaks clearly and evenly. “It's not my place to punish you. It'll be his. I will wrest him from your clutches and save him, Sorcerer. He shall forever be beyond your reach. Mark. My. Words.”

Erebus smirks, and Sunset shies back, ears pinned to her skull as a look of disgust and horror slips across her face. Even from a pace away, she could feel it. His arm slips behind him, clutching at the short sword hidden behind his back. With a viper's swiftness, he lashes it viciously at Sunset's neck.

But even before Sunset's lips could peel back in surprise, Starlight's magic halts the Sorcerer's arm mid-swing, then forces his fingers back a little too far. Sunset scuttles back out of arm's reach of the Sorcerer as he hisses in pain at the unnatural angle of his hand. Erebus growls for just long enough to Luna's forehooves to rock forward and smash into his face. Twilight's hoof snaps out, smashing into Erebus's forearm and sending the blade spinning into oblivion.

Twilight snorts and fixes him with a glare, “Isn't that enough?” Her blow meant only to get rid of the blade. But as Erebus's nose streams blood from Luna's strike, Twilight's eyes trail down the blood red armour to a semi-circle of grey on his arm where her own hoof had connected. The hoofprint stays, and slowly spreads outward in a blaze of grey and white light.

Luna's eyes widen as she watches the twisted sanguine armor form back into the familiar dull grey she had seen. A thin rivulet of blood pours across the gorget and down his chest before clotting almost instantly. But his eyes were wide, uncomprehending as he stares at the shimmer of light spreading up his body. “What have you done?!”

He glances sharply up at Sunset, then glares at Twilight. But the Alicorn stiffens, chest puffed out in defiance. “You,” Twilight begins, and points authoritatively at the kneeling Astartes, “You will not hurt her. In fact, you will not even touch her."

Luna nods, evidently satisfied before muttering, “I shall haul you before Horus Lupercal myself. He's not beyond my reach, but you have lost him. It's done, Sorcerer.”

“Is that what you think, little warp whore?” Erebus interposes, nearly spitting. But the smirk on his face only darkens his swarthy features, and he slowly pans his vision from Luna to the door. It was an invitation for them all to look. He leans back on his heels. His whole body seems to flicker and crackle, going transparent for an instant as that self-satisfied grin spreads across his face. "I'll burn the galaxy to ash before I let you have him. He will be ours, or he will be a martyr." He takes a breath, “Akshub." Erebus's voice comes out muddled as if only partially there, eyes glazed over. "Kill Horus Lupercal.”

Luna's teeth flash with a vengeance and Ceifador bubbles into existence in a loathsome red glow.

“Luna STOP!” Sunset lights her horn, as Starlight's magic flickers and her grasp on Erebus slips.

The sorcerer laughs and disappears in a flash of sickly green light as the halberd cleaves into nothingness.

Luna's racking breath is unsteady, racing one moment and nearly stopped the next. She glances at the door, racing over as her wings tried to flap but one dead limb causes her to gasp in pain and she stumbles only to be propped up by Sunset.

“C'mon!” Sunset calls as Twilight shoots a glance between Luna and Starlight.

The Unicorn groans and slides to Twilight's side, “G-go on, I'll be fi-”

Twilight's hoof softly shuts her up, and she shakes her head. She glances back around them, and after just an instant, the Alicorn's eyes widen as she spots what Erebus no doubt had: there, through the clearing haze of the once intense storm, is a warm golden light.

“No time!” Luna rasps as the unadorned doorway begins to close.

With a breath, Twilight's magic surrounds Sunset and Luna, flinging them both forward and through the closing portal.

Luna stumbles forward through the portal. The ground seems to give way, a small bump catching her hoof and sending her tumbling face first onto the stone floor. With her breath driven from her lungs, her hind legs stick up and good wing flops to the side in a decidedly unregal pose. But despite her vision swimming, she was growing used to the harsh firelight glinting off dull stone slabs and runic carved walls.

The rattle of bones and discordant drone of different guttural grunting songs fills the air to accompany a sickly infusion of fragrant sandlewood and rotten ginko.

She can catch the glinting eyes in the dark as dozens of bestial fetish adorned figures crowd the edges of the room. But as she takes in the cave-like chamber, her blood runs cold. On a single stone plinth at the very centre of the room is the still body she'd grown to recognize. Muscled flesh and white garments swathe the unmoving form of Horus Lupercal.

Everything else in the room moves wrong, exaggerated, with shadows dancing in the firelight and the hollow whimpering of tallow fat candles and ancient oil lamps.

“Luna.” Sunset whispers from beside her, getting up and turning sharply to gaze at the figures all around them.

“It's a waking dream, it's a waking night-” the rasp of a flint blade catches both ponies attentions.

Both turn, spotting a figure stalking forward from the fire lit ring. Dried blood crusts her bare chest, starting from somewhere behind a grotesque carved mask plumed in elaborate feathers. Tribal fetishes and scrimshaw bones rattle from entwined thongs of leather hanging from the scrap of a loincloth where she'd drawn a simple stone dagger.

She strides purposefully towards the still form of Horus, bare feet sliding in the offensive sludge of offal and blood spilled onto the stone floor all around the motionless primarch.

But seems to hesitate for a moment as the empty sockets of the mask show only a glitter of infernal understanding. “Warp ghosts?” the female breaks into a rasping cackle, then resumes her walk.

A blast of arcane magic from Luna sparks through the air, passing straight through the shaman, turning the world into crackling after-images of dancing blue and white light.

But it did nothing.

“Luna... Luna, by Celestia, she's gonna-” Sunset's eyes widen as she darts forward.

“BE SILENT, WE ARE THINKING!” Sunset isn't half as fast as Luna. But despite the hop-jump towards the stone plinth, ignoring the splash of foul liquids, some niggling feeling worms through the back of her mind.

'How are we supposed to wake him up?' A shock of a dream, a stab of emotion, some way to end it all. She glances back, seeing the shaman just a few precious paces behind Luna. The Alicorn perches half over the primarch, while the primitive shaman raises the crude dagger high overhead.

The Alicorn glances at Horus, the man had turned a waxy and unhealthy pallor. His eyes roll and rove behind his eyelids as his body tenses and spasms in juddering fits. It all closes in as the reeking breath of the Davinite high priestess washes over the back of Luna's starry mane.

'Stars above, help me.'

Author's Notes:

Kinda figure it'll be divisive, but it ain't the end yet. Noooot yet. -sighs- and all after a 3K edit that decided to disappear thanks to Fimfic's uploader. Lovely.

Chapter 31: The Beast Arises

“The Son shall be turned to darkness, and the Moon into blood before the great and terrible day of Lorgar. Arise over the dead, and tell the masses that the weak shall surely die. From the fires of our hate comes faith, from faith comes resolve, and from our resolve comes victory.”

The deafening clamor of bolter fire echoes like rolling thunder in the tightly packed corridor leading through the outer chambers of the Delphos. As the prayer leaves the grey-clad figure's lips, blood bubbles up as a string of explosive concussions bursts their plackart and drives them to the floor.

“Choke on it you nonsecular bastard!”

Vipus snarls through gritted teeth as the withering fire of bolts rattles down the corridor in a firestorm of desolation. The sergeants bolter runs dry, and he ducks down just long enough to thumb the pin of a grenade and toss it down the hallway.

Torgaddon braces his bolter against the pocked and blast riddled column and switches targets as Vipus's grenade kicks up a squall of dust. His broken form still looms imposing as he angles away the ruined armor sections, letting his scarred and dented pauldron take the ricochet and fragments that had turned the sea green plate into a maze of dull grey scrapes.

The Word Bearer lies on his back, a defiant fist held upwards for some manner of divine assistance.

“Frag out!” Loken's voice cuts the jumbled static-popped vox link as he blindly throws the fist sized explosive fifteen meters down the corridor. The innocuous metal cylinder tumbles and scrapes across the floor, coming to a stop barely a meter from the downed figure just as another press of grey armored warriors emerged from the sharp bend to the left.

The sharp concussive roar dissolves the noise in a sheet of fire and smoke. Bits and pieces of shattered ceramite and stone bounce down the halls, kicking up another rolling dust cloud that grants some temporary cover.

Vipus leans back into cover behind a gouged out section of igneous basalt forming what was one a rough hewn section of the chamber's entrance frame. He kneels with Marr directly behind him, both lean out to snap off shots and use the pair of dead Word Bearers to further extend their cover.

“Loken, ammo.” Vipus growls his warning.

“I know, I know.” Loken returns calmly. “I'm already out.” his chainsword held in a tightly clenched fist.

“Well, we sure can't go back.” Torgaddon mutters as more shapes form in the dust still dissipating at the end of the hall. He squeezes the trigger again, sending ringing pops off ceramite as flashes and screaming hisses whistle past the column.

“No, no we can't...” Marr snarls, bestial and low. “C'mon. Loken, Vipus.” he stoops down, seizing one of the legionnaire corpses and roughly hauls the Word Bearer upright.

“Tarik, Setar, Kamphaddon, cover on three! Marcellus, we need you up here!” Loken nods, having a good idea what Marr was thinking. Readying his last frag grenade, Kamphaddon did the same, only to be confronted by a similar object tumbling down the corridor towards them.

The explosion rocks the hallway and fills it with whirring shrapnel shards. “Three!” Vipus roars, leaning out from cover to see the blue glowing eyes cut through the gloom. The flurry of shots and hastily thrown grenade from Loken joins with the stamp of boots.

Even among two near simultaneous thunderclaps, Marr had hefted the Word Bearer on his shoulder and posed his broadsword low like a fighter of ancient antiquity. Rushing down the corridor with his grisly shield, Loken peels himself from the wall stanchion and follows at a sprint with Vipus not far behind.

Twenty meters.

A wall of bolter fire from the advancing Word Bearers ring off stone and blows off bits and pieces from their macabre shields. They were still barely visible aside from five or maybe six sets of crystal blue eyes shining in the dust choked corridor.

Fifteen meters.

A wry shot snaps Loken's helmet down and shreds the flexsteel rebreather cabling on his left side. Marr's impromptu shield judders with impacts, spewing blood and liquefied tissue across the walls though he remains unharmed.

Ten meters.

The haze is clearing, showing the gold trimmed grey battle plate of their opponents. A bolt pistol shot from either Kamphaddon or Setar skips low, rebounding off a skull-faced sergeant's foot and digging up into his shin before exploding. His leg buckles in a shower of meat pulp and ceramite shards, pitching him forward while waving a power axe desperately to regain his balance. He fails and falls to one knee.

Five meters.

Through the still soft tapping of bouncing metal and stone, Loken could ease his thundering heart and hear the flat ominous 'clack' of bolters running dry. A predatory smirk traces across the captain's lips as he sees the legionnaires in dim grey come to the same realization far-far too late.

Marr slams bodily into the formation bowling over two Word Bearers with a roar of unadulterated anger. His broadsword slips low, gliding up and under the plackart of one of the legionnaires. It severs the power cables and carries straight through into the Colchisian warrior's guts.

Loken barges past the toppled sergeant and swings his chainsword in a murderous overhead strike. It catches one on the collar before the blade screams to life, biting deep into the plate and dragging the whirring teeth deep into the legionnaire's chest.

The weapon skips and judders as it connects with the gorget, flinging shattered metal. Though the legionnaire raises a hand to shove Loken away, the captain angles the blade out and guns the throttle. With a re-energized snarl of ruined meat and bone, the blade rips through flesh and drags outwards. Loken heaves again, and the Word Bearer's arm comes off with a wet squelch.

A heady snap echoes in the hall, and Loken didn't need to guess what happened. The grunt from the kneeling sergeant precedes the scrape of grinding ceramite as he's tossed flat on his back. Vipus's knee carries from under the sergeant's chin as he stamps his foot down on the warrior's breastplate. Despite throwing the axe up to block the descending strike, Vipus's combat blade stakes him through the elbow joint, pinning him to the floor with the power axe crackling just short of Nero's neck. With a quick flick, Vipus snatches his bolt pistol from his hip, a mirrored motion from the Colchisian turning it into a lightning draw. But Vipus made it first, forcing the snub nosed barrel up under the Colchisian's chin and pulling the trigger with a muffle thump.

Wrenching the power axe from dead fingers, Vipus crashes into the same pack of warriors as Loken. His crashing impact throws back a second Colchisian clambering to slam a barbed combat blade into Loken's helmet ring.

“Marr, watch your back!” Vipus snarls, energizing the power axe with a flick of a thumb on the activation stud. Grasping a Word Bearer by the pauldron and pulling him off balance, Loken recenters his stance and spots the indicated threat and two more darting around the body choked corner.

Marr shoves forward, his gory shield tossed off and the warrior impaled on his blade booted hard into the wall. But two more Colchisians circle, a bayonet tipped bolter rising up to blast the captain with barely enough room for the steel spike to trace over his plate. A backhand slaps the probing blade away, but a second Word Bearer squeezes between him and the wall.

Darting low, the Colchisian grips Marr by the bracer and forces his arm up, combat blade posed to strike. With an audible growl, Marr tries to shove down as the second tries to hold him still.

“Marr!” Vipus pulls away, hacking in a wide arc with his power axe, chopping the blade down on the word bearers vambracer and cleaving through ceramite and flesh in an instant. The limb hits the floor a moment later.

A weight slams into Vipus's back, driving the off-balance sergeant to his knees as a Word Bearer grapples with him. The fight swiftly turns into a snarling scrum so close that even blades were awkward and unwieldly.

Loken's chainsword sweeps low, seeking opportune limbs and gaps in armor before he could leverage his other hand to let the scything teeth bite. Two legionnaires pile into him, a third emerging from around the corner and crashing into Marr.

“How many of them are there?!” Vipus snarls and flings an elbow back, crashing into a helmet visor as fingers seek out the ring of his own neck seal.

“Enough!” Marr snarls as he forces the tip of the blade down and slams into his opponent's thigh. It splits wide open with the tinny cry of external vox amps, but it was a short victory. Marr was already in trouble, fumbling for his combat blade while keeping a hold on the bayonetted bolter seeking to end him.

The stamp of armored boots said nothing, but Loken could hear a few pops of static and a rumbling growl.

'-poorly for thirty or forty rebels. And you're not dead yet?'

It's followed by a more jovial laugh.

'Sorry to disappoint you. They got closer than most, if that's any consolation.'

There was a reply, something that hiccuped and burbled beyond sense, just in time for fingers to pry into his neck seal and wrench his helmet off.

Loken's eyes adjust to the dim fume laden hall. His opponent's blue armorglass lenses blaze in the darkness just inches from his own. And it slams forward, headbutting him back with a crack of broken cartilage. Blood streams down Loken's face as his nose bursts and teeth crack.

Reeling back, Loken draws in a sharp breath. With a hoarse snort, he spits blood and acid from the betchers glad into his opponent's face, blinding the Word Bearer. The Colchisian warrior reflexively lets one hand go, reaching to wipe his lenses clear.

Loken's chainsword sweeps up in an instant, shredding the forearm grasping him by the collar. A kick to the inside of his knee sends the Colchisian to the ground, and a sharp boot sends him tumbling onto his back. The second legionnaire swings a bolter to pulp his skull, only for it to crack off Loken's shoulder when he turns sharply and shoves his weight against the legionnaire. It slams him against the wall, power pack whining as he urges it to lend him even more strength. He struggles to grip the bolter and turn it, centimetre by agonizing centimetre the two struggle to turn the weapon on one another before a black shape looms over them both.

A massive gauntlet reaches over, seizing the Colchisian by the helmet, and with a single flex, crushes his skull in a slurry of powdered ceramite and bloody meat.

The spasming body slumps against the wall as another massive form brushes by his back with an amplified roar. The obsidian giant swings a chainfist upwards, driving it through one of the Word Bearers grappling with Marr and lifts the struggling legionnaire off the ground. A chattering scream of combi-bolter shells dismembers another from centimetres away, spewing scraps of ruined flesh across the wall.

But Loken was spun about on his feet, coming face to face with an avatar of rage incarnate. Ezekyle Abaddon. His top knot swung like a gory red fetish plume, face saturnine and spiteful with a menacing snarl of perpetually bared teeth. Stepping even closer to let more of his Justarian file through, he looms over the fellow captain, nearly pinning him to the very wall he'd struggled against seconds earlier.

“Loken, you rotten bastard!” His howls in Loken's face, spittle flecking across the captain's blood slicked cheek. “Just what did you think you were doing?! Do you have any idea what danger you put the Lupercal in?!” The spittle laced roar was loud enough to permanently deafen a mortal man.

Face still streaming blood, Loken looks up through sweat blurred eyes, “We had to do something, it's a damned fane, Ezekyle! He won't be the same, they were trying-”

“Trying to save him!” Abaddon snarls.

Loken takes in a breath through his broken face, pressing his chest out to challenge the captain despite the enormous power differential just from the terminator plate, let alone Abaddon's enormous physique.

Loken was about to spit out a reply when another voice beat him to it. “Damn it, look around you Ezekyle!” Marr grasps the First captain by the shoulder, but even his genhanced might couldn't pull the First Captain off Loken. “You can't be this blind! Sober up from your blood rage for five seconds and tell me how Word Bearers got freely into this fane without being seen? How are they supporting heretic priests? Where is Erebus? This is a set up, Ezekyle!”

Finally, Abaddon rounds on Marr, confronting him and letting Loken get some breathing room. “Don't say my name like you've earned it, Marr! This is Mourneval business!”

A short cough and displeased grumble draws their attention as the Justarian's combi-bolters crackle like sheets of tearing fabric as they round the corner in an unbroken spear of obsidian and gold. Torgaddon and his three wounded troopers shuffle behind a Justarian wielding a multi-melta. “Then I think I should be here for this vote, but where's Little Horus?”

Abaddon sucks the spit from his cheek and glares at the grinning face of Torgaddon. “Taking the front door.”

“Don't you think we should go meet him in the front foyer?” Torgaddon uses his chainbladed bolter to gesture forward.

Abaddon snorts and grasps Loken before the captain can protest. The oversized power fist clamps down on his cuirass and squeeze with a threatening crack. “Oh no, I'm damned well taking you back out the way we came. And you will beg Erebus to make this right! You are not-”

“Where is he?” Marr chokes out, his helmet's vox amp turning the growl threatening. “I don't see your sorcererous little fri-”

Abaddon's immense two handed blade flicks up, crossing over Marr's throat, though the captain's stance remains unchanged. Defiant. The First Captain's lips curl into a bestial snarl, “Final warning, Marr. Shut. Up.”

“Tybalt brings up a good question, where exactly is Erebus? You haven't seen him, have you?” Torgaddon staggers up next to Marr, getting Abaddon's ire to shift.

“I am First Captain, Tarik. And you are pushing my patience to its limit. Get back to the Storm Eagle.” he tilts his head and makes a small tilting gesture of his chin to say 'get'.

“Damn it, Captain Abaddon.” Marr growls and reaches to wrench his helmet off. The two were both True Sons of Horus, their resemblance to the Warmaster uncanny. But while Abaddon was still a rage-flecked avatar of wrath, Tybalt Marr's cold glare was just as unwavering. “If you're going to threaten to kill me, then say it and be quick about it. But look around you! We were ambushed and lost legionnaires. We fought our way through slop, and slime, and the mutant scum. We are here to see our Commander! So why are Word Bearers here at all when they wouldn't even let YOU inside!”

Abaddon stares, green eyes searching Marr for something. The First Captain looks around at the fallen of the XVIIth legion and then to Loken and Torgaddon. But it was Vipus who rose using the wall as a support. Through gritted teeth, the sergeant takes a ragged breath, “First Captain Abaddon, sir. The Word Bearers fired first, sir.”

Abaddon fixes the line sergeant the same penetrating glare as the others. Nero Vipus merely stiffens, battle plate soaked in blood and torn to ruin by bolter shells. “They fired first, without warning.” he nods and remains at attention.

“It's true, Ezekyle.” Torgaddon chips in and nods, “Did a sloppy job of it, but they did.”

The First Captain's silence was deafening. “Come here.” he finally says, letting Loken go and pointing his warblade back up the hall.

“But-” Marr protests only to be shushed by Torgaddon who gives a weak grin.

The senior captain mouths, 'hold on.' He follows the First Captain back down the run without protest.

Loken bobs his head to the broken but defiant remainder of squad Locasta. The knot of soldiers follows behind until they re-emerged into the first chamber. Abaddon looks at the other seven and points to the still form of Basek laying lifeless on the stone floor.

“Swear on him.” Abaddon looks at the others with a stony glare. Abaddon continues, “Swear on the life and death of one of our own that the Word Bearers drew legion blood first. Swear on it!”

Perhaps uncharacteristically, Torgaddon stiffens and his almost omni-present smile shifts to an impassive mien expected of legionnaires. “On my oath as captain of the second company, my honor as one of the Mourneval, as Commander Horus Lupercal's Legionnaire until death, I do declare in the presence of my brothers: the Word Bearers betrayed our bonds of friendship and murdered one of us. They killed one of the Sons of Horus, through no mistake, but intentional murder. I swear this: the Word Bearers fired first.”

Catching on quickly, Loken pressed his hand to his chest in salute, “On my oath as captain of the tenth company, my honor as one of the Mourneval, loyal to the Lupercal and Emperor, both, I do declare in the presence of my brothers: the Word Bearers fired first.”

One after another, the remaining members of the strike team make the same oath as a stony faced Abaddon watches them each. The First Captain waits until the very end and lets the final words die in the silence.

Abaddon bites his cheek and looks at Loken before confronting him first. “If I find out you're lying to me, Garviel, being Mourneval won't save you.” Turning to look at Torgaddon he keeps the same level glare, “The blood of every legionnaire is now on your head. Everyone that dies is from your making.” He snorts like a bull and lowers his voice to the rumble of a landslide, “And if the Lupercal dies-” he jams the unenergized claw of his power fist hard into Loken's cuirass to shove him back,“so do you.”

Turning on his heel, the lumbering giant shoves his way forward and upwards through the hall. Abaddon's clipped voice crackles over the vox set, “Kibre. Keep pushing the advance. Link with fifth, any message from seventeenth legion officers or Erebus goes straight to me. Understand?”

“Narrow thing there, eh Garvi?” Torgaddon slaps his friends shoulder and looks back and forth before gesturing Marr towards himself. The rest of the group returns to the site of the scuffle wordlessly. Marr drags his sword free from the pinned Word Bearer that one of the Justarian had dispatched in a flurry of combi-bolter shells while Loken stoops to pick up his helmet. He'd left it there to at least give himself an excuse to go back.

Once it was on, Torgaddon opens a private channel between the three captains, “Garvi, Abaddon said something I didn't much care for.”

With a click, Loken affixed his neck seal and then stooped again to fetch a fallen bolter. “What's that?”

Torgaddon's whisper was almost confused, “When he first found us, he said we were doing pretty poorly for killing only thirty or forty rebels.”

“There were a whole lot more than thirty or forty damned hostiles, Tarik. A lot more.” Loken nods as Nero and the rest of Locasta gathers to swiftly strip the fallen Word Bearers of spare magazines and grenades. Marr glances backwards but disappears right behind the spearhead of Justarian terminators.

“I know, but he couldn't have been that far off counting bodies... where'd they go? Garvi, Nero... keep your head on your shoulders. I've got a bad feeling about this.” With a slap on his shoulder to cover up the awkward exchange, he hustles around the corner to follow Marr.

The hallway grows more narrow and curves downward. The group's mighty footfalls blotted out the noise earlier, but now the slow rising wail of discordant voices buzz in the stifled incense laden air. Cloying scents of fragrant sandalwood and bitter myrrh mingle with the rotten meat stink of ginko and salt laden odor of unwashed bodies.

But above it all is a steady thrum, a seismic pulse rippling through the stone floor from the foundations upwards. It shivers through boots and more than once caused Loken's remaining teeth to chatter.

They could follow the hallway, feel it headed inwards, and almost by magic, they had turned a corner and saw it opened up into a towering chamber replete with tiered steps and titanic pillars reaching into dark corners of the towering citadel spires.

They had stumbled into the neos, the temple's last bastion.

Concentric circles of fetish hung polls stood from unhallowed circles carved into floors with ancient script that hurt the eyes. Sickly murals on free standing monoliths jut from the ground. Bonfires and profane rituals of cavorting bodies dot the open halls, showing milling masses of near-humans and ab-humans of every conceivable shape and size in their thousands.

And above them all, scores of grey wraiths. The towering bulk of grey armored warriors stand on stair tops and among gatherings of prostrate warrior cabals, seemingly at random though each at the head of their own congregations spread around the wide semi circle dais around the neos as large as a mustering stadium. Eight stairwells converge on a single towering edifice, a carved door illuminated by the hellish glow of the bonfires: an eight pointed star. Atop the steps stands a grey-clad astartes officer surrounded by his cadre of chosen warriors, draped in red and as solemn as a a storm.

“First Captain Abaddon,” Kal Belekar's sonorous voice rolls through the cavern like thunder, “I fear you have made a grave mistake. Lay down your arms.”

The Delphos priestess strides forward through the stinking puddles surrounding the Lupercal. Luna turns, one dead wing tucked to her side and the other fanned out in a wide-threat display.

“YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HIM!” she screams, voice booming in the enclosure, rippling through the waves of magic spilling through small tears and rips as dreams met reality. “Sunset, try-”

“Already on it!” Sunset darts over, crossing the distance with a leap and trying to surmount the stone plinth. With an 'oof' her lower body collides with the edge, driving the breath from her lungs as the priestess looms up over Luna, the ray of moonlight lancing through the half-there spectral figure with no apparent effect.

Sunset reaches down, her horn pressing to the bald pate of the man. There's a static crackle and a flash of pain like a spike of feedback driven into the Unicorn's skull.

She howls wordless pain but presses through as the spell tries to take effect.

'You are alone'

'Your progeny will leave you for your eldest just as you abandoned your father's side. You are nothing but a footnote in a dead millennium. You are a mistake, a byword for misery that will be only mentioned in what you have ruined.'

'You are alone'

'It is what you deserve, Sedecium. Your name was given, your title was given, but you are nothing more than a tool on the tray for your father's use, just like Secundus and Undecium before you. You relented and abandoned their memory because your so-called uncle threatened you once upon a time.'

'You are alone.'

'Sedecium you are, and nothing more. Not the first, nor the last, but a mere number. Sixteen. Horus Lupercal is a lie. You live a lie. And for it, you are cursed.'

'You are alone.'

'Struggle, yes, struggle when you know the truth. No one will come to help you. Why fight when the end is a foregone conclusion? Just stay still and play your part, Sedecium. It is all you have ever done from Cthonia to Ullinor.'

'You live alone, and you will die alone. Screaming at what you have done when the final light goes out.'

Flashes of painful light spring unbound to Sunset's eyes as the echoing chamber of filthy nipping voices fade into the darkness.

Great ships sweep into the starry heavens, pinpricks of light and slender silvered daggers that slip past view through a craggy maw of steel and shattered glass. The hellish underworld around her bubbles and belches smoke and cinders out into the pale solemness of space. She can feel the stone beneath her hooves like an infernal oven staring out the window to some better world.

And she felt alone... she felt alone despite the clanging fires of industry and huddled morass of humanity that lurked in rags within the deep pits and sheltered corners of the latticework of pipes and metal that gnawed at the worlds rotted core.

It took a long moment to realize the shadow that fell on her. Sunset turns back, glimpsing the form seated on a craggy metal spar draped in padded cloth and a few metal plates. He's tall, enormous even, but silhouetted by the night, she sees pale skin and tangles of short curly black hair as he turns his golden gaze to the ships silently drifting through the moonlight. He stares into the abyss, and what feels like an eternity of solemn airs melts with a single hand held out to reach for the stars.

'You usually ask for a starscape. It's not difficult, but why do you like them so much?' A voice intones, familiar for once. Luna's upbeat tempo rings in Sunset's ears, and she thought for just a second, she glimpsed silver sparks hovering next to the seated man.

He smiles, the voice coming from nowhere and everywhere, 'isn't it enough that I like your stars?'

The Alicorn's voice rings out in a thoughtfulness, 'Yes. But I'm still curious.'

This time, the voice was a whisper. The man's smile falters as the fleet of silver vessels spark, giving life to flickering fireflies that drift through the heavens towards them. 'I could lie and say that it's because father promised them to me. But in truth, it's because when I looked up in the night sky, I felt like I belonged.'

A golden flash, a shattered memory, kneeling before the a shimmering sun god. She heard the swell of voices, the rising chant that broke the void and shook the gates of Antarkates.

'Lupercal, Lupercal, Lupercal!'

Standing among lesser men, poised among equals that would never be. A blade of authority held to the trembling sky, where silvered ships in numbers uncountable, spin past as glittering flecks while the tide of humanity knelt to him and saluted by the glittering warrior giants clad in pearl armor.

A god.

Unmatched. Unparalleled. Unequaled.

Alone but for the sound of his own name. A name bestowed.

Horus, the master of wolves.

A long trestle table stretches before him in a marble dining hall so close to Canterlot Castle's it evokes a sense of homesickness in the Unicorn. She sees the long resin waxed surface glittering with inlaid gold and onyx, white robed figures seated around it in comfortable conversation.

Horus himself spoke to dignitaries dressed in velvet and silk the likes that would make Rarity swoon. And despite the deep and amiable smile crossing the Lupercal's freshly shaven face, she saw his eyes dart to the side towards one empty chair. And part of her knows the wound is still fresh. The grin was forced just a little too wide as the golden plates of his eyes dull in the glint of the mid day sun. The whisper on the wind says 'my noble Sejanus', among whom he was master and equal in the same breath.

Fleeting memories of something, of a sliver of the moon and diamonds on a dark sea. Something tried to swallow them up. Something ate at her, and howled in the setting ocean. Some monolithic creature arises from the depths, pouring red waters down over the bow of an ancient sailing ship. Its silhouette glows as a massive horned daemon without certain form and of immense stature, rises from the deep. The collapsing waves wash her from the vessel, tossing her over the side with a single careless flick. She spots the lightning flash illuminate the figure of a man and...

“I can't!” Sunset's voice echoes blearily just an instant after Luna heard her slam into the stone table. But it was distinct and ragged, “It's there but I can't get at it!”

Luna turns, the priestess looming up and over them all in the cave. Sunset's grip falters as she slumps from the stone table, scrambling weakly as her hindlegs give out.

The midnight blue Alicorn turns, a serpentine voice rooting around in her head as Discord's voice bubbles up from its depth.

'Symbolism is important here.'

She takes an uncertain breath, “Stars above.”

The sleeping prince, the evil witch come to claim his heart. The valorous princess...

And that flash of fear disappears as raises her upper half up on the plinth next to the demigod. His hands at his side, the shadow at her back. And all she could see was the alabaster flesh, marred with two wounds on his chest and side.

“Please, wake up.”

Her head dips and her lips find his. They were cold, still. And the Alicorn's eyes start to close. A single rhythmic beat of a dual heart entwined and what feels like a sucking inhalation that steals the breath from her lungs.

Golden eyes flutter open wide one second, and narrow to pinpricks in the next as Luna finds her reflection played out in his own. His lips form a smile...

'Oh wait, that's more of a scowl... huh, that's not the face of a happy stallion.'

With the speed beggaring belief, the Alicorn saw him tense his arm and slide his elbow up in a short wind up as he clenches his fist.

'O-oh... oh buck.'

Akshub closes in, hands on the stone dagger as she stands at the Lupercal's side with the flickering monstrosity crouched almost protectively over him. With a snort, the Davinite priestess raises the blade over her head. With a final smirk hidden by the primitive mask, she brings the ancient ritual blade down.

The blood of a primarch, the death of a god-

His eyes snap open and his fist hurtles into mid air like a rolling mountain. With a sickening 'crack' she hears no more. Her congregation watches as the wooden mask folds around his fist and the head snaps back, ripping from her shoulders and spinning across the room to smash against the far wall like a rotten pumpkin.

The music, the chanting, even the fires seem to stop as her headless corpse spasms and flops down and the sacrificial dagger clatters from nerveless hands.

And the Demi god splutters in a hacking cough, hauling himself up in his white burial sheet and looking around the chambers like a wild animal while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“LUNA?! LUNA, WHERE ARE YOU?! COME BACK HERE AND FACE ME YOU CRETINOUS LITTLE WHORSE!”

Author's Notes:

Alright, figured it would be divisive, and no it's not changing the genre. Anyway... we'll see. But I had fun.

Oh, for the record: a lot of the time Horus shows a sort of Jason Statham hairline but frankly, there is a few alternatives. And Diego Gisbert Llorens nailed it for me.

Chapter 32: Reunion

A pair of elegant grey shapes swoop through the starry depths between the gathering of astral predators. Slowly and surely they turn, sunlight from Davin's local star winking off long swept back wings as they glide through the void. They slowly circle to watch the hustle and bustle of activity below.

Days prior had seen a flurry of activity, from ugly barely void capable ships to unsightly landing dories had raced down to the surface of the unremarkable rock. But now, craft every bit the equal of their own stream from the monolithic hold of the unmatched destroyer. Once again, the immense voidship, the Vengeful Spirit, is alight in activity.

Groups of sea green Stormbirds shoot from mag-rails and streak towards the surface while smaller flights of nimble Storm Eagle gunships stream out and pitch down in showy barrel rolls as they bank hard in their descent. But both are escorted by flights of bat-winged Xiphons or gull winged Lightning Crow attack craft. Together, they descend like clusters of meteors to the unfortunate world.

“That's not their standard deployment pattern.” A nervous Colchisian flight officer looks up from the rhythmic click of the servitor plugging in astral coordination data into the cogitator. He turns back, looking over his shoulder at the grey clad legion officer.

His opposite nods, staring out the slanted forward window of the Stormbird at the activity. “No, it's not, Hacari. That's a rapid deployment scramble. Emergency rescue formation, just like their second wave on Murder.”

“Lieutenant Ahlkar?” flight officer Hacari Amphoshe starts and nods towards the yawning bays of the Vengeful Spirit, protected by its overhanging gantries and crenelations pocked with secondary ordnance battery pods. The flight officer looks past the constantly swiveling automatic gun turrets. “Are you sure we're going to be able to land in there?”

“Oh ye of little faith.” The lieutenant smiles patronizingly before lifting a pair of fingers to his ear socket. He listens, visibly stiffening before the smile spreads further across his bronzed face.

The astartes reaches out, flipping a communications toggle next to the pilot. A tinny and unfamiliar voice echoes over the short range vox net.

“This is ATC-sixty three, actual: acknowledge request for landing coordinates of Candor-flight. Vox-check, Candor-one.”

“Copy, ATC-sixty three. Reading you two by five.” The voice of Eliza Khabet rolls over the vox net, the flight officer of their sister Stormbird.

Hacari lofts a brow and looks back to the lieutenant. Their own vox systems were working fine, not 'interspersed and sporadic' at all. But Ahlkar merely places a finger to his own lips, the maddening grin never disappearing.

“ATC-sixty three Actual copies, Candor-one. Standby for instructions, over.”

“Wilco, ATC-sixty three.”

The wait was rather lengthy, and Amphoshe was left to look out the window as another company's worth of Stormbirds in the dull black of the sixteenth legion's vaunted first company stream from the forward launch bays and angle straight down towards the surface at unsafe speed. If the First was deploying to the field, there had to be a good reason. And not one the flight officer was privy too.

“This is ATC-sixty three.” the sudden reply jolts the flight officer who stares towards the mass of protruding sensor spires the Stormbirds were gliding past. The automated guns had been tracking them like hawks for the past two minutes. “Landing cleared in docking bay four-four. Turn right to heading zero-ninery-zero, Candor flight, confirm.”

Amphoshe reaches for the transmit toggle, waiting the respectable time for Flight Officer Khabet to respond. He clears his throat, “Roger, ATC-sixty three.” and lets go. It was surprisingly nerve racking for some reason, though some of that may have been due to looking down the barrel of anti-lander flak batteries and knowing that their Stormbird was a sheet of elegant paper in comparison.

The mortal flight officer feels an astartes' hand on his shoulder, and Ahlkar nods reassuringly. “Everything is fine, Hecari. Just guide us in and we'll keep you updated on the mission as it progresses.” With that same smile never departing, he turns and reaches for the helmet mag-locked to his hip.

Amphoshe swallows and taps his pilot, who watches as the other grey gull-winged Stormbird takes a long looping turn and heads for one of the bays yawning open. “Take us in slow and ste-holy hell!” A pair of Fire Raptors scream by close enough to spatter the windshield with exhaust vapor. With his heart thundering in his chest, the flight officer cracks a grin, “Astartes jocks... alright, lets hope that's all the excitement for one day.” The pilot nods while their servitor click-clacks from down beneath in the forward observation vestibule in its hypnotic rhythm.

Still, he couldn't help but feel the nervous pit in his stomach.

Serghar Targost stands on the observation post of the embarkation deck, watching the pair of enormous Stormbirds slip into their recovery cradles. The whine of embarkation klaxons wail unceasingly through the cavernous expanse, broken only by the mag-locks static clack. They hold the pair of grey landers in place as their wings furl up into their storage position among the rafters of one of the Vengeful Spirits main hangars.

Targost grates his teeth with a base snarl, willing back the pain balms soothing his inflamed ire. His hand itched, even though the damned thing wasn't there anymore. His armor had hidden that only just, keeping his empty gauntlet clenched behind his back as he stands at attention in the fineries of the seventh assault company... which was to say, his slightly dented black plated reaver armor.

He casts a sidelong glare as the umbilical gangway extends upward from the third level gantries where he stood. The whir of its servos bother him with its idiotic stillness, propelled by a glassy eyed servitor at its end.

Down below, Sedirae's thirteenth company were deployed in serried ranks, waiting along with Goshen's twenty-fifth. The fellow assault captain prowled the blocked ranks of his company, waiting for the return of more Stormbirds to ferry them to the surface.

The umbilical locks into place with a resounding 'thump' and a few of the legionnaires below look up at the Word Bearer's transports as if wondering if they might be 'borrowed'.

Targost strides the gantries, already tiring of waiting for the Word Bearers arrival. Turning into the umbilical, he sees the loading hatch open, and is greeted by a red crested lieutenant emerging from the green-lit hold.

“Ah, Captain Tar-”

“Who in the blazes are you?” Targost snarls, the irritation and pangs of discomfort twisting his features into a feral glower.

The lieutenant merely nods, approaching in his leisurely stroll with more legionnaires filing out behind him. “Lieutenant Ahlkar, ninety forth company, at your service.” He wasn't clipped or overly fawning like some Targost had met. Instead, the Lieutenant's jaunty lilt and even the almost inconsequential tip of a wave was strangely disarming.

“Let me guess, some diplomatic equerry of the First Chaplains?” Targost snuffs back some of the ease the lieutenant radiated.

“Something like that, sir.” he continues his approach, the glory squad of grey-bedecked warriors following in his wake. “But we're no iterator core, I can assure you of that. But would I be mistaken in assuming that you're captain Serghar Targost?”

“You're not wrong.” The lieutenant was nearly within arms reach, and the captain merely nods his head but doesn't step aside. “What's this about?”

The Lieutenant merely nods again and bobs his head before reaching up to doff the helm. It exposes a bright and cheery bronzed skin man with just a single line of etched Colchisian tattoos vertically traced in gold ink across his cheek.

“Compliments of First Chaplain Erebus, we're here to take care of some of our combined problems. I take it you're still taking care of the 'individual'?”

“Not so loud, the vox-thiefs might pick you up.” the captain whispers before sharply tilting his head, indicating the Word Bearers filing out from the landing ship were to follow him.

“I wouldn't worry about that. We'll also be sure to take care of anything that may have been too sensitive.” The lieutenant says, following after the assault captain. Targost hadn't noticed it until the lesser officer was right in front of him, but Ahlkar was short for an astartes, able to pass for a genhanced Imperial army trooper at a pinch. But the Colchisian heritage was still plain across his face.

“So you already have a plan?” Targost snorts and the Lieutenant silently smiles and inclines his head in affirmation. “Then mind telling me what it is?”

“Certainly, captain. Bear in mind, we are somewhat short on time and a number of methods must still be observed. But I have been instructed that I may reveal our operations to you.”

“You were in the recon corps, weren't you?” Targost looks back, some disdain clear on his scarred visage. The astartes was clearly more than he seemed, and already a nagging sensation was eating at him.

“Vigilator, actually.” Alkhar replies as if mentioning a favorite beverage.

“Assassin saboteur...” Targost fixes him a more serious glare. “Who?”

“No one of importance, Just that I'm here is good enough.” The second umbilical stretches out from a second story gantry to connect the second Stormbird. “Would it be possible to get a billet for the rest of the company?”

“Sure.” In no way did Targost sound certain of that, "Where's your captain, I expected to see at least Belekar here.”

“Captain Belekar is... engaged, at the moment.”

“Submit to the will of the First Chaplain, and you may still be given a reprieve despite your transgressions upon this sacred ground.” Kal Belekar nods once, “We shall be in this new Great Crusade together, brother. Led by the Warmaster reborn, with all the Powers of the galaxy at his side!”

The sudden shuddering cacophony of combi-bolter fire slices a torrent across the Word Bearer captain and his glory squad, slamming one in the chest and rolling them back while a second slumps forward as a shot detonates in their throat with a wet pop. Abaddon's combi-bolter eats through rounds and as the glory squad raises combat shields and hunkers down, bearing blades and taking the barrage from the irate First Captain. Explosive shells skirt off a glittering golden energy shield, flaring a great halo of light from around the Word Bearer captain's head.

The Iron Halo's energy shield holds a brief moment of deistic brilliance, illuminating the unhallowed chamber steps as its capacitors soak up the rippling blossoms of yellow fire that licks at its rippling edges. In less than a second, it's joined by others. The Justarian's weapons howl a shrill chorus of death as yellow tracer shots and blinding phosphorescent shells streak through the gloom. Primeval stone blasts apart and flesh is shredded to ragged ruin under the fusillade, eliciting a shift from both fur-clad cultist and grey armored warrior alike.

There is no order to advance, but the Justarian surge forward led by the steady measured pace of Falkus Kibre, the Widowmaker. He cradles his long handled power axe in both hands as the deluge of return fire erupts from the staggered pockets of defenders. The horizontal rain of shells trace nonsensical zodiacs across the Justarian, illuminating the black clad juggernauts.

Where the legion's power armor was proof against most mortal arms, and could deflect or absorb bolter impacts at a distance, the Justarian warplate completely shrugs off the meager attempts. It blunts armor piercing tips and spreads out explosive rounds across crackling energy fields at arms reach as the tidal wave of obsidian killers closes with the staggered ranks of grey legionnaires.

Kibre reaches out and points at Kal Belekar standing at the summit of the steps, “Kill those unworthy dogs, but that one is mine!” The Widowmaker's amplified voice booms over the vast grotto.

"Then you'll have to fight me for him, Kibre!" Abaddon growls in what had to pass as competition in the first company.

The cascade of combi-bolter fire rebounds from monoliths and vaulted ceilings, lighting the darkness in stark white hot flashes. What seems like wildly incoherent bursts of sprayed fire connect exactly where they need to: punching grey armored forms from plinths and shredding knots of decidedly muscled abhumans on distant steps. The blood flows in thick runnels as the ten warrior kings surge forward in an arrowhead, sheltering the tiny knot of wounded grey-green soldiers who snap fire from purloined weapons.

Another Word Bearer falls as Abaddon turns his combi-bolter on him, a single low whistling 'thump' driving the krak grenade into his chest before exploding in messy scraps of ceramite and puffs of vaporized flesh. Next to him, the multi-melta whines, pressure building inside the roiling fuel air mixing chamber, before letting out a screaming hiss of super-heated gas. The high pitched scream turns into a rolling roar as a pair of Word Bearer chosen at the top of the stairs are turned to steam. They weren't even the target.

The screaming lance of heat slices through the legionnaires and slams into the towering male minotaur shackled to the doorway. With a haunting bellow of abject pain, the creature's flesh boils away and blackens the doors behind it in a massive heat wash. With a metallic clunk the spent fuel cell drops to the ground and rolls away.

“Tarik, keep back. Your armor won't hold together for another shot!” Loken warns, ducking out from behind a Justarian and snapping off bolter shots at Davinite cultists clustered around a fire, turning them to chunks of red meat.

“Stop being such a stickler, I'm fine Garvi!” The fellow captain huffs disdainfully while turning his shoulder into the shots. Not a moment too soon, a shower of sparks flecks off his scarred pauldron. His hop-skip advance keeps the chainbladed bolter high up and across his ruined cuirass, protecting his chest from another lethal impact. The snap shots blast apart the unprotected Davinite warriors as Abaddon leads the spearhead towards the steps leading to the massive carved door. Or just as likely, the still defiant Word Bearer captain.

Marcellus brackets another Word bearer behind a pillar and ducks back in just in time for the legionnaire to peer around the corner of a nearby monolith. Bracing his bolter, the high pitched clatter of their forgeworlds Tigrus pattern weapon sends a burst of fire whining past Loken's head. Rounding on the figure, the unfamiliar judder of the bolter skips rounds off the stone and gouges enormous craters in the pristine surface.

“Lupercal's oath!” Vipus hisses as a solid slug whines off his helmet leaving a massive silver-grey groove in the comb, “Really, how many of them are there?”

The Justarian to Loken's immediate left takes a full barrage of explosive rounds that ring off the adamantium plates like rain off a metal roof.

“Enough!” Loken mutters, “He had a company with him when we took the Glory of Terra, could be hundreds.”

“Well, I'd say less than that.” Marr growls and pops up over Abaddon's shoulder from near the front of the formation, snapping bolt pistol shots off and sending two Davinite's tumbling down the blood soaked steps.

“How can you be sure?” Loken growls, taking the left and watching the formation bow as a horde of bestial warriors creeps cautiously around the edge of the room to flank the over-extended Justarian. Behind them are an evenly spaced line of Word Bearer legionnaires, using their charges as meat shields.

“Because we'd be dead by now.” Marr snarls and shakes his head before tucking his pistol away

Torgaddon's laugh still comes out wet, but sincere, “We might be dead soon enough. We could fire every bolt and still drown in their blood. What do you wanna bet there's something worse beyond that door? Couple hundred Word Bearers worse.”

“Shut up and fight!” Abaddon's snarl echoes into their vox links. The hulking First Captain half turns, shooting the other officers an angry glower before turning his bolter on the steps and stitching shots up the huddled mass of shocked cultists, shredding them to rags and pumping another grenade into their midst. The muffled thump kicks up a rain of falling bodyparts that spatter wetly across black, green, and grey armor alike.

Weapon running dry, the captain snarls and tosses it aside, clutching the enormous sword even more massive and vicious than Marr's culling blade. The pace inelegantly changes, and Loken can only curl his lip in distaste at the First Captain. But he had come, and standing in his way now was like a man standing in front of a speeding cargo tram.

The ragged arrowhead of Justarian increased their pace, the slow ominous shuffle turning into a lumbering lope that shook the very ground as tons of adamantine thundered across the hall. At their head was the irate beast of a man, hand up in front of his face as cultists gave way and crowded back along the edges of the steps, hoping to avoid his wrath.

At the orders of a white plumed sergeant, the first line of a score of Word Bearers on the stone steps drop into a practiced firing crouch. And with a single nod, they slake their bolter's thirst in tides of automatic fire, emptying an entire magazine into the Justarian terminator elite at less than fifteen meters. The roar of bolter shells is deafening, supplemented by the wild animal cries from Davinite cultists and martial roar of astartes. Energy fields crackle and dance in hazy blue sparks, the rest ricochet off armor or shreds the red leather pteruges hanging from pauldrons and waist belts.

Abaddon' closes first, and with a bellow, he throws all his anger and rage into a wild sideways swing as the Word Bearer sergeant raises his own gladius to parry the massive war blade. The vicious swipe smashes the petty short sword away and bisects the Word bearer straight across the chest, cleaving off both arms and slicing him back to the spine. The blade carries straight through the sergeant, cutting through the legionnaire on his right, and ended embedded halfway through a third crouching on the step. Abaddon's knee slams into the sergeant, tossing the corpse back into another legionnaire and toppling them to the steps. They'd soon be ground to mush under the other Justarian.

Not a pace away, Kibre swings his massive shimmering axe and sheers through three more in a violent mirror swing of Abaddon's own. The base of the stairs was a choke point, funneled to the top where two immense monoliths rise up over most of the temple's inner neos. But as the Justarian hurtle forward, the Word Bearers were trapped by a tide of fur clad cultists wielding picks and chains as they surge down the steps.

After a scrabble of armored feet, more Word Bearers emerge. Another score of them line up at the top, ready to receive the Justarian elite, clad in thickest ablative grey plate banded in bronze and affixed with dozens of flapping red seals and scraps of parchment. Each hefts a softly humming axe-rake, pilot lights on wrist mounted flamers guttering in the stale air. Each of the captains knew them by reputation, though none by name.

Ashen Circle.

“Be the instrument of the Hand of Fate.” Kal Belekar rasps as he points the leader of the Ashen Circle forward.

The gold helmed leader nods once, “We obey, lord.” he rasps in a mournful dirge, made all the more unpalatable by the metallic scrape of his raise gorget's vox amp. “Come, brothers, let us receive the unbelievers.”

“So let it be, Iconoclast.” nineteen other voices reply at the same moment the first percussive 'choom' of a red lance snaps overhead. The ruby lance slams into a Justarian's arm with a rippling tear of micro explosions and consumes its left side.

Loken calls out before the second beam slams into Marcellus's leg,“Volkite squad!” the ruby beam cuts through the armor with its distinct whine, and sears through the limb in a cascade of fire. Marcellus drops to one knee with a hiss, flames licking up from the neat hole punched into his greaves. The armor glows from the inside out in wisps of consuming flame.

A small cluster of Legionnaires had gathered atop a monolith flanking them, setting up long barreled volkite caliver rifles and snapping off a few shots at the tightly packed Sons of Horus.

“Garvi, they're gonna become a problem real soon!” Vipus shoulder-slams a Davinite from the walkway, sending them toppling over the narrow edge and to the ground eight feet below. Bracing the bolter on the low ledge, he slams his palm against the top slide and holds the trigger. The bucking clatter of the automatic shots echoes in the enclosure, flashing off the monolith giving them a sliver of cover from the murderous enfilade. Brass casings spit out in a torrent, and the splashes of colour and sparks ringing off the long-rifle squad in the distance lights that section of the darkened chamber.

By the time Vipus ran his bolter dry, Loken was already snapping shots off, and though the light show rebounding off their hardened armor was something, the half score of figures wouldn't stay down. A shot dims Loken's visor and streams past. The ruby beam catches a Justarian in the back of the leg, the small gap showing flex steel between thick slatted plates. But it was enough. With an amplified roar, the behemoth Terminator drops to one knee, lightning claw splayed on the floor.

The rest of the Justarian slice through the chaff, felling mortals in droves as they're sprayed and smeared across the Delphos's steps. Blood washes down from the stairwell, forming a grisly stepped river where once was stone stairs. In moments, the roar of fighting wasn't just from shots or clattering spears, but the ring of shattered ceramite and carved open adamantium as the Ashen Circle spring forward, crushing the last few cultists beneath their armored boots.

The Ashen Circle were lighter armored, lighter armed, but quick. One of the hulking Justarian already lay motionless against the stone, his visor torn to bloody ruin after a pick was shoved through the lens and the chainblade opened his head like a tin can. Another hooked the multi-melta warrior, the axe-rake catching the melta's perforated barrel shroud as another axe slid behind the swatting power fist and activated its keening chainblade. It tears apart the weakened joint and pulls him open wide, then thrusts a flamer nozzle through the gap and ignites with a white hot promethium scream.

But for every victory there was losses. Many from the lethal spearhead. Abaddon wades through the grey tide, using his bulk and remarkable swiftness to press the advance, even when his Justarian were falling behind. But he'd felled two with his warblade, a third is clutched by the claws of his powerfist as the pneumatics start to scissor into the warrior's neck. His blade staves off another Ashen Circle incendiary who's axe rake tried to tug at the hand guard. Abaddon lifts his sword with a gruff growl of heated breath, sending the exotic blade spinning off into the darkened corners of the room. A sharp counter-thrust plunges straight through the Word Bearer's chest, shearing through at least one heart as the blue spitting blade sinks in to the hilt.

Another of the legionnaires falls to his knees, holding his innards in both hands as the Widowmaker pulls his axe back for an executioner's strike. The two sides had devolved into a tightly clustered knot two-thirds the way up the steps, stringing the rest of the Justarian and the few warriors from Locasta at their back along the exposed stairway.

Marr's questing blade met with less success in the close quarters confines as the Ashen Circle's leader had slipped past Abaddon only to be met with the captain. Hemmed in by a Justarian to his left and the slain terminator heaped against the monolith to his right, Marr was barely able to ward away the Iconoclast's awkward backswings and hooking sweeps. His hilt had slammed into the Ashen Circle leader's helmet twice, and thrice scraped off his pauldrons, but he couldn't quite turn the razor edge on his opponent.

The iconoclast had torn off the wrist guard of his left bracer, leaving the recently marked right untouched. But Marr's helmet's other air hose was swiftly sliced through by the axe rake's near deflection, leaving that and another fresh gouge on his cuirass that landed just shy of his shoulder joint.

“Rejoice, profligate. For your screams shall be as psalms to the Powers, and blood as oblation to the Neverborn.” His voice never rose beyond the measured cadence of a droning homily.

Marr bats the seeking nozzle away and barely avoids a backstroke of the axe rake trying to snag the Culling Blade's quillion. He snarls for a moment, then throws himself forward, blade pressed to his chest as he slams into the Iconoclast. The fierce shove staggers his opponent, opening up a small opportunity.

An overhand chop rings loudly off the Word Bearer's pauldron, taking with it leafs of oath papers, but the second merely deflects down between the legionnaire's feet. With a twist, the Ashen Circle's leader leans back, and a shoulder shove finally tosses him back into another of his disciples. It's not enough to turn the blade on him, but a quick upwards strike traces the inside of another incendiary's leg, meeting the flexsteel joint of his groin. With a sharp heave, the joint splits and the leg separates. The Word Bearer stumbles with a surprised cry, axe clanging down on stone as Marr wards off an errant blow from the Iconoclast.

The Widowmaker glances to the side, barely peering past his pauldron. But sensing the fallen foe, the Justarians' captain stamps his boot down on the incendiary's head and crushes it with a splattered crunch. Swinging his axe hard, he cleaves into another incendiary's chest and slams the butt of the weapon into the iconoclast's back, knocking the warrior prone. Hefting the cthonic culling blade in both hands, Marr slams it down into the gap and sends the blade plunging deep into the legionnaire's core. He twists it with a wet rasp and drags it out as the axe rake hooks his blade.

The Iconoclast struggles with a grunt of effort, twisting his weapon to pry Marr's blade away, “Our lives are meaningless,” blood bubbles from wet lips behind the helmet, “Our deeds are legenda-”

With the iconoclast's arm extended, the amplified roar and keening scream of a chainfist interrupts the soliloquy and crashes down on his outstretched limb. The toothed blade all but instantly severs the limb in a fountain of crimson. With a momentary pause of bewilderment, the iconoclast looks up and stares down the dual barrels of the combi-bolter shoved in his face.

It barks briefly, blowing his helmet to wet shards and dropping their leader in an instant. “Keep up, Captain Marr.” The bass voice intones, giving Marr a curt nod before pushing past and up the steps. He'd opened the gap, knowingly or not.

Abaddon grunts, tossing another Ashen Circle like a rag doll as a volkite beam skims past his armor. “Tarik, Loken, haven't you killed that gormless file scum yet!”

“Working on it, got some of these degenerates being a nuisance here, too.” Sure enough, between a few errant shots and a whirring chainblade from him and Loken, they were just managing to hold back the press of frenzied Davinite cultists. Clad in furs and wielding flint tipped spears and maces, they press in at the staggered rear of the spearhead as dozens of Word Bearers fire from lengthy lines or from atop other plinths raised up elsewhere in the cavern.

Marcellus, Kamphaddon, and Setar kill with every skull shattering pistol whip, or sharp punch that caves in chests. But Torgaddon's bolter whines and roars above the din. His shattered battle plate is covered with a wet sheen of vibrant red gore, though he still keeps the weapon close to his chest and carves swathes through anything getting close. Short chopping bursts from his bolter scythe down two or three unarmored forms with every shot, the bolts passing through and bursting among the masses.

But Word Bearers were gathering in packs, waiting for the munitions to run out. a small squad of perhaps just ten were lingering behind the current pack, and already between them and the snapping shots from the ruby-red volkite support, the Sons of Horus were wedged onto the exposed stairway leading between the two stone rises.

“Got another one!” Vipus said as another magazine pours chattering fire into the volkite squad, tipping one from the top of the plinth to land in a crunching heap at its base.

A shot tears past and with a sharp cry, Vipus is flung on his back.

“Nero!” Loken turns, abandoning the rail and ducking down to clutch at his friend. The legionnaire sergeant gurgles, and Loken's adrenal surge turns it into anger.

And then confusion.

Vipus was laughing. One of his power pack's round exhausts had been blasted to twisted scrap, exposing the long cooling conduits from the perforated cowling.

“I thought it got me in the face, couldn't see a damned thing, Garvi!” Vipus cackles as Loken grabs him by the wrist and hauls him back into cover.

“Well don't let it happen again and I'll forgive you.” He nods up the stairs as the Justarian grind forward. With a sharp hiss-crack, Marcellus snarls again and stumbles as a bolt clips his pauldron and rings off. Another percussive roar and his chest is engulfed in flames His grunting, seizing breaths swiftly stills as the flames lick through his helmet. The tide of primitive savages swarm over him, stabbing with spears and short swords at every conceivable gap as stray bolts from Word Bearers rake across green-clad legionnaires and fur clothed savage indiscriminately.

“Get off!” Kamphaddon pistol whips another, smashing their jaw and shoving the muzzle into the chest of another. The weapon doesn't fire, but the Davinite's wide eyes didn't comprehend it. Instead, the legionnaire roughly shoves the weapon forward with a crack of breaking ribs.

The magazine slips from the empty weapon. Stowing it in his belt, the lamed legionnaire grasps Marcellus's gorget and hauls. But another bolt shell slams into the side of his knee, collapsing him in a heap. The swarm quickly leaps at him only to be held at bay by Torgaddon emptying a magazine into the oncoming host, shredding them to gobbets.

The first rattling volley of bolter fire from the advancing Word Bearer squad rakes the stairway, blasting bestial cultist into pink mist and rattling off battle plate. But another Justarian grunts as the fusillade cuts into his back and blasts apart a mostly shielded flexteel joint in his hip. The monstrous black figure careens sideways, shattering the granite rail and slumping down onto the steps with a wafting smoke hissing from the warrior. With a verbal growl like a demon, he turns over his combi-bolter and fires into the hordes as they descend upon the rearguard.

“Get into cover, they're murdering us!” Torgaddon lets his guard drop for an instant and grasps Kamphaddon's dead limb before heaving him up the stairs with an undignified 'bump' at each step.

The volkites blaze, silhouetting the stone blocks with vaporous light as the legionnaires stumble into cover. Abaddon's Justarians advance to the landing in front of the door, sweeping left and right in an obsidian bulwark while the rest of the Ashen Circle melt back into a semi circle around their stalwart captain.

“First Captain Abaddon,” Kal Belekar nods, but turns his gaze to Marr and rears his head back as if slapped.

“Surrender or I'll carve your head from your shoulders, captain.” Abaddon snarls as he wades forward, Kibre a half step behind him. The First Captain waves his Justarian subordinate back, letting the murderous warrior take another step closer to the ruined ranks of the blood soaked Ashen Circle instead.

But at the bottom of the steps, Loken was craning his head. “Hear that?”

“Hear what?” Torgaddon grumbles, taking a knee and sending a few select shots back down into the foot of the stairs, though by now it was mostly a motley ruin of corps parts strewn over nearly every centimeter.

But he slowly tilts his head, something is heard in the distance. Above the sound of Kamphaddon's light growl, a rising chant bubbles up from the crowds around them. Combi-bolters chatter and the volkite's roar past to impact against nigh impregnable plate, but the sound of stamping feet and shaking totems does reach Torgaddon's ears. And Vipus' a moment later as he peers around cover and ducks back in, chased by a volkite beam.

“Damn they've got us dialed in. Didn't get more than a glimpse, they're just milling around the fires again.” The sergeant turns back to

“No-no, that.” Loken taps his helmet as Torgaddon takes up a kneeling stance behind them. Loken holds up a hand for silence. “More bolt fire, something else too. Vox isn't picking anything up but there's a lot more snaps and clacks. Getting louder and more steady.”

“That's what I was gonna say,” Torgaddon mutters, “It's not static. It feels too 'wrong' to be static. It's interference of some kind, gotta be.”

“I know, you don't need to say it, I know.” Loken grumbles, the memory of the Whisperhead mountain fane and its distorted com chatter was still a fresh memory. “Look, the volkites are more of a threat right now. Get at them first, then we'll find and kill whatever's at the heart of this. That'll stop-”

A thunderous crack echoes from the far side of the chamber. Thin, dingy light pours in, though much of it is lost in a indiscernible blob. In pairs and trios, figures spread out to form a single thin line that expands as more and more shapes bleed through.

Marr grunts, “Tarik, you idiot, that better not be the couple hundred Word Bearers you bet on! If it is, they'll kill us, and when they're done, I'm going to beat you senseless!”

But the cry comes hard and fast as ruby eyes shine through the gloom.

“LUPERCAL! LUPERCAL! LUPERCAL!”

Scores of voices take up the cry, and a single red banner hangs from a steel crossbar illuminating the wolf head over the eye of Terra and a stylized V. A familiar figure leads the arrowhead formation from the front, shield raised and massive greatblade slung over his shoulder.

Torgaddon stands sharply, tearing off his helmet and waving it amid the confused lull. His voice carries over the din, “Aximand! You magnificent bastard, you're late but I'll forgive you!”

The rippling roar of dozens of serried bolters rises like a musical crescendo. The breachers form up with even more legionnaires of 5th company mustering behind them. Volkite beams scintillate, switching from Locasta to the platoon of breachers. But it was already a vain hope as red rippling rays of energy harmlessly patter off thick slabs of interlocking shields.

“No time to lay down and die, get up!” Abaddon calls from the top of the stairs, a vicious smirk playing on his features as he turns his sights on the captain of the Word Bearers and gnaws on his lip like a wolf. “Time's up, captain. Drop your arms, or I'll carve them off you myself.”

"I'm afraid that's simply impossible." Kal Belekar solemnly nods and inclines his head.

"I was hoping I didn't have to explain this to Erebus, but fine." Abaddon surges forward, two handed warblade upraised. The Word Bearer's captain settles into a predatory crouch, his blade the equal of Abaddon's Cthonic cold steel. The captain grasps his long blade, poising himself in a swordsmen's low guard for a moment before darting forward to meet the Horusian juggernaut.

The blades crash together like a hammer and anvil, ringing to the furthest corners of the cavern. Abaddon's spittle flecked roar matches the Word Bearers amplified grunt of effort. When aiming to slip the blade through the First Captain's guard, the Colchisian captain's blade is neatly turned aside by a simple swat of Abaddon's power claw.

A sweep from Abaddon's blade halts inches from the captain in a whir of capacitors and the sharp glow of golden light. As Abaddon's blade spits blue sparks, they crackle over a mostly unseen energy shield hovering around the captain. The Word Bearers iron halo hums to life, forming a crackling nimbus of light around Kal Belekar's head.

But Abaddon was no simple brute, the First Captain's massive strength and skill turns aside a blade seeking his vulnerable elbow joint. But another vicious overhead strike slams both Colchisian and Cthonic blade together in a shower of gold and azure sparks. Abaddon struggles upwards, gaining more height as Kal Belekar struggles against the immense power of the Cthonian. Abaddon brings his face close, glow sparking across a sheen of sweat and reflecting off polished obsidian and burnished grey plate.

“Abaddon, none of us wanted this. You were meant to join us, to usher in the start of something different. It's not too late.” Kal Belekar's voice comes out as a hoarse grunt of effort.

Abaddon roars his reply, “Maybe, maybe not. But damned if I'm going to kneel and grovel before a witless Colchisian whelp!” With blades crossed and locked, the hulking form of Ezekyle Abaddon shoves the captain back and nearly sends him sprawling.

Reeling back and skidding a few paces, the warrior in glossy grey plate recovers, his white cloak billowing around him, nimbus of light cresting over his head to cast its radiant light. He readies himself again, head turning to the side, as if listening for something.

The First Captain gives him no time or chance before rushing at him again. Again and again, the wild sweeps meet neat backhand parries and lunging feints as the hulking black armored monster ceaselessly attacks the nearly angelic Colchisian warrior. A counter-thrust and neat sweep rings off Abaddon's pauldron but merely makes the First Captain sidestep, not retreat. Never retreat.

Step by step, the Colchisian is driven back as Abaddon's blade whirls in a figure eight pattern, held in a single hand. It sweeps with a resonant hum as he swings it in his grasp and brings it down with murderous force.

Kal Belekar throws himself to the side, crashing into the smooth primordial stone and rolling back onto his feet. “Abaddon!” he huffs through clenched teeth, spreading his arms wide as if in an embrace or to prove a point. “This is not the way! Your hand was forced, you are simply not seeing the big picture! The loss of legion warriors is regrettable, it should never have come to this!”

The Word Bearer has to resume his two handed grip as Abaddon hurtles towards him, driving him nearly from the edge of the platform before the wide open doors. “The big picture? It's simple. I win, you die!” he swings the Cthonic greatblade in a single decapitating strike, only to have the fellow paragon blade deflect it aside. “You admitted it: sure, the legionnaires you killed were deluded fools and miscreants but damnation, they were MY deluded fools! You here me, Word Bearer, they were MINE! I don't care if it's you, or Erebus, or Lorgar himself; no one takes from the Wolves of Horus Lupercal!”

“Abaddon, here, in front of all these witnesses, I say this is a mistake! I have been told by Erebus himself, this was not the plan. We are not meant to be at war!” The Word Bearer looks back over his shoulder again, only just in time to see Abaddon's blade sweep out. He darts back, the tip crackling against the edge of the power field and deflecting it just enough to keep the tip from tearing out his throat.

“Where is he?! The First Chaplain can save your miserable life if he'd just answer me! Where are you Erebus?!” For a moment, Abaddon pauses. He looks around, as if the trance were broken.

Around him was the small group of Justarian, the ring of wounded Sons of Horus. Aside from Loken's stoic glower, Torgaddon's wane grin, even Marr's unreadable glare, he could see Kibre's faceless mask and that of the others... alone in a sea of degenerate monsters and wild unwashed cultists.

“It will only get worse.” Kal Belekar states dryly, “No matter what, everything has changed.”

Quick as lightning, Abaddon spins and thrusts his Cthonic greatsword. It's neatly parried by Kal Belekar's dancing paragon blade, only for the captain's over extension to slip too far. Abaddon lunges, claw seizing the Word Bearer around the neck and hauling him off the ground. Abaddon's face forms an unmistakable snarl of anger, a throbbing vein in his forehead proof of it as he slowly squeezes.

A call, like some unearthly sigh, made the immense doors just in front of the Justarian crack and groan. Activity on the landing and stairway ceases as the carved tree splits down the center and the thought-to-be sealed door, creaks.

The lone remaining Minotaur slowly snuffles and flicks its ears, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. The immense creature slumps to its knees and prostrates itself in front of the doors. But most of the congregation merely stare as, with an echoing feral bellow, the doors to the innermost sanctum are rocked open. One sweeps back, bouncing off the stone wall, the other crashes into the prostrate Minotaur with a meaty 'thump'.

The dozen meter high stone door yields to the strength of a demigod. And from the darkened pall of the central corridor strides the arisen lord of the legion.

Horus Lupercal.

The primarch stands swathed in a blood soaked sheet hanging loosely from his immense frame, the body of some decadent priest hanging broken in one hand. But his blood soaked and shaking limbs were the least noteworthy feature; the primarch's perfect marble features were screwed into a red-faced snarl of unadulterated fury. But Horus's golden eyes shine with the light of equal parts discovery and indignation. Each step leaves a bloody footprint, leading back into the chamber behind him that is little more than a slaughterhouse. White robed bodies and deviant fur clad Davinites lay in ruined heaps around the interior of the chamber, the round burial stone rolled away to expose the inner sanctum.

“Horus.” Abaddon's awed voice doesn't carry, but it doesn't need to.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Horus looks left and right, his face set in a manic scowl to the surprise of his sons. “WHERE IS THAT LITTLE BLUE HORSE?!”

And for once, there was no way to answer him.

But his voice deepens, stilling as he shakes with the effort to contain himself, “Or, better yet, where. Is. Erebus?" The Warmaster merely flexes his fist, the corpse's neck and chest snapping like dry twigs.

Abaddon looks to the crowd, glancing back at the ring of bloodied and battered Ashen Circle as the rest of the legionnaires seem to shy away from the immense presence of an incandescent Horus Lupercal. The First Captain looks up to the struggling Word Bearer officer, then tosses the sprawling astartes at the feet of the awakened blood soaked god of war.

Kal Belekar doesn't even look up to meet the piercing golden eyes of a snarling master or his circle of wolves. In that moment, no mortal could.

Chapter 33: Sober Second Thoughts

Horus Lupercal's half-dream had closed itself off from her, then flung the Alicorn princess back with enough force that it felt like whiplash. The sensation of rocky ground came with the same uncomfortable tumble of flying head over haunch before skidding to a juddering halt in an awkward tangle of limbs.

“Mmmph, waash-aye really shho bad?” The Alicorn slurs thickly before the fugue clears and well before she regains full control of her tongue. Luna groans and covers her muzzle with her forelegs to stymie the undignified sound. Her ears ring from the impact, but she tries to right herself on instinct. Instead, the princess flops on her right side with an 'oomph' and kicks her hind legs uselessly against the dustless hardpan.

Her world swims, but the Alicorn princess recognizes her ungainly position in a tangled heap with her gaze staring out into the deep blue-black blur of an admittedly pedestrian night sky. The rhythmic sound of crashing waves...

'Wait, is that... applause?'

“Princess Luna?!” A familiar voice finally forces itself over the sickening hum in her ears. She knows who it belongs too but putting a name to it is hard, though she can see the blur of lavender with a shock of crimson mar the pristine black blanket she was staring up into. The blob figure hovers just in front of Luna's face, an expression of worry slowly emerging after a second or two. Twilight Sparkle gently reaches down to help as Luna finally forces her own eyes to uncross.

The image of a clapping draconequus and a floating sign saying '#1 Princess of Dissent' slowly drifts past a now-confused Twilight.

“Princess?” Twilight lofts a brow and a second groan echoes from behind Luna. “Sunset? Are you two okay?”

“We are fine, Twilight.” Luna said but couldn't help but flop from her side to her belly. It would have been nice to just stay like that for a bit. A mauve smudge stops next to what she was mostly certain was Twilight, giving the shape some sort of pause and look before ungainly wobbling past.

“I swear I cracked my horn... Princess Luna?” Sunset's hoof gently nudges the ruler's rump, getting an irritated tail flick in response. “Can we not do that again? Like, ever? I feel like everything between my ears and tail just got turned to salami.”

"Well, you're back at least and look okay." Starlight says from behind Luna as the Alicorn unsteadily finds her hooves. "Okay, easy question, how many hooves am I holding up?"

“F-uuugh, fear not, Empathy.” Luna's royal cadence even wobbles as she rises to all fours and spins in a staggering half circle to offer a helping hoof to the Unicorn. Sunset lay sprawled out; a disoriented lilt to her half-askew eyes, splayed ears, and miserable frown. “Y-you did wonderful work and We shall reward you, verily.”

“What's salami?” Twilight lofts a brow, and between the pair they manage to slowly heave the bright hued Unicorn up to all fours.

Maybe it was the fugue she found herself in, or maybe it was some morbid 'other Equestria' thing, but the Unicorn unthinkingly answers. “All of them, Starlight. Mmmmph." she reaches up feebly and misses Starlight's outstretched hoof. "Twiiii, I'm not even sure I could say it's the same every time. Salami's, ... ugh, salami's just a bunch of left over mashed meats and pepper in an intestinal tu-”

“Eeeew, stop-stop! I get the picture!” Twilight cringes, eye twitching at the information.

“It's not good for you.” Sunset mumbles as she stands, clamping a hoof to her horn with a low and definitely unhappy groan.

“That's not sur- wait, wasn't that on the cafeteria menu in... you know what, never mind.” Twilight sighs and peers over her friend, “Just stay still. We have to make sure you two are okay.”

“Oh but princesses, you aren't just okay. You're absolutely fantastic!” Discord's little revelry and the accolades of what sounds like an entire stadium echo from the eldritch hued world. But as the Draconequus gracefully spins and loops through the air, he slips between Sunset and Luna, placing a paw and claw on them respectively. “It looks like your little friend is up and ready to go again, oooooh I can't tell you how fun this is going to be. But I know the others, they're not going to take this lying down, and you haven't stopped it all yet. Mmmm, maybe in time they'll have friendship and harmony, blah-blah-blah, or their stars will keep screaming. i mean, really, who can say?” He smiles and leers at a very uncomfortable looking Sunset, then a stern Luna.

“Speak your peace and be done with it.” Luna mutters, the little bit of pressure on her back causing a radiating pain in her deadened wing.

The ruby eyes sparkle as Discord coos, “Oh, oh I have. But how does it feel, Luna? To have the ear of the one of the two most powerful conquerors in an entire galaxy? To be the puppeteer, if you so choose, to rise ascenda-”

“Enough!” Luna snarls, “I did this to help, not to hurt. I'm done with that.”

The Draconequus's smile doesn't falter. In fact, it grows wider. “You seemed to enjoy shooting magical lasers and pounding evil spirits into paste. Could it be? Has little Loony Moony been repressing a mean streak all this time?"

“Did you want to find out?” Her reply was directed to him, but Twilight's head rears back and even Sunset and Starlight share a look at the coldness.

“Oh, oooooh.” the prince of chaos laughs in a disconcertingly good natured way. “C'est tres manifique, perfecto bella, simply superb! Mmmph-” the Draconequus pecks the tips of his claws to his lips, feigning the gourmet chef's kiss. “Excellent base, bit of acid bite, needs just a bit more seasoning. Why, I do declare, princess, a little bit more and you'll be perfect.”

“Perfect? Perfect for what?” Twilight cautiously asks while staring warily at him.

“Why, to greet a new and dawning day of... well, even I'm not entirely sure. Oh, Twilight? You know that little quip when ol' birdy told you that you are the end of an era and the start of something new?” Discord smirks as the Alicorn blanches.

“Y-you heard that?” Twilight's stutter all but matches the wobbling quake of her knees.

“Oh and much much more. But he wasn't lying, exactly. It's just a teeny-tiny little half truth. You are changing things. And so is miss Meany Pants here.” Discord taps the tip of Luna's nose, getting an ear twitch and continued sharp glare. “But now, oh, Horus Lupercal will remember your choices. The future is changing.” A blurt of sound arises from nowhere. It was some sort of musical chime that the Prince of Chaos seemed to find appropriate, judging by his little wane grin. Neither Alicorn, nor the visibly uncomfortable Unicorns make mention of it beyond Twlight's ear-flick.

“So, where is he?” Luna snorts, “Why can't I-”

“Search your feelings, young Luna.” The male's long curved talon prods at her chest tuft and smirks as she puffs out like a bird, “You know it to be true!”

“Know what?” Sunset mumbles with a lofted brow.

Discord rolls his eyes, “Oh c'mon, miss plane hopper. You should know this ref-, you know what, never mind. It's not worth it. Look, the point is...” he seems to think, then swiftly combs his talons through Luna's fur. His claws dig furrows through her coat as he twists her head this way and that like he was looking for lice. The indignant red flush and murder-glare cast in his direction mostly dies with a whinnied yowl as he takes her left wing and pulls. Luna's body shudders in pain, her head stretching forward and mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

"Princess?!" Sunset and Twilight call as one while Sunset just looks aghast.

“Bingo!” Discord smirks.

Despite the storm of shells raining towards Aximand's newly arrived Sons of Horus breachers, the press of bodies hadn't slackened. blood curdling cries echo from simian throats as Davinites rush at them with brass axes and wielding ancient wheellock firearms. Billows of stinking blackpowder meld with the perfectly refined legion bolters, lighting the interior of the Delphos with help from the primitive bonfires still blazing in the corners. All of them reflect the ocean of blood spilled across dark reflective surfaces to turn it into some cavernous sanguine lake in the darkness.

A shot from the Volkite streams past the Lupercal, the primarch almost preternaturally turning his shoulder sideways to avoid the searing ruby beam. The scowl grows and he snatches a combi-bolter from a Justarian as a parent would snatch a toy from an errant child. The torrent of fire brackets the caliver support squad, toppling two from bolts sweeping across at head height. Shots from Aximand's newly arrived forces and the rest of the Justarian finally drive the group from the top of the monolith, leaving another broken legionnaire hanging awkwardly over the edge.

Horus's bodyguards form up around the warrior god, their prisoner held at the point of an axe by Kibre. But the looks of relief from his warriors were impossible to miss.

“Lets get you out of here!” Abaddon snarls, interposing himself between Horus and the foe. Shots streak out from behind them as a Word Bearers squad advances plinth to plinth before finally sidling up behind one of the tiered terraces on the farthest side of the grotto. They had likely emerged from one of the untouched tower runnels from further back.

“Not until I know where she went. I can still smell her and feel that... that....” Horus trials off in a frustrated snarl as his cheek trembles with an errant twitch. But another bestial noise draws the legionnaire's attention, and the chanting falls silent.

Loken pulls Torgaddon aside in the lull. "Something's wrong here, Tarik."

"Oh, something's wrong, is it? Lets try, everything." Torgaddon huffs and clutches the empty bolter across his chest.

But Loken shakes his head, "This is a line company."

Torgaddon and Vipus both seem to pick it up in a second, "No breachers, no terminators, but they're fighting in this cramped sink? Where's their support?" Vipus hisses, "You're right, something's-"

Further inspection dies in a heartbeat as a reeking odor of noxious waste and rot assaults their senses, clogging even the scrubbers of the terminators and eliciting more than one groan of disgust. Something bleak and dark chitters and scuttles from the doorway that Locasta and the Justarian had used. Even the legionnaires started to take a few steps back as the beast emerges in all its ruinous glory.

It was massive, a lurching fecund body of some immense centipede, ringed and coloured an off-green like some immense writhing maggot. it's little more than a horrific collection of body-parts. Its lower half is a trailing collection of tangled arms and legs melded together, working in some discordant rhythm to propel the scuttling abomination towards them. Its entire upper body is formed of fused corpses with dozens of open mouths, while a fan of conjoined arms tipped in sharpened bone surrounds the single fat head like a swaying halo.

Its feminine tone rasps in a voice wet with mucous, “We are here Horus. Horse tainted. Horus. Fallen son.”

It scuttles into the main chamber, but Horus just huffs indignantly. “You don't get to call her that, spirit. Only I do. Now, I've had enough of your kind for one day. Ceifador!”

The strange utterance draws his sons gaze to him. And where there was nothing before, a shimmering blue-black halberd rests easily in his clutches, dancing with eldritch blue sparks. Despite the halt of the Justarian around him and the momentary surprise evident by stiffening postures of all those that had witnessed the spectacle, the Lupercal stands defiant.

“Horus, we have to leave now!” Abaddon presses his back to the Warmaster's immense frame, staring hard at the tide of bestial ab-humans clambering from the stairs and swarming through the darkened halls. He unsheathes his crackling broadsword from the innards of a satyresque woman and, with a sweep of his lightning claws, tears her upper body from the blue cloaked steel.

Horus Lupercal stands stock still, teeth gritted as the obsidian clad guard hem him in. The towering maggot monstrosity splayed between two pillars was too high up for even Ceifador to reach. “Don't stand in my way, Abaddon.” his vicious snarl instinctively pricks the hairs at the back of the First Captain's neck, “I will not stand here and listen to its insults a moment longer. Just remove her from her perch.”

The Justarian that still have munitions, a pitiful duo and no more, raise their combi-bolters and fire a clattering staccato at the daemonic worm. Pocks of sickly green ichor and unsightly fluids bubble from exploded craters that ripple across its body, walking across its disgusting mass and bursting among the tangled hedge of interlocked human limbs keeping it attached to the pillars.

“You shall listen! You stink of horse flesh. Your perversions are made manifest to the galaxy.” It croons uncaringly, the forest of human limbs buckling together before spreading wider between two wide stone pillars forty feet in the air. The scissoring chatter of bolter fire had done little to dislodge it. And now the knot was tightening as the last firearms run dry.

The tide of Davinites give way to animalistic covens twisted and tainted in dark magics. The silverite blades and crude iron-shot bone axes hack at the Justarian's plate where they could. But even more hurl themselves at the solid wall of almost lambent sea-green, reflected in incandescent sheets of fire as bolters blaze unceasingly in the dark. But it was still dozens of meters away from the enclosed cluster of Justarian, and Horus wouldn't move as he glares murderously at the red-eyed spawn of chaos.

“Abaddon, give me your little bolter.” Horus steadily asks, a wry grin forming on his face.

“I got rid of it when it ran dry.” His First Captain intones, parrying an axe of a goat-headed abhuman even taller than himself. But a claw punches into its sternum and pulls down to open its chest cavity, putting an end to it in a heartbeat.

“Then give me a grenade!” his bark rises with his ire. But no response comes from his second in command or bodyguard, just the steady whompf of powerfists, snap of lightning discharge, and the whirring keen of a chainfist lost in the melee. “Why don't you have any!?”

“Here, Commander!” Marr shoulders his way in from the formation after neatly slicing a Davinite lay-priest in two with an overhead strike. Dropping back inside the obsidian ring, he fishes out a pair of krak grenades from his hip and reaches out with his right hand to offer them up to his primarch.

But Horus doesn't take them, not immediately. His eyes widen, face unreadable as the primarch's hand shoots out to grasp the captain's gauntlet. The captain hisses as it's forcefully turned over to the silver sigil carved into its surface.

Marr was about to shy back, but the vice grip on his wrist holds him fast. “You?” Horus croaks, eyes searching the blank red lenses and reading his warrior like a book. “Of all my legion, I may have thought Aximand or Maloghurst, but you?” There's no verbal response from Marr, just a stately pause as the captain stares back before the faintest bob of his head tells the Warmaster all he needed to know.

Horus smirks and pulls Marr closer, an arm around his shoulders like a father and son. Ceifador snaps and crackles with an ethereal energy as he points the blade up at the creature. “Listen closely, Tybalt. You see that bloated bitch? We're going to kill her. Just follow my-” A sudden flare of pain flashes from the Warmaster's shoulder wound made by the assassins blade. Horus stumbles, his weight suddenly slumping on Marr's shoulder and pulling him off-balance with a dangerous sway.

“Commander!” Marr's startled cry echoes in the dark as he strains against the weight. The bizarre ephemeral blade of the Warmaster's ripples like water for a moment and promptly disappears in a puff of dissipating black smoke.

Abaddon snarls, turning to glance back while grating his teeth. “Damn it Marr, stay out of the way!” He shoves his way through the Justarian and rubs past Torgaddon who looks back over his shoulder before plugging the hole left in the First Captain's wake.

Marr shakes his head, “He'll be fine, we just need to-”

“Shut up and get back in formation! You've caused enough problems, so don't you fight me on this, or I'll kill you for it!” He sheathes his sword and bats Marr's hand away from Horus, his own shoulder interceding and carrying the primarch's weight with a grunt of effort. “Kibre, Garviel, Tarik! We're leaving. We'll fight our way clear, but for oath's sake, see if you can raise Aximand on the vox to give us some breathing room!”

Horus's wet breaths pass in pain as he snarls. The scream in his head wasn't his own, but it's just as painful as a hand weakly reaches up to clasp the blackened wound high on his shoulder.

Luna's whimpered gasp is momentarily overwhelmed with a high pitched howl of magic. A bright magenta beam blazes past, snapping in front of Discord's nose, courtesy of an irate Alicorn shaking in anger. “Leave her alone!”

The Draconequus smiles and shrugs before reaching out to tap the tip of Twilight's horn. The youngest princess wrangles herself away with ease, still facing him with a widely spaced stance of aggression. But he does let Luna go. The midnight blue Alicorn wobbles and takes a few fumbling steps on unsteady limbs before Sunset and Starlight quickly wedge her between them. The latter carefully stays clear of the deadened wing that dips to the ground.

Discord merely keeps that same smile a he looks down at an angry Twilight standing in front of him, wings flared protectively. “Why, Princess Twilight, you know I would never knowingly hurt anypony without the absolute best of reasons. Especially someone as important, and frankly dangerous, as Luna. However, it is a means to an end and ooOOooh would you look at that. She knows it too, doesn't she?”

Sure enough, all eyes drift to Luna. The Alicorn clutches at the wound at the base of her wing with wide open eyes. It's not pain anymore, not all of it. There's a look surprise, and a slow panning gaze back over her shoulder. “It's here, it's just... it's.”

Sunset looks back, wide eyed. Seeing nopony else glancing in the same direction, she reaches out to press a hoof to the back of Luna's head and turns it to look.

A spark of magic, a flash of the empath's eyes, her mouth opens.

A thousand images of violated worlds and burning skies flash past, as many of ancient green pastures and fluttering banners. Prostrate ponies, kneeling men, post-human legionnaires, all bow in submission before glittering demi-gods. It was the same. The moon rises, eclipsing the sun, casting all beneath it in a blood red hue. And then she remembered, she could see that awkward immature worry of a stolen kiss and the knotted warble unsure what to do. She felt shame, embarrassment, confusion, and the deep set anger of betrayal from a golden ray lancing from the heavens. A ray that lay upon the wasted abyssal plain beyond the mirror. The plain she stood upon at that moment.

Sunset's direction led the Princess to finally cast her eyes upon something hidden in plain sight. Where there had been a monolithic morass of shadows and spiraling clouds leading to the maze, was now a doorway.

Framed in an aurora of impenetrable black haze and flickering lightning, a solid green and white marble frame stands dozens of meters high. It's a towering free-standing colossus amid the bleak monochromatic landscape. Golden studs and waistbanding cross the massive edifice, showing intricately carved reliefs depicting two mirrored animals. Each is not quite the image of a wolf, but mix in something more fantastical than a lion, all framed in art deco rays of sunlight spreading to the distant door posts. In the middle is a massive ruby eye ringed in gold and set with a black pupil.

In the pit of her stomach, the Alicorn recognizes the eyes so alike her own when gripped by the Lurking Nightmare. And above it all, the crescent moon surmounts the entire frame as its keystone.

“Woah,” Sunset's eyes widen. “That wasn't there before.”

Discord chortles, “Sure it was. You got to the middle of your maze, even if 'They' would say you cheated by using Sunbutt two-point-oh.”

“That's... hmm, kinda flattering and kinda insulting at the same time.” Sunset nudges the mare suspended between Starlight and herself. “So, what now?”

“We must return to the mirror and find Horus.” Luna tries to turn but just shifts a little, slumping heavily against Starlight.

"That doesn't sound like your greatest idea, princess." Starlight winces a bit, her coat is still ruined but at least some of her strength had returned.

Luna shoots her an irritated look of disapproval, but it's cut off immediately by a resolute Twilight Sparkle. The Princess of Friendship shakes her head and stamps a hoof, “You're in no condition to do anything. I'll go through, I'll find her-”

“Him.” Sunset corrects, getting a look from Twilight that showed the momentary flush of her cheeks as if surprised she'd missed it. "It's a him."

Starlight shrugs a bit, “Stallions can do stuff too. Space stallions, at least.”

"I-I meant her as in Luna, Luna's friend." Twilight's blush partially undermines her protests.

“Well,” Discord wrinkles his nose, “Now I'm flattered and insulted.”

“So, we're even?” Sunset looks up, actually smirking as she matches the slowly spreading grin on the Prince of Chaos's asymmetrical muzzle.

“Twilight, you pick your nemesis-turned-students pretty well. I'll give you that much. Why not make sure Princess Luna gets tucked in with some chamomile tea or whatever. She's going to have a lot of long nights ahead. After all, the past thousand years have been something of a tutorial level. Ta-ta princesses, say hello to Celestia for me.”

“I take it that this is good enough?” Targost nods to the empty cell chambers in 4th block. The garrison bay was empty, newly renovated but untouched by any mark of the 16th legion. There are no Cthonic scrawl or glyphs, no Eye of Terra, no wolf heads or even moon motifs to mar the dull plasteel walls. There was twenty spaces, separate little legion cells all funneling in to the main squad commons room.

Lieutenant Ahlkar nods, the smile forming on his face as steady blue eyes take in everything at a glance. “Perfect, my compliments captain. It will be more than sufficient.” and without hesitation, the Word Bearer officer tosses his helmet back and over to one of his cadre before unfastening the clasps to his cloak and offering that to his aid as well.

Serghar Targost lofts a brow, taken aback by the abruptness as another score of Word Bearers file in. Several open hip satchels and start to fumble for what looks like chalk bars and candles, leaving the Horusian captain even more confused.

“Ahlkar, what in the hells is this?”

The lieutenant looks up from the 7th company captain and smiles, “Protection.” He starts unclasping his gauntlets and quickly starts to strip out of his. “You'll have to trust us, but we do have a plan. You shouldn't know all of it, keep it fresh and instinctive. I hope you understand.”

“Understand what?” Targost snarls.

“Why,” the Lieutenant's shark-like grin creases his lips, “Betrayal. Or, at least, what resembles it.” Seeing Targost's eyes go wide, the lieutenant holds up an unarmored hand and gives him his best fraternal smile. “Easy, captain. Think of this as a show. We're all merely actors playing our part. Horus must hear the truth and accept it. This is merely a way that we can do so now that certain efforts have gone awry.”

“Ahlkar," Targost's growls a slow and steady warning, "Tell me what you're doing or I'll-”

“Sic Luc Sedirae on us?” The lieutenant smiles, head cocking to the side as he carefully peels off his pauldrons, exposing the framework clamps beneath. “I know, and I also know he should be about ready to board the next Stormbird right about now. That other officer, twenty-fifth company-” Ahlkar snaps his fingers, as if trying to conjure the information from thin air.

It's one that Targost offers after a moment, “Lev Goshen.”

“Right. Goshen.” The lieutenant just shakes his head and then glances up, peeling off his rearbracers, arms now bare. “Well, not everyone can see the curtain call. Captain Targost, let me put your mind to rest. I am not here to kill anyone, I'm here to be an observer.” he gestures to the other twenty who were swiftly clearing the room; one vox officer holds out an auspex scanner and sweeps the room for bugs and vox thieves. “They will do their job and it won't be pleasant. That said, we've been painted into a corner, you and me both, captain."

“You're speaking in riddles, get to the damned point.” Targost's remaining hand twitches as he bites back another surge of pain from the disintegrated limb. “I don't have all day. Erebus said that you'd have a way to-”

"We're a clean up crew, I understand.” Ahlkar smiles and as he unbuckles his cuirass, the lieutenant makes a clipped whistle, “Ulrahk.” One of his legionnaires looks up after placing a candle on the floor near the rearmost cell entrance. At his approach, the lieutenant gestures to Targost. “Legionnaire Ulrahk, you will escort and then assist the captain in any way he requires.”

The legionnaire slowly looks between them, and nods once. “I will obey.” his voice rings steely and cold.

“What are you going to do?” Targost asks, “I want at least some details before I let you take one more step on this ship, lieutenant.”

Ahlkar quickly strips out of his armor, neatly placing it aside before reaching for something else. He pulls a simple grey roll of cloth from a hip satchel and snaps it in the air. It unfurls to reveal a slightly stained 63rd expeditionary fleet mechanic's jump suit. Seeing Targost's slow realization, the astartes officer smirks in his friendly manner before offering a smiling shrug. “A few things: making differences, and getting some plans in order. Captain, what I believe you are not currently privy too, is the fact that we have been under attack.”

“What? By who?” Serghar reaches for his bolt pistol with his good hand.

“A cabal of sorcerers staged an unsuccessful psychic attack against the Warmaster about twenty-two hours ago.” And while Targost looks for signs of deception in the lieutenant's face, he could find no lie. Ahlkar continues as effortlessly as a briefing marshal as he peels off his greaves. “Others have been swayed, and both our legions sustained casualties. So, right now, we're setting up anti-psychic devices to stop any new attempts on the Warmaster's life and on his mind. The Lord Warmaster is in a precarious position, and while we are confident of our ability to keep him safe, the rest of the seventeenth legion forces are in peril due to a threat that originated inside your legion at the same time as the psychic attack. Captain Targost, can I speak this in confidence, as both a fellow brother in the warrior lodge and servant of the Warmaster?”

With Ahlkar's sincerity almost overwhelming, the lieutenant reaches for the warrior captain's shoulder to clasp a hand on the far larger figure's pauldron. Targost slowly nods once, but a whisper passes unbidden from his mouth, “I'll kill whoever's responsible for this.”

Ahlkar smiles almost fondly, “The Warmaster is in danger, and all our efforts are being deployed to ensure his survival. But our operations hid a stumbling block when those sorcerers invoked a number of powerful allies that we were not initially appraised of. I can not give details, because I don't have them all, captain. I'm just a Vigilator, here to keep quiet and keep watch by dealing with our enemy.”

Stripped from his armor swiftly and easily, the vigilator quickly zips up the fleet jump suit. He did look like any other stocky human, able to pass for a genecrafted rating; tall, but not too tall, broad, but not overly musclebound like many of the post-human astartes. And with a nod, even Targost could see the junior officer shine with an authority that belied his rank. With that same bright smile, he fits a small wire vox-bead in his ear and reaches for a belt with a series of mechanic's pouches.

“Our first threat is from the continued danger of further psychic attacks,” Ahlkar explains, “We will need to secure the Vengeful Spirit and ensure that the Warmaster can not be affected here. So, our mission plans are simple: the fleet astropaths will expose the attack and call for immediate retribution and assistant from Terra. You will lead a strong security detail to the bridge spires to secure the area and protect it from subversion. At the same time, we will detach the Hand of Fate from the fleet and have it conduct secondary operations without suspicion. And as such... we will have to do something dramatic to divert attention from any dissidents. I can't tell you what will happen, but act upon your conscience, brother. Three: I will take possession of the body of your apothecary, the book, and one of your data slates, then return them to you when I can. You're part of the lodge, Captain Targost. We're brothers, not just cousins. So we won't endanger you. And don't worry, I will be responsible for your own personal issues. You'll hear from me soon enough, after all, I'll be the point of contact between our legions in the future.”

“Why would we need that?” The assault captain growls, evidently not convinced or pleased at being left without the fine-details of the operation.

“Secrecy and security. We will need to appear distant, so our work for the Warmaster can remain beneath suspicion by our foes... some are, no doubt, in high places. Even within your own legion." seeing Targost's face screw up in indignation, the Word Bearer continues with an upraised hand, "unintentionally and ignorantly, but you know some of their names already."

"... Loken and Torgaddon... damn it." Targost growls, teeth audibly grinding as a new flare of pain issues from the ruined stump of meat where the phantom hand itched.

"Likely, among others. You'll seem them when they show up, and so will I. So, we'll both have to work to protect the integrity of Horus Lupercal and the Sons of Horus.” The astartes killer nods and tugs his plain grey outfit into shape. He flips a peaked cap down on his brow then looks up at the post-human warrior still clad in black and green battle plate.

Targost looks on with a certain amount of amazement and disgust. The sixteenth legion's vigilators were often hulking, self reliant brutes who would kill from a distance or slip in and take an enemy apart at point blank range. This... felt more like the hallmarks of Alpha Legion duplicity. With a subtle shift and posture slump, the top of Ahlkar's head wouldn't reach any further than Targost's nose. For all the galaxy, he was just a somewhat tall and strong fleet maintenance crewmen, nothing more.

“On my oath, you can trust me, sir!” the lieutenant salutes like any proper navy rating.

Even to Targost, with legionnaires placing candles, chalk lines, and other ritual symbols, there was a strange departure between some lodge activities and the charming astartes next to him. A sensation ate at his core and simmers much like the equal tides of rage and pain.

Uncertainty.

Chapter 34: Spirits

The world softly rolls and shakes, as if on a boat carried along on the waves of a great sea. The few remaining candles splutter with every utterance that disturbs the wafting incense hanging in the air. A lone voice speaks as though through a wet cloth, “The Rubric of Sanctimony collapsed, the Athame is in the hands of the sixteenth, we are now known to him, and the warrior lodge will surely be under suspicion now that he hasn't been convinced or killed. So, do tell me, how is this anything but an abject failure?”

A disembodied voice, slick like oil and wine replies with the faintest hint of amusement, “I told you to plan for all possible eventualities, Erebus. This was such a case, and thus, your fault. You should have known that nothing regarding Horus Lupercal is ever a certainty.”

The rasping voice continue, pushing itself hoarse, “The Primordial Powers will not be denied, Kor Phaeron. It is a truth that is self evident.” His voice falters, falling into a coughing fit and ending with a sucking breath as he spits out a wad of bloody phlegm.

The elder priest's reply is a calming laugh that would provoke ire in others, but only felt like a balm to the those present. All, perhaps, save Erebus himself.

The last gargled rasp of the next supplicant passes as another candle fades, his lifeblood spilling onto the grated metal floor. “As I said, there are eventualities that had to be planned for. Horus Lupercal is but one force that is now in motion. The board is set and the game has started. There is no turning back; to balk from this is to fail, and as you said 'the Powers will not be denied.' They will not allow us to stop, we can not stop-”

“Yes,” Erebus replies, dragging a dagger over the metal floor, creating a silver glint in the gathered gloom. “But while we may be strong enough to defeat Gulliman or the Lion, how are we to do so with the Lupercal and the Cyclops baying for our blood? There will be no respite. They are relentless. How are we to stand against the legions of the Warmaster and Anathema, both?”

“Have you learned nothing of predators?” Kor Phaeron goads, easily ignoring the hiss of irritation from the cross-legged figure at the center of his ritual circle. “There will always be blood spilled to settle their fight for dominance. Let the wolves fight among themselves. Red Wolves, Grey Wolves, Wolves of Ash and Fire, all seek their own ends. And we did not fail: Horus Lupercal is no longer who he was. He may not be with us at this moment, but do not count our great enemy as a unified host. Their pretend empire is build on a rotten foundation of lies and barely masked deceit. Lies, that we have revealed, deceit that the Warmaster knows well. Horus Lupercal will not stand for a lie any more than you will stand for the Emperor's divinity. He will brook no masters and heed no gods.” The distant voice intones, evident conceit and confidence clear on the fragrant air. “Have just a little faith and carry out your orders. I'll be sure to mediate with the Powers to give us some leverage despite these... setbacks. All shall become clear soon enough.”

“Yes, of course. I'm just moments out.” He says, bowing his head as the last candle dies with a death rattle of the final supplicant.

With a rattle and clack, the echoing boom of mag-clamps securing the void frame resonates through the hold. Lumin orbs flicker and light up, illuminating a ring of grey clad astartes with blades drawn, each behind the bloodied corpse of a kneeling legion serf. Erebus kneels in the middle of the circle, bracing a hand on his knee. The wounded priest sighs as the trickle of sacrificial blood finally touches the soles of his boots.

“You didn't tell him about the Antithesii.” A plumed warrior posits, the power armor's mask turning it into a deep metallic-tinged monotone growl.

“And I won't." Erebus hisses as he pushes himself to standing, "Not until we learn more. Be patient, our success is assured even though our way is fraught with perils and difficulties. Keep the faith, sergeant.” The diatribe passes far more elegantly, as if the cloth bound across the sorcerer's ruptured throat was barely an inconvenience compared to just moments before. “Either way, our friends are likely eager to hear of our future endeavors.”

And sure enough, a short walk brings them to the loading bay door of the stormbird just as the bulkhead seal hisses from escaping atmosphere. The door peels away, and a pair of grey clad officers emblazoned with golden sigils stand at the far end of a long umbilical gangway.

The vox clicks in every one of the grey-clad legionnaire's helmets, “Welcome back to the Hand of Fate, First Chaplain.”

“Yade!” Aximand's roar breaks through the crackling vox net just above the roiling tide of bolter fire. The captain spots the crimson comb of his lieutenant and twist so he was looking in his direction. A series of clipped hand signals accompanies him, “Ready a collapsing withdrawal! I'm taking a section to link up with first company!” At the head of a new surge of legionnaires, Lieutenant Yade Durso makes a short gesture to signal affirmation. Aximand breaks off down the steady line of breachers holding the mouth of the main chamber.

“Glory squad, Akar squad, with me! Gorros, make us a path!” He drops back from the firing line, breacher shields closing behind him. The captain takes a hop-step back, Mournitall's glittering blood soaked blade flicking up to his shoulder as he points straight towards the embattled Justarian a few dozen meters away. Five sea-green forms and his company standard bearer break into a run behind him, darting past the concentric firing lines of his predatory warriors.

The lumbering groan of terminator plate heralds Akar's assent. “Copy, captain! Akar engaged!” Unlike the Justarian's massive black plate, the sleek tartaros terminators could lope into the fray and carried into the morass of living bodies like a landslide compared to the Justarian's tidal wave.

But all of it faded to insignificance in a rumbling growl of massive footfalls and the basal blurt of angry sound. With a ponderous roar of agitated mechanical might, a massive colossus bows under the low hallway door. Almost five meters tall, more than half that wide, its slanted jade armour jangles with a swaying clatter of gold plated skulls and the omnipresent orange reptilian Eye of Terra. Both hands disappear in shining barrel clusters of adamantium, eyes burning in an incessant lidless glare.

“I listen and obey.” The flat threatening growl of the Contemptor dreadnought booms in the deep and turns to face the uneven ground cluttered with tides of half-human beasts. The twin rotary cannons purr like a psybercat, then scream to life. A roiling river of explosive rounds stitch across the open space, ricocheting off stone floors and pulping meat into a fine pink mist as furrows are sheared through the mass of bodies. The whistling scream of the kheres assault cannons beat an eerie dirge across the open hall, melding with the tambourine clatter of brass casings raining down in a non-stop deluge that mixes with the barking howl of bolters.

The speartip, led by Aximand himself, darts into the gap made by the sudden relentless destruction. They form a wedge-like gap widened by the trundling lope of Akar and the terminator elite of the company. With barely a note of effort, the Justarian crash loose from the encircling tide and link up with Aximand's command.

“Aximand, took your time!” Abaddon's wrathful face belies the faint note drifting in the air.

“Aximand!” Torgaddon laughs, “I knew you'd come to your senses and stop moping in the rain!”

But Aximand's brow furrows under his armoured helm at the jubilant voice. “Quiet, Tarik. I'm still angry with you, and you Lo-”

“It had to be done.” Marr, still supporting Horus, now opposite Abaddon interjects without the levity clear in his fellow captain's voices. And Aximand was left to stare for a moment, brushing past the group. He hears the grunt of pain and irritation from the primarch slumped between Marr and the First Captain.

“You did well, Little Horus.” Lupercal coughs, clearing his throat with a bass snarl. “Let me up. Let me up, I can walk. And I sure won't be seen dragged from this damned place.” Horus weakly shrugs off the supports, much to Abaddon and Marr's distaste, and Loken's sharp glare says to Aximand to say: 'do something before he decides to go back!'

Aximand took the glance seriously, “Horus, we're low on munitions. We should pull back and resupply before any further operations are launched!”

Horus's face hardens, and the dim golden glint turns into a narrow-eyed glare. Wrinkles form from his deep and thunderous scowl, and before he could be prompted further, the primarch looks back over his shoulder. Shrugging off Abaddon's supporting limb completely, he glares at the now empty pillars that had supported the abomination. But he said nothing all that time.

“I will not scuttle from this temple like a whipped mongrel. I will not flee from my enemies.” the primarch growls, much to the continued irritation of his captain. He scans for the daemonic abomination, only to see it had vanished from its sickly perch.

“We can take the Justarian back to the courtyard and reinforce while fifth company continues the assault.” Loken suggests and turns to cleave down another ab-human which had rushed to fill the sudden gap in the murderous lull. A snap-choom and ruby red beam streaks past from the darkness.

“Well, looks like a few of those volkite boys wandered back.” Torgaddon mutters.

“Fine.” Horus grunts in evident irritation, “Come with me.” With a final searching gaze into the gathering gloom, Horus Lupercal clicks his teeth together and turns for the door unhurried by the relentless screams and bellicose roars of the raging firestorm swirling around him. Stepping through the breach, he emerges between lines of legionnaires gathering on either side of the door. Clusters of Cthonian warriors gather around crimson plumed sergeants collecting their squads, waiting for their chance to plunge into the fray on the other side. Several giant forms of dreadnoughts skim the darkened corners of the room as they grind over piles of dead Davinites that lay in tangled heaps. Silhouettes of corpses choke the chamber, with just the central corridor blood soaked but cleared leading to the light at the end of the hall.

A somber grey day it might have been, but amid the wafting mists of rainwater and stark flashes of lightning, it was a world sweet and song-filled in comparison. Horus stretches a hand out, protecting his eyes from the shine of the distant doorway as yet more columns of legionnaires filter in. Horus Lupercal walks down the corridor, armored warriors on either side bowing in marked respect as even the massive contemptors kneel among the dead.

Behind him, the delegation of Justarian and his little knot of captains and veterans pace like pages before the warrior-king. Horus, still swathed in blood stained robes and little else, strides down the barely lit corridor, feet slapping through the blood congealing on slick stone. And with one hand clasped to the shroud loosely hanging from his chest, he emerges into the rain drenched wilds of the Davin evening.

Lit by tines of forked lightning, escorted by his warrior elite, Horus steps from the Delphos onto the steps of the ancient temple. Masses of legionnaires bearing war banners stare up from across the stepped courtyards, Catulan reavers peer down like gargoyles, and the indiscernible mass of humanity that had awaited the return of the Warmaster gather beyond the walls of the ancient primordial fane dedicated to ancient fell powers.

The scream of circling fire raptors and stormbirds barely phase the crowds, even as one touches down among a thronging tide of Imperial army soldiers making way for its fiery descent. Horus lifts his head up and closes his eyes to feel the rain. Rivulets trace down his sweat soaked flesh as it washes off the blood and gore clinging to a pink-stained robe. It looked almost intentional, stately. Chin tilted to the heavens, a hand reaches out in front of his face with the other clasped to his chest, the primarch finally speaks.

“By the grace of the Moon, I have conquered death. And I am returned.”

Puzzlement greets whatever proclamation that was, with Aximand shooting Abaddon a look, and Loken and Torgaddon both focusing on a faintly nodding Marr.

“Commander, the apothecaries will be here in moments. I have them on standby on Raven two-one.” Aximand gestures to the descending stormbird.

“Good, Little Horus. Very good.” Horus Lupercal takes a shaky breath and opens his eyes. “Abaddon?”

The First Captain trailing just behind and to the right of his primarch, hastily hurries forward. “Horus.” he greets, trying to keep the relief and elation off his usually wrath-laden face. But it wasn't to be as his green eyes sparkle and posture seems less looming even in blood caked terminator plate.

“I'm going to ask you a question and you will answer: do you know what a pony is?” Horus's regal side-ways grin sees the elation melt into pure confusion.

With lofted brow and half open mouth, Abaddon forms a few words with a shake of his head. A scrunched nose precedes a short nod, “Yes? I mean, there are etchings of Cthonian pit ponies from house Abarth covering the walls of Coldharbour back home in the North Sink. Why?”

Horus nods, “Good. From now on, if you see one and it says it knows me, particularly one that's dark blue with wings and a horn, then you will halt all operation and transport them to me immediately. Is that understood?”

“I... if it says?! What?!” the incredulity etched on the First Captain's face couldn't have been properly molded by an artisan remembrancer of any caliber.

The astartes just blinks, open mouthed and gawking as Horus Lupercal's grin melts into a baleful stare. “Is. That. Understood?” the finality was there, and Abaddon visibly bites back whatever else he has to say. “Let me hear it, Ezekyle.”

“This, this is insane, Horus!” The First Captain nods in deference at the height of the steps as the faint chanting rises from the assembled host of mortals and astartes. Horus had heard it from almost the moment he'd stepped from the widely parted doors. But now it was rising into a frenzied chant that rivaled the blustering stormwracked winds.

”Abaddon, I'm about to give you a chance to slake your bloodlust. Use whatever you like: life eaters, cyclonics, phosphex, chainswords, sharp sticks, and stones at your discretion, but I want Davin in ashes. Destroy its people, burn its crops, slaughter its livestock, and leave none alive. I wish for it to be erased. But I will not be fought on this. If you see the creature that appears as a pony, it will be remanded to me immediately to the exclusion of all other tasks. For now, you will deal with Davin, and then-” he rounds on Abaddon, pulling him up, armor and all, to be eye to eye with him. His muscles tense but it looks effortless as Horus's intent stare bores into him, “Then, depending on my humors, I'll deal with you. So, let me hear you say it.”

The slow pull of the First Captain's lips was a warning that this wasn't the last they'd speak of it. “Understood.” The First Captain grates out, confusion overwhelming anything else.

Abaddon is released, falling almost a foot to the ground and taking a step to keep himself from falling flat. But as he still stares in mild shock and confusion, Horus Lupercal descends the steps amid an echoing cheer.

'Lupercal! Lupercal! Lupercal!'

Marr rushes the few paces to catch up, standing by the Lupercal's side and whispering, “Are you alright, Commander?”

Without looking back, Horus trudges on down the temple steps with the grace of a born monarch. “I'm fine.”

“We said We are perfectly fine, why woulds't thou sayeth otherwise?” Luna spits back as she's helped from the mirror's rippling surface on unsteady hooves.

The journey was draining and, just perhaps, her companions hadn't been wrong when they forbade her from travelling through the other doorway again. Luna's throat was parched and every moment of speaking made things worse. But looking at the two smaller ponies on either side that had assisted her since she'd been tossed from the wavering un-reality of the waking nightmare, was a somewhat humbling experience.

Sunset's uncertain cringe masquerading as a smile leaves Starlight to wince before replying, “Because you're talking in early modern Ponish again?”

Luna's blush makes it to her cheeks, but the low grating sigh drains it of any real heat. “M-mayhaps We-I, I am a little shaken.”

“Is something else wrong, Princess Luna?” Twilight asks a little more insistently.

A thousand things rang through the Princess of the Night's mind, but she was only left to wonder just how perceptive her sister's pupil was. 'Oh, maybe just a little something, Twilight Sparkle.' But she bites back any real response once she sees Twilight's concerned little frown.

She sighs and takes a breath, ready to explain when the doors blow open and a voice spills into the room. “Twilight, Princess Luna!” Moondancer scrambles in from the hallway only for the mare to be catapulted aside by a sliding blue blur that skids around the corner.

“Starlight!” Trixie's voice booms in the enclosure as a cadre of royal day and night guards clamber up to the entrance of the room. They snap to attention with a clatter of plate. But it still doesn't overwhelm the clop of hooves on polished stone,

The bounding leap carries Trixie straight into Starlight, barreling her back head over haunch as she embraces her friend and mashing their muzzles together.

“Oh for... it's been like three hours! You can't go without sucking her ears out through her muzzle for three bucking hours?!” Moondancer huffs as she shakily stands and set her crooked glasses right. She looks over to Twilight mouthing 'you owe me' before trotting over to her friend, then looking as professionally as she could between the other three while patently ignoring the couple on the floor.

Moondancer approaches the rest, hiding the grin. “It's good to see you.”

'At least this one has some decorum.' Luna surveys the magi, or whatever she calls herself. A small plan forms like a cloud in the back of the diarch's mind.

“Don't you ever do that to Trixie again! You're-” Starlight hisses a bit, “STARLIGHT GLIMMER?! What did I say?!” the squealing note rises in indignant consternation.

“I suppose we should leave them along.” Twilight uncomfortably says, face still remaining flush as she keeps her eyes elevated.

“Mistress Moondancer,” Luna starts, looking over the researcher who bit her lip at 'mistress', “It seems your work with Magic, Empathy, and... Starlight Glimmer-” she arches a brow and glances almost disdainfully at the muddled blue ball of half anger and awkwardness on the ground, “has resulted in a satisfactory outcome. You are to be congratulated.”

Moondancer opens her mouth, barely hiding an embarrassed and perhaps self-satisfied smile at the faint praise.

“SISTER!” A far larger shape brushes through the wall of guards, shouldering them away in a single leaping bound and clearing the distance.

'No.'

Luna's eyes narrow to pinpricks as she sees the bounding white shape pass like a blur. Luna's ears fold flat against her skull, “Oh sweet stars, Celestia sto-”

The air is forced from her lungs as her elder sister pounces, crashing into her and seizing the younger mare in a bone crushing hug. “I'm so glad to see you're alright. Welcome back!” A quick kiss on either cheek ends with a protective nuzzle that forces the younger Alicorn's cheek into her sibling's downy soft chest tuft. The little maternal nuzzle and rub of Celestia's chin musses Luna's mane and getting an embarrassed scowl.

Luna's left eye twitches, letting her hold that half horrified scream locked in her throat. It just comes out as an undignified filly's whine. “Siiiisteeeeeeer! We are no foal, unhoof us immediately!”

“No, silly filly.” Celestia's nuzzle doesn't remotely stop as she pulls her into a seated hug. A few innocent chuckles from the mares present were likely nothing more than their own appreciation.

'We are not to be mocked! We are to be respected! We are to be bowed too... when did her chest get so fluffy?'

Despite Luna's fervent wishes, she breathes heavily and lets her neck relax. Celestia's hug pulls her even closer and the soft rhythmic beat of another's heart lets irritation subside some.

Luna wasn't sure when the smile had appeared on her muzzle, as dopey and hopefully fleeting as it was. “'Tis good to see you again. Though as Mistress Moondancer said, we weren't absent long.”

There's no real reply at first, just a muffled coo from Celestia as Luna's left hoof encircles her neck. “I'm never gonna let you go again, Lulu.”

But a subtle shift pulls a hiss from a stiffening Luna. Celestia's foreleg adjusted over her sister's withers and jostled her left wing which had slipped from its position. The long feathered limb slips from its cradle, pinions splaying dead on the floor.

“L-Luna?” Celestia's warmth turns to ice as Luna's pained breaths come rapidly. “You're hurt!”

“N-no we're-” Luna's words dissolve as an arcane 'bamf' shifts the world around her.

In the back of Luna's mind, she hears a muted growl of pain and irritation. It's not her, it's not the Nightmare though it's similar. No, she knows the lupine snarl but hadn't heard it outside of her dreamwalking. A dismal hiccup erupts from her throat as she feels the familiar uncomfortable rasp of green medical sheets on her rump. Once again, she finds herself seated on a groaning wooden medical gurney back in that tiny depressing corner of the castle.

Celestia shifts just enough to slip her hindquarters from the too-small bed and to the floor, but remains awkwardly in the embrace. “Now, not another word. You're going to get a thorough check up, little miss Moonbeam.”

“Ugh.” Luna grumbles, eyes rolling in frustration. “I'm fine. A little rest-” A hoof silences her, but the younger Alicorn's eyes narrow to slits and she softly smacks her sister's hoof from her muzzle. “Wouldst thou desist and let Us talk!?” Celestia's eyes register hurt at the outburst.

The sovereign of the day edges back a little, smile faltering for a moment. It pulls a guilty sigh from Luna as the younger Alicorn watches her sister shrink back at the reproach. To mollify her just a little, Luna reaches out with a hoof and wraps her sister in a hug. “I promise, sister, I'm fine.”

“Luna.” the sound of a plea steeped in worry and affection trembles in Celestia's breast.

The sound crumbles the last of Luna's resolve in a low and decidedly undignified groan. “Fiiiiiiine.” Luna relents, pulling from the hug just enough to settle her forelegs across her chest in a petulant pout.

A low magical shiver prickles Luna's nape, only for a second arcane scintillation to end in a magenta burst of light and 'bamf'. Five more ponies crowd into the already tight confines of the room. Twilight stands in the middle of her cadre, Starlight and Trixie to her left, having evidently been a hooflength from a now wide-eyed Sunset who had her rump pressed up against a metal cupboard handle. With a warbled 'woah' and thump, Moondancer's precarious two-legged perch on top of a guest chair sends her toppling onto a distracted stagemare.

Both royal sisters peer at a slightly bleary eyed Twilight as another voice rises in the room. “G-g-get your fat flank out of Trixie's face!!” in a roiling thrash of fabric and limbs, the two break apart amid another breathy laugh from a pony a hoofbredth from her, “Not funny Starlight!! You aren't forgiven yet either! Take a seat and stay there.” she points straight to the chair, staring at the clean flayed marks in Starlight's fur.

Luna couldn't help the smile, but looks over at Celestia after a moment. “Well, we seem to have a few mares that might be able to satisfy your request. Sister, how about Princess Twilight and her expert staff. They, evidently, were taking care of me during our lull.”

“Actually,” Twilight said with a blink and sheepish grin, pulling Moondancer to her side and leaving Trixie to roll off her side and onto all fours. “That was more Doctor Barnyard's role. We just looked after you and conducted a series of tests.”

The silence is broken by Luna who merely shrugs, “We would say that it worked, and that is more than enough.”

“But,” Moondancer starts with a stuttering hesitation, “P-princess Luna, with all due respect, I can't draw blood, or administer any other serum tests! It's just-”

“I can.” Luna states calmly, ending Twilight's descent into anxiety induced hyperventilation before it began. “It's only blood, I don't trust physicians. They use leaches.” She looks to Moondancer who shifts awkwardly on her hooves.

“Sister,” Celestia sighs, “they stopped with that practice centuries ago. Things have progressed since then.”

A flood of memories barrel back like a speeding cart of the cadre of white-coated medical ponies poking and prodding her when she was first taken from their previous castle just after her reappearance. “Then explain that hack of a doctor Chloroform Leachman!” Luna's chin juts out in defiance as her fur prickles with her hackles.

Celestia's laboured sigh echoes in the room and the hug slackens, though only barely. “She was an anesthesiologist, Luna. It was a joke.”

“Trixie swore she saw her on Bridleway.” The stagemare lofts a brow, getting a silencing glare from Twilight that she patently ignores.

“She is, now. After some-unnamed-pony ensured she wouldn't work on the castle staff again.” Celestia grumbles again. “She was always fun.”

“Regardless,” Luna looks over to Twilight and shuffles on the uncomfortable bed, finally managing to free herself from Celestia's embrace. “We will allow it if you wish to start now. We would, understandably, like to be abed sooner than later. There is much to do.”

“Noooo you don't, not for a couple of days.” Celestia reaches out, gently booping. “You'll stay there until your doctor clears you.” Then shoots a bright and sunny grin at a mortified Twilight, glancing back and forth between Luna and Celestia.

Luna sees it too and backpedals with a near shout. “Nay! That is most certainly a conflict of intere-”

“Check her RPTE.” Sunset calmly requests, voice shockingly cold and even. She shifts over to a medical chart on the wall before looking under the counter for something. Whatever it was, it broke the tension, though that garners a few questioning glances.

“Okay. um, why?” Moondancer lofts a brow, then nearly turns pale again as both royal sisters carry their attention from Sunset to herself.

“Just trust me, I kinda have a feeling about something.” Sunset glances back up, then swallows and sits down, head bowed “Celestia. I know I haven't earned forgiveness yet, but I do want to help. If you'll let me.”

The elder diarch doesn't say a word. With a clop of hooves on the floor, she finally parts from Luna's side and approaches the penitent downcast Unicorn. A hoof tilts Sunset's head up, letting their gazes meet. “I'd be glad to have your help, Sunset Shimmer. If Twilight says that you can be trusted, and she has in the past on several occasions, then I wouldn't dream of questioning it.” She pats her head and gives the slightly dazed Unicorn an affectionate caress.

“Can we please be done with this?” Luna asks, drawing the other ponies attention.

“Twilight, Trixie and I will head out to the guest wing. I mean, if we aren't needed here. It's pretty cramped and you have all the help you could ask for.” Starlight says quietly, not meaning for it to carry far in the medical room.

“Oh no, you are getting a room and waiting for a doctor, too. And Trixie is going to watch you like a griffon.” Trixie scrunches up her muzzle and presses her nose against Starlight's. But the worried trickle of moisture in the corners of her eyes made it just as clear that despite the tone, it was a request.

And while Twilight shoots a look to Trixie, then the door to say 'can't she go alone?' It dies as the stagemare rubs her nose to Starlight's in a little affectionate and worried nuzzle.

“Come now, my little ponies.” Celestia smiles, parting from Sunset to softly open the door in her golden haze, “How about I walk you to the other medical facility. For all you've done for us, it's the least I can do to make sure that you get the best treatment possible, miss Glimmer. And now, Miss Lulamoon, I'd be most interested to hear about that trip to Bridleway and hearing about my old attendant. If you'd indulge me.” The solar diarch gently nudges the two mares out of the room with her magic before glancing over her withers at Luna. “I'll be back to check on you in an hour.”

Luna nods, but is already more occupied with a sweating Moondancer holding the shaking platinum rod of the bedside thaumometer up to her. “I-i-it's a t-thau-”

“We know.” Luna grips it in both hooves and presses the tip to her horn.

The meter's reader shoots up, tapping the top, dipping back down, and flinging itself back and froth across the whole display. Moondancer's voice comes out as a squeak, “M-mistress, princess, ma'am... please would you n-not-”

“We're not doing anything.” Luna's voice drives the Unicorn back a few steps before her eyes widen. She casts a worried, pleading glance to Twilight “We're not. We swear!”

“I'm... sure you're not intentionally.” Twilight's eyes look back and forth, but even they couldn't overlook the still open door and lack of hoofsteps in the halls.

“No, we aren't.” Luna insists, “Try it again!” And again, the meter flicks and flutters across the whole spectrum with a violent tick-tock like a metronome. The Princess's gaze searches the others, as if seeking the accusing glare she expected.

“I kinda wondered if you weren't sharing magic with him, intentionally or not. I mean, I read about it before, but you could have formed an arcane bond with that kiss.” Sunset posits and pulls out a small glass vial amid the resonant sounds of-

“That WHAT?!” from Twilight and a trio of voices from outside. Moondancer merely drops the platinum rod with a tap, mouth agape.

“... That... that wouldn't.” Luna's eyes widen, her hooves seemingly turned to jelly and mind to mush. “Oh buck me...” Her eyes roll up into the back of her head the same instant Celestia pokes her muzzle back into the room and Moondancer makes a strangled 'meep' as the senseless Alicorn Princess topples onto her.

Saynar Argahst sighs and licks his lips as he studies the shattered remnants of the hallway laid out in front of his storm eagle. The heavy bolters swivel a centimeter or two, slaved to his vision as he watches the dark pit of a doorway down which Abaddon and the rest of the Justarian had gained entrance. In the windswept lee of the temple's broken tower, he waits and watches for his unit's return.

The vox still crackles and pops. With a fist slammed to the delicate instrument panel, the legionnaire mutters his dissatisfaction over the open air. “Worthless garbage.”

He feels a renewed gust of wind threaten to pull his gunship and pitch it off the tower. With a little flick of his wrist, he guides the engines thrusters and angles the vehicle so it slides a meter across the rubble strewn top and closer to the partial wall that sheltered him from the worst of the gales. It was a bizarre sight that kept tricking his eyes. The enormous mechanical limbs of the Dreadclaw that had breached the tower before them kept shifting, gaining a better hold as it clamped onto the ruined wall like a limpet.

Another flash of movement catches his eye, and immediately the twin-heavy bolters above the boarding ramp traverses with a whine. From the shattered steps emerge a pair of legionnaires, green armor broken and warped as if the whole tower had fallen on them. They slowly groan and pull themselves up, weapons against their chest as they grind through the thigh-high piles of rubble and dust. Each regular block and ruined piece of debris reflects the shine from the glowing tower lights that erupt skywards like orbital defense battery lances.

With an errant flick, the pilot signals the green light that they could board. If that was all that was left of 10th company's strike team, he wasn't going to leave them strung out here on the top of a hostile tower. That, and getting into a dreadclaw clutching a shaking wall felt a little dicey.

“C'mon, C'mon, hurry your arses up.” he mutters to himself and swivel the bolters past them and into the darkness to cover their retreat.

In a few moments, the pilot glances out from his starboard canopy to the landers screaming into the rain-washed landing zone. The stormbird stays down as yet another infantry section debarks in the temple's courtyard, but he can barely see anything else through the sheets of rain. He almost loses track of the legionnaires for a moment, hearing only the clap of boots on the plasteel deck grating.

Argahst flips the internal coms for the transport bay which crackles and pops even from inside their own flying tin-can, “You two get comfortable, we'll be holding until the First Captain says otherwise.”

The reply is wet and slathering, interspersed with a low unnatural whine. “Acknowledged. Stand by to receive more passengers.”

Argahst lofts a brow, but goes back to looking through the forward scope, bolters still slaved to the entrance. Something shifts in the darkness, but even the gunship's preysense couldn't pick out what the little blob of blackness was.

He was squinting as the doorway to the flight deck hisses open behind him with a flood of sickly rot and putrescent foulness like an open septic tank. Saynar Argahst looks back over his shoulder, spotting the figure for less than a fraction of a second: the legionnaire's cuirass and tasset plates bulged and cracked, caked with filth and rot as oily black discharge seeps from his rubberized joints.

A bolt pistol fires once from less than a meter away, spattering the canopy with gore.

Legionnaire Caphon grasps the corpse by its collar and drags the still twitching Argahst from the flight compartment while the equally bloated form of Larakkon slips by and takes a seat in the blood soaked command throne. Unnatural pustules form on the gorget of his armor, rebreather rasping with the corrosion frosting the ceramite vents. But the legionnaire effortlessly flips a switch on the side paneling. The gunship's external vox amp echoes, “Clear, my lady.”

The writhing maggot-like abomination pulls its sickly bloated form out through the narrow hallway, and up towards the ramp of the awaiting gunship.

Chapter 35: Vengeance of the Chosen

“Thirty eight, thirty nine, huh. Full forty.” Hacari Amphoshe stares out the slitted armorglas panels of the stormbird as the last Word Bearer from Candor-Two strides through the airlock and into the depths of the Vengeful Spirit. Two full breacher assault squads had plodded inside, heavy slab armour and enormous shields mark them as unique among their companies, compared to the array of legionnaires in neat tightly packed blocks on the embarkation deck.

Once more the Colchisian flight officer turned his attention to the Sons of Horus and the half dozen storm eagle gunships slipping into the clearly marked loading zones. The green-plated legionnaires were impressive, they always had been. The Colchisian man smiles, lost in his thoughts. Despite the hectic pace, he'd watched the other company, the 13th if their banners Imperial Gothic had translated from the Cthonic scratch, was any indication. Now he was looking over the 25th, looking at the golden Eye of Terra and watching as neatly arrayed lines of legionnaires seem to strain against their formations to get into the holds of the smaller, nimble gunships.

The Word Bearers had so often felt rigid, regimented, awaiting the Stormbirds with calm detachment. But something in the tension and slight waver here and there as legionnaires were finally let loose to their transports set Horus's warriors apart. They were coiled springs, awaiting violence. The shades of pale green and black rimmed in brass and gold struck him as both barbaric and colorful compared to the drab grey of his own legion.

Again, all of this may have just been the Vengeful Spirit. The embarkation deck was a cavernous expanse, and everything from serried ranks of troopers to dreadnoughts, and even predator strike tanks were loading up into the holds of the bigger Apex landers. The Fidelis Lex and Chronicles of Ash must be the same, but he'd never been aboard the enormous Glorianna ships. It was a little ironic that the Vengeful Spirit was his first.

Hacari smiles, hanging on to the inert engine throttle toggle above the pilot's throne. With a sigh, his breath frosts the window as yet more troopers emerge from the lowest depths, apothecary crew by the white... but they were Sons of Horus, they might be specialists or drop troopers form all he knew.

The navigation servitor clicks, a little chime as it repeats some maintenance instruction to itself. "Begin." it murmurs in its deadened monotone.

With a garble rasp, a low shudder and guttural whine passes through the silvered decking and shakes Amphoshe from his revelry. “Hey, hey easy!” he huffs, looking down into the vestibule at the entombed servitor. But the slow whine of the turbofans sends another telltale judder through the flight deck.

With a sudden look of alarm, the flight officer looks up to the handle of the engine toggle he'd inadvertently grasped a moment before. He shoves it back with a worried stutter as another voice clicks through the flight cabin. “Hacari, stop screwing around!”

"It's not me!” he calls and looks out as the low tap of mag-rails scrapes. “I swear-”

The servitor gives a warning blurt from its alcove, and the vast aircraft slides to the side as the mag rail comes untethered.

Pitched from his feet Hacari skids a meter before crashing down into a navigation flight bank head first. His vision swims and ears thrum with the sound of hiss heartbeat. The flashing red warning lights pierce the foggy haze inside the darkened cockpit, and the man unsteadily pulls himself from the floor to slump across the instrument panel. With a groggy groan, he spits out a tooth and reaches up as blood spills down his lips and stings his eye from a gash on his forehead. His handhold slips as the ship tilts crazily to one side. “Hey, shut down. Emergency shut down! You hear that you stupid tin can!”

The servitor blurts out some nonsensical binary chatter. And with a low verbose growl, the main engines scream to life. Hacari scrambles across the uneven floor, pulling on the back of the pilot's throne as he sees flashing red glyphs and icons everywhere. Caught in the myriad of flashing red, he can hear the garbled speech, tinny and warbled through some static rasp.

“...TC si-.... -bort engine sta... -peat, abort...”

Inside the hangar, the flight control signal was nearly completely unintelligible. That was impossible. For a second, Hacari looks up as the Stormbird Candor-one slides to its side and slowly yaws towards the long line of embarking troops as well as the golden light spilling from the tall aerial traffic control hub beyond. He could see the operators inside, their blurry shapes scurry back and forth through the wide semi-circle bay windows spewing light out as they oversaw the coming-and-going of attack craft all day...

How could he not hear them when he could SEE them?!

Slamming his fist onto the engine's automatic shut-down, the servitor gave a blasè blurt of machine code. And with a low croak, he heard the fuel pumps cycle to life.

In a single long glare, Hacari watched in mounting horror as a pair of entering Storm Eagles tried to pitch back and away from the neatly marked landing boxes. He watched the crowds of hundreds of legionnaires looking up at his Stormbird. He could see the Dreadnoughts slowly turning their towering weapons on him just as the throaty snarl of the afterburners kick in.

The servitor's disaffected mechanical growl spits out a series of codes before muttering in its detached monotone drone, “Glory to the martyrs.”

The steady clap of armored footfalls echoes across the embarkation deck. Legionnaires in polished sea-green plate stride through the wide grey halls of the Vengeful Spirit, fresh from the armory and fully loaded for a combat drop. They weave among one another, talking in their closed channels while barely keeping back that pulse of nervous energy. The grey-clad crewmen stand nearer to the walls, making way respectfully for the living warrior-kings.

Hashutz knew it all. He could feel it.

Cthonic gang script on black pauldrons and polyn plates said they were assault units. The massive turbofan jump packs confirmed it, but their confidence radiates in waves from them in some mocking swagger; eager to kill, eager for their chance to die. They would have it. Delicious. He saw their leader, the small streak of red across his helmet the only indication of rank aside from the massive hammer. As his twenty breachers approach the elated knot of warriors, an innocuous Colchisian rune twinkles into existence in the corner of his helmet.

'Begin.'

The Cthonians would not move. They would not give way to the sons of the Urizen aboard their own ship. Hashutz nods, head tilting a bit as they feign giving way. Squad Bakkus back up against the interior wall, braced.

It was all as planned.

With a howling scream and a world shattering judder, a monumental impact tosses the warriors and plunges the world into utter darkness. A massive rocking impact picks them up and thrashes them against the hall like a petulant child does to their toys. Despite being braced, Hashutz slams against the wall and is thrown like a rag doll, bouncing his head from the wall and is sent skidding across the decking. It cracks an eye lens as he crashes head first into the base of a fallen plasteel stanchion, leaving him to stare up at the ceiling from the flat of his back. The grey interior is momentarily lit by sparks sizzling from blown out lumin orbs. But the red-yellow glow of fires and the howling roar of venting atmosphere sends a spike of adrenaline through his veins.

He calls softly into the com net, “Arise!” Hashutz laughs as his preysense casts intricate green wire-frame overlays and picks out debris, ruins, and the mangled corpses of the crew.

Like a flipped switch, the clean and ordered white-grey plasteel grating of the Vengeful Spirits starboard main embarkation deck corridors were plunged into darkness. The wall had buckled star-wards from a massive exterior impact, and even now, flames from electrical fires lick along the walls towards the scream of venting atmosphere sucked from the deep gashes. Exposed panels hang from the walls in tangles, still spewing sparks and gouts of rippling fire.

The klaxons hadn't even started when he spots the first movement in front of him. The Cthonic sergeant slowly lifts his head from the floor from where he lay splayed out in the middle of the hall. His jump pack sparks, one thruster hanging ungainly pointed downward. But dazed and confused, he was already reaching for his pistol, the shock wearing off in mere seconds.

Ages too late.

Hashutz' bolter stretches out as he takes careful aim, and with a single barking shot, sends a bolt through the sergeant's eye lens. The back of the Horusian legionnaire's helmet bursts out in a spatter of misted brain matter.

Here and there, bolt shots ring out, as does the guttural roar of a flamer unit as a sudden bloom of heat and light licks across the far wall. The Sons of Horus still left in the hall struggle to their feet, just like the Word Bearers. But cruel hooked blades and point-blank bolter fire pulls down the surprised Cthonians just as the shield wall begins to find some semblance of order in the broken hall.

“Arise, for the Urizen!”

Shaken by the blow of a god, the blackened corridor becomes an abattoir. The cries of stunned legionnaires and screams of wounded crew as the Word Bearers surge to their feet and start the push, backtracking the legionnaires. Hashutz plucks the hammer from the sergeant's corpse and follows the legionnaires straight towards the armory.

The Vengeful Spirit's massive split command deck rings as a hub of continuous controlled chaos. Three tiers of petty officers and navy personnel chatter back and forth with the general din of wailing vox sets belching static and petulant machine code. Mortal figures of impressive stature stand in the lee of four enormous black and green tartaros wardens. The ship's guardians stare ominously from their ceremonial alcoves in a radius around the Warmaster's throne. They watch on impassively, like militant sphinx statues as the multi-limbed servitors hardwired into the niches quickly lock into cogitator banks. Their constant updates perpetually shift the array of meddlesome blinks and blobs that dot a small section of the holographic map.

Hektor Varvarus casts his weathered eye across the three hundred and fifty Imperial Navy crew as they work their stations, barely glimpsing over the sunken pits filled with hard-wired servitors that pry answers from lines of cogitator banks. But Varvarus looked even more gaunt and frayed than his hundred and fifty year old juvinant-treated form suggested. Still, the solidly build human still straightens his back and turns to survey the hololith projector that cast a green-blue pall over everything in the upper strategium enclave.

“Legion scramble orders are progressing exactly as they should. So far two companies have been deployed from the Spirit with six more en route, and nine more from the Judicature, Wolf of Cthonia, and Death Head are in transit. The Magna Tyrannis is poised to complete orbit and drop the next wave of heavy combat drops.” Chief Dropmarshal Shelaize turns to Hektor Varvarus and folds her arms over her chest with a 'beat that' grin. “How are the Imperial Army deployments progressing, General?”

“You know exactly how well they're 'progressing', Shel.” Lord General Hektor Varvarus grunts, ignoring Shelaize's gall. The Saturnine officer was one of the official envoys that would track and help coordinate the legion forces while his own marshals had to coordinate with Mechanicum and Aeronautic Traffic Control. Which, of course, meant his own bulk transports hadn't even been cleared with so many legion landers cluttering the voidspace.

Shelaize turns her green eyes from him and looks back to the map. Her smirk quickly fades, and she returns to chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Seriously, I wonder what they found?”

“Our illustrious First Captain called down the heavens, and without Horus to tel him 'no', he'll get what he wants.” Varvarus mutters.

Shelaize looks over, but it wasn't her voice that interrupts the whirl-clack of a cogitator bank. “Do I detect a note of bitterness, Hektor?” Chief Voidsman Fahnaes looks up over the rim of a data slate before tapping his stylus on several points across the surface. Lean and fit, the grey fatigues of the 63rd expeditionary fleet looked suitably dull on him, had it not been for the gold epaulets and small row of valor pins along his lapel.

“Abaddon has certain tendencies which I find counter productive to aspects of our endeavors.” Varvarus carefully speaks, casting a none-too-subtle glare at the Tartaros Wardens waiting in the wings.

“Ah, so you talked to Maloghurst already.” Fahnaes nods and goes back to paying attention solely to his data slate.

"I can neither confirm nor deny." All Varvarus was left with was a snorting his defiance like a bull. He'd bring his list of grievances up with the Warmaster personally, the moment that he returned. A glance to the empty command throne of the Warmaster sends a chill through his bones. His absence had never been so acutely felt as it did right now, and Abaddon's shadow cast a truly horrific pall over the seat of power.

The deck cladding of the Vengeful Spirit's upper strategium trembles for a moment. But it was more than the slight roar of the plasma engines spooling up, though that itself would have been alarming. There's no sound, but another ripple trembles through the deck a moment later as steady red flashes dot a dozen instrument panels in the dim crew pits. A klaxon blares moments later.

“Sacred unity, the hell was that?” Fahnaes grumbles, looking up and around as if prodded from his position. The Saturnine fleet officer hop-skips the three paces to the strategium's rail and swings out to survey the rest of the bridge.

Varvarus feels a small growl forming in the base of his throat as he follows Fahnaes to the edge of the strategium's raised dais, already having a faint idea of what happened. Shelazi bites her lower lip as they exchange glances.

'This had better not be my fault' both were thinking at the same time. That was definitely an impact... and pretty severe if it could be felt from here.

The group looks over the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit to the command throne four meters below them. The stiff backed form of the medal bedecked Master of the Fleet, Boas Comnenus tilts his head up just a fraction. His ancient exo-skeletal suit props his frame up, though it was still his own strength that clutched the arms of his throne. Despite his advanced age, the officer's voice booms through the bridge's vox systems as clear as if he were an omnipotent giant.

“Emergency situation detected and routed. Incident on the embarkation deck. All crew to stations."

It would be relayed through the entire ship, there was no doubt. He glances around at the dozen other navy armsmen in their black fatigues pacing around work stations, though it was more ceremonial given the presence of Varvarus himself. They could do little more than serve recaf and stay out of the way of the officers scampering from pit to pit collecting data slates to deliver to another station.

“Boas,” Varvarus calls as he leans over the strategium railing, “Is there something we need to know?”

"I'm working on it, Hektor." The Fleet Master replies as a few sharp pings erupt on data pads at the same time that red glyph alight on the base of the hololithic projector. Shelazi and Fahnaes glance to their data pads, but Varvarus merely turns to look at the projector.

Red light bathes the wide strategium round, and the harsh bray of a klaxon rings in the enormous split-level compartment. The green wire-frame skeleton depicting Davin morphs into an enormous layout of the Vengeful Spirit, flashing red lit icons across the starboard hangars and embarkation deck and streaming along connecting hallways like veins. The general squints, the rough lines on his face creasing as he unfocuses his gaze from the projector to something just beyond it. A hand reaches down to his hip holster, unbuttoning the lock of his pistol as he spots something past the frame.

The tartaros wardens edge forward as a small wisp of blue-white light sputters to life between the Warmaster's seat of judgment and the hololithic projector. Varvarus's breath hitches as the smell of scorched ozone wafts through the upper deck, his mind kicks in and he throws himself at the projector dais while loosing his pistol.

“Teleport flare!”

After a blinding flash, the world erupts in the screaming chatter of gunfire. Ten immense frames of grey armored terminators blur into shape. Their combi-bolters blaze away and hide the sound, but not the smell, of the promethium pilot light on the the heavy flamer unit. Their enormous pauldrons and flowing pteruges mark the ancient cataphractii suits as something completely separate from the sleek beetle-like carapace of the Spirit's tartaros wardens.

“Arise for the Urizen!” the blare of cataphractii vox-amps comes rasping and harsh to Varvarus's augmented hearing. But the General took aim, staring at the figures, seeking an opportunity to make his shots count.

“Kill for the living!” One of the Warden's roars, almost unflinchingly sprinting from the alcove while his power axe flickers to life in a dull red glow. The roar of a half dozen combi-bolters chews the black armor to ruins, pitting the adamantium ablative plates and slamming into the Horusian terminator like a physical wall. It only slows his advance as pits and craters erupt across his battle plate, eyes still fiery and determined.

“Kill for the dead!” A second picks up the cry, closing in from another side. He's swamped suddenly by a gout of fire that flares through the strategium in a line of blistering white heat that melts the hair on Varvarus's brow. The roiling tide of fire would consume them all with impunity if it swept in their direction. But the Word Bearer sweeps the nozzle towards the throne, washing over another hesitating warden.

The first engulfed warrior wades towards them, paint blistered and sloughing from the flame blackened adamantium. The rounds cook off in his bolters, blasting apart most of his right hand as it drops in a mangled smoking heap. Closing in with the axe, an undulating Cthonic gang cry splits the air.

And Varvarus squints before his bolt pistol bucks once, slamming a round into the heavy flamer's fuel line, bursting the pilot feed. With a throaty stuttering 'whoosh' the fuel alights, consuming the cataphractii in an expanding fireball that flashes out in a miniature explosion. Varvarus's eyes water with the petrol fumes and he blinks back the tears streaming down his face.

Impossible. This was absolutely impossible.

He'd fired by instinct, but now that he was staring at them with eyes clear from sweat and heat, there was no lie. Word Bearers. Astartes, the Emperors own astartes were on the bridge!

One of the Vengeful Spirit's vaunted wardens was cooked alive in his shell, now entombed from next to the command throne, a forth was only now moving while ten bestial Word Bearers occupied the very seat of power vested to Horus Lupercal by the Emperor himself. His stomach churns as he sees the crippled Warden slam into a cataphractii and hacks his axe down. The swipe crashes into the Colchisian face, splitting it down to the torso before one of the Word Bearers rounds on him, swinging a power fist that shatters the Horusian warrior and spatters broken scraps of ceramite and pulverized tissue across the deck.

From his place next to the dais, Varvarus glimpses back at the others that had been with him seconds before. Shelazi was unrecognizable, a gore slicked pool split in half by combi-bolter shots with only the light green of her fatigues indicating if it was her or Fahnaes. But the Chief Voidsman was slumped over the rail, his back a grisly mass of protruding bone shards and slopping pulverized tissue down to the bridge below.

Under the auspice of the great Eye of Terra, Hector Varvarus grits his teeth and stands with a foot braced on the hololith. Underlit by crimson, and mostly deafened by the swell of klaxons, he taps his vox bead.

He holds his pistol, snapping off five more shots into the mass of grey and gold before it clacks empty. His voice echoes louder and more visceral as the realization hits him. "General Varvarus to all personnel. We are betray-”

With a low shine of capacitors spooling down, one of the two gravetic trams that runs the length of the Vengeful Spirit's twenty six kilometer spine, slowly eases to a halt. The knot of grey-clad fleet workers seated around the large boxy car was minimal, again, mostly due to the legion presence. Unlike the armory and garrison tram points which were more like plain unadorned ferrocrete plates, the utility tram along the upper spine of the Vengeful Spirit had the little seats, posts, and dangling hand held straps for work crews and staff officers. The open section at the stern would normally be marked off in yellow hazard paint and play host to utility tractors or servitor coffles.

Now, it was filled with three ranks of seven astartes, each in perfect parade formation behind Serhar Targost and his Colchisian aide. They look on impassively at the dozen or so grey-fatigued maintenance crews that had taken the row of seats butted up against the prow. Targost stands next to his silent adjutant, legionnaire Ulrahk. The tall Word Bearer keeps his bolter locked to his hip, but he carried himself with a certain stiff tension that betrayed his unease aboard the Vengeful Spirit.

Targost eyes him quizzically as he steps down from the lift platform when they reach the command section, the trio of lift elevator shafts shunted off to one side. Two were evidently in operation by the flashing yellow lumin-orbs flicking in the recesses along the conduit wires of the open expanse.

But he didn't need to take the main transverse mag-lift, but the smaller bridge lift just off to one side. For a moment, Targost looks back only to see two of the legionnaires of the final row remain on the tram. He casts a glance to his associate, and receives no explanation.

A vibration ripples through the deck cladding beneath Targost's feet. It's no more than an errant sigh but enough that the captain lofts a brow and looks down. His mostly silent companion had been quiet since Alkhar left, satisfied just pacing alongside him like a shadow. The Vigilator's calm and rather amiable mien had been replaced by stony silence, doing little for the lodge master's apprehension.

The squad of Word Bearers alongside seem just as unphased, just as they had since Ahlkar had borrowed one of Targost's data slates that had the location of Vaddon's body and the hidden lodge tome. Both weren't far away, both stashed inside the temple just off to the side of the bridge accessible from above and below. He couldn't afford to really move them.

A score of Word Bearers legionnaires, led by Serghar Targost, reaches the lift that would transport them up to the command spire. The elevator judders for a moment as the safety rails rise up along the outer edge of the mag lift. For an instant, Targost could swear he heard an echo come from one of the main mag-lift shafts in the control hub. The thought dies as the magnetic clamps of their lift release and they're shuttled upwards into the gathering gloom towards the command and control sanctums of the Vengeful Spirit.

Midway up, the steady white lumin orbs streaking by as they rise give way to flashing red and the steady bray of an emergency klaxon. Rather suddenly, the nominal leader of the squad, a crested sergeant that Targost hadn't been introduced too, nods.

“Sergeant?” Targost gives a warning growl, “If you know anything...” he lets the unexpressed threat pass with a hiss.

With a pop-click, the sergeant replies in a smooth Colchisian accent even the harsh metallic grating of the vox amp couldn't completely erase, “The Hand of Fate likely triggered proximity sensors as it crossed the Spirit's flight path. Nothing to be alarmed about, captain.”

Targost clenches his remaining fist, knowing it was a lie. His scarred and recently gouged face scrunches into a deep scowl as he chews on part of his lip that he'd inadvertently bitten off in his fight with Vaddon.

In moments, the lift slows and the platform rises to its very apex. The rails fold away as Targost spots the grand golden designs of the Command and Control deck, the uppermost transverse section that led to the most critical elements of the Vengeful Spirit itself. It was a masterful centerpiece for those that had not been inured to the grandeur of the Warmaster's Hall before. While nowhere near the pomp and ceremony of the Concourse of Memories, it was still grand. The rounded basilica in the middle of the command spire was an open space large enough to fit a company gathered around a single speaker. And that center was nothing less than the massive brass disk inlaid with the Luna Wolf head and crescent moon of the legion.

A wide dome furnished with frescoes and images of conquest rose up to four great stanchions, each of a stylized eagle head overlooking everything from the four cardinal directions above tall entrance ways at each end. Theirs was one, the mag-lift from the spinal transit hub. Another led left, aftward to the astrotelepathica relay, navigator seclusiam, communication enclave, and briefing rooms nestled deep behind the jutting bridge spires.

To the right, beneath another stern Terran Aquilla statue was the entrance to the Concourse of Memories that ran for more than a kilometer in front of the bridge, looking up through the armorglas bubble to the stars. It was the trophy room, the hall of wonder, and it was also a spot connecting them to the gathering halls, civilian quarters, and civil concourse occupied by the mortal chaff that infested the warhship. A few of the crew pass through the wide hall even now, not beyond contempt, but at least in service to the astartes.

And straight before them was the wide rising staircase to the command deck, bridge, and Strategium that was the heart of the Warmaster's efforts. Four tartaros wardens stand upon the wide steps leading to an intricately carved door sporting another sigil of the Wye of Terra, its immense inlaid garnet and onyx pupil watching over the whole of the Warmaster's Hall.

This was, in its way, the nexus of the Warmaster's crusade.

As the group of Word Bearers follows behind Targost, the klaxons wail and strobing red light alerts the tartaros wardens. They shift uncomfortably, reaching for combi-bolters by instinct as between flickers of light, the warriors of the seventeenth do as well.

One flash.

The Word Bearer sergeant's rounded pistol flashes up in the dark, leveled at the nearest warden.

A second flash of red mixes with a searing white-blue bloom.

With a growl of surprise, the terminator collapses forward, chest turned to sludge by the lance of plasma connecting them for one brilliant instant.

By the third strobe of light, the rancorous thunder of bolt shells illuminates the interior in a blaze of orange that glints like an inferno from the gleaming surface of the chamber's polished art deco murals.

Targost spins to see Ulrahk clutching a pistol and dagger, staring him down in cold resignation.

“Formation, wheel right!” Hashutz calls, ducking back behind the protective barrier as the whip-crack and belch of shotcannon slugs rattle off the thick adamntium slabs. The breacher shields keep well formed as Hashutz reaches for the bolter locked to the gunloop on the shields right and lines up a shot through the weapon's link.

Mortal soldiers in thick grey fatigued and unpolished black armor clog the hallway up ahead, their lamp pack illuminating their formation and sending momentary flashes through astartes prey senses. More than two dozen kneel along stanchions in the wide-mouthed hallway, firing into the mass of well protected astartes. Others stand and fire from behind their comrades, and keep firing as bolters stitch across their hiding spots, armor piercing rounds carving through the thin metal I beams and punching fist sized holes through human targets with impunity.

It had been like this for the better part of five minutes. The wide embarkation deck halls had been sparse, and the few Sons of Horus had been dealt with by overwhelming firepower while the mortal armsmen posed next to no threat at all. They fought in the pitch black at times, and bathed in red swirling lumin strobes in others. The dark would not hide them, the light would not save them.

All was red.

One of the troopers leans out of cover just far enough to reveal a rotary grenade launcher. Hashutz twitches his wrist to the right and snaps off a pair of hots, though with a ripple 'thump' two fragmentation grenades streak through the air before bolts bisect the trooper at the waist and drop him.

The pair of explosives sail into the mass of Word Bearers, exploding with the rattling patter of razor steel shards against durable ceramite. It scuffs and scratches, light bloom blinding the preysense lenses for a half-second and little more.

Brave, and foolish.

Hashutz didn't need to give the order to cut them down, prisoners were unnecessary for the time being. And the staccato clap of bolt rounds and interspersed roars of suffering was music to his ears now. Armsmen. They weren't cultists or the typical driven chattel soldiers of demagogues and false priesthoods, but true human warriors.

They were still children to him, and screamed just the same as the rippling wave of fire subsided as the last lamp packs slipped to the floor from nerveless hands. The wash of flamer fuel sprays across both left and right walls, again blinding the astartes as they trundle forward under the protection of their boarding shields.

Fifteen meters ahead, protected by the two squads of armsmen, was a single white blast door. It led directly to the main arterial way to the legion armory. Hashutz knew what that meant, as did the slackened legionnaire presence. Thousands had departed planetside, and he'd have liked to think that hundreds more would be dead by now. Personally, they could count a tally of fifteen Sons of Horus slain by the thirty-nine other Word Bearers he had at his beck and call.

Hashutz nods as he blink clicks the door, marking it to his squads with a breach icon. The wall of shields opens to permit a warrior laden with jangling melta bombs forward. He shuffles up, bolter still locked with his shield, and glances down momentarily to arm the heavy breaching charge. The ring of armor is loud but the breacher squad closes in.

His preysense suddenly blares a warning, and it's nearly too late as Hashutz sees a figure dart out from a hidden alcove up ahead. The body of a black and green monster sprints from the darkness, weapon flashing ruby red. Hashutz got only a single shot off before the Tartaros terminator plows into the breacher demolition expert, power axe hacking his head from his shoulders in a fluid arc.

The thick casement bounces back down the hallway as Hashutz looks at the grinning face to the Cthonian savage. The warrior's top knot sways from momentum, and he leans back, standing wide with his combi-bolter flicking up with a toss of his wrist. He'd damned well taken his helmet off and used his own senses instead of waiting for his helmet's preysense to come on line. His whole suit had been powered down to hide himself in his wait to ambush them.

'I'll give you this, Cthonian... that was clever.'

But unprotected, there was definitely a weakness that not even the raised gorget could hide.

“Flamers!” Hashutz grins as the rapid thunder of a combi-bolter meets a wall of boltguns. The slow thunder of terminator footfalls approaches, rippling through the deck as the experienced breachers shuffle, bracing one foot against the deck plate and leaning forward.

Shots rang off the tartaros, flickering away from the plates and bouncing into the surrounding enclosure. The shrill whine of the flamer units poured a deluge of fire into the lone figure thundering down at them like a landslide. But Hashutz's grin falters for a moment as the energy field seemed to deflect some of the incandescent fuel away from the suit, lighting the corpses and sticking to the armor plates, turning him into a burning avatar of Horusian anger.

Five meters.

...too late.

“Brace!” And with the sound of two colliding commuter trams, the terminator barrels into the formation. Slab-walls yield as he throws himself in to them. The power axe hacks down and splits deep into the clavicle of one of his troopers before he empties the combi-bolter in a wide, vicious circle to drive another two to their knees.

Hashutz quickly reaches for the grip of the purloined hammer mag-locked to his power-pack. But the Terminator was fast, faster than he expected. The combi-bolter lashes to the side, slamming the munitions drum hard into the side of his head and knocking him to one knee.

Bolters fire at point blank range, knifes flick from mag-locks or scabbards and thrust at the warrior. But they never manage to find the gap as the Cthonian's mocking laughter rings in their ears.

“I knew something smelled wrong with you sanctimonious gutter-trash!” He swipes his axe aside, felling another breacher with a burble of blood and shoving himself further among the formation. “I just didn't know how rancid you were!”

Hashutz watches bolt shots ring off from less than a yard away as he twists and turns to keep the gorget up, head raised almost arrogantly but also to protect his vulnerable face.

“You're outnumbered forty-to-one, Son of Horus! Give up!” One of his corporals roars only for the tartaros warrior to stick the twin-barrels of his combi-bolter down into the elbow joint of another, then saws it off in a salvo of bolts. The shield falls from dead hands as the axe slices deep into the rim of another. Hashutz gets to his feet, hammer unlocking and thrumming with crackling energy.

“About thirty six-to-one now, right? Good odds!” He kicks the breacher shield free, sending two Word Bearers thundering back and swinging the axe at Hashutz. The shield blocks it, and a counter blow is deftly deflected aside, shattering the plates on his forehand in a flash of light. The stink of burnt copper circuits fills the air. The energy capacitor in the shield array had overloaded.

The warden shoves his bulk forward, sending Hashutz back as another breacher tries to get to grips with them, receiving an elbow to the face that cracks at least one of his eye lenses. Hashutz circles, trying to turn the Terminator's back to his squad, but the warrior barrels forward, axe cleaving through open air towards him. But the high knee and lunge would hit something.

It wasn't Hashutz, but the warrior behind him is struck and flattened into the wall, gouging out crumbling sections of decorative plastek sheeting. Another breacher received the axe straight in his chest. But the hammer fell, and with a thunderous bang, the terminator's right side gives way.

Scraps of plate and burning capacitor engines whirred in protest as the warden was thrown five meters up the hallway by the wide sweeping arc. He slides to a stop next to a few dead armsmen, but as Hashutz takes a breath, he can still hear the wet choking laughter from the Cthonian warrior.

With armor sparking and most of the distinct 'hunch' shattered into twisted wreckage, the terminator slowly begins to rise. His right arm, the one holding the broken axe, hangs from a few dangling clusters of synth-muscle fiber. Disarmed literally and figuratively, the Cthonic warrior struggles to get to his feet as the Breacher sergeant closes in with two others close by.

“How are you not dead?” Hashutz smirks a little as the warden pulls his shattered frame up to kneel.

“I wouldn't want to deprive you of the satisfaction of knowing something, bilge rat.” The crippled Horusian turns to look at them. Hashutz holds a hand up, stopping his accompanying troopers from slaying the fallen terminator immediately.

A genuine curiosity runs through the Word Bearer. “Oh? And what would that be?”

This Cthonian was still grinning like a half-mad psychiatric patient. His face was a mask of crimson, blood from shredded adamantium cutting a deep furrow in his scalp, soaking his black top knot. Hashutz stopped within hammer-swing of him, but while crackling with lethal energy, he did give the warrior time to talk. Of course, he'd already blink-clicked a refreshed 'demolition' command on the door as one of his two troopers split off to plant the melta charge.

“You'll be dead within five minutes. And if all those heathen bastards were right, I'll look forward to seeing you in hell.” he cackles, grinning in his wolfy way.

It pulls a grin from the Colchisian's lips. “Save me a spot, Cthonian.” He slams the hammer down, the warden never looking away as it shatters his head and pulps the tartaros suit to scrap. The last few wet pieces tumbles down and stops at the foot of the door. It takes a few moments, but the demolition trooper latches two melta bombs to the blast door and hurries back.

"Why did he wait until all his armsmen were dead to confront us?" One of Hashutz warriors asks, staring down at the broken lump of a once-vaunted astartes killer.

"The same reason we do this," Hashutz grins, "To make a statement. Nothing would have changed the outcome, but now he has you thinking, does he not?" The legionnaire looks up at the door as the melta charge whines and activates in a whir, starting the atomic chain cascade.

Behind that door was the main concourse, the lifts, the armory, just a small stop from the Hall of Memories. Their enemy would be there, there was no question about that now. As the melta charge turns the wall to a white hot glowing beacon that reflects from the dull grey armor of the dozens of astartes awaiting their fate, the Word Bearer already knows what's coming.

"Glory to the martyrs, it is written."

Chapter 36: Hell or High Water

“What on Terra...” Loken's voice rings in the forward compartment of the stormbird as they skim past the grand cruiser Judicature and line up on the Vengeful Spirit. But the massive Glorianna was a bewildering sight, spewing billowing yellow flares from the embarkation deck, venting flames into the void which ripple and diffuse its roiling haloed heat glow. But the vessel itself yaws to its starboard side and rolls like a monolithic astral whale floundering in the void. “What is she doing?” he voices to no-one, though the Imperial Navy flight crew and pilot all glance towards him.

“Something wrong, Garviel?” Horus's deep timbre resonates in the hold, stiffening the crew and setting everything in order.

Loken glances over his shoulder, having been standing behind the pilot on the flight deck, looking out the broad forward canopy while clutching the chair back. Only his magnetized armored boots kept him clamped to the floor.

The primarch didn't have that luxury, but still somehow appeared stately enough as he clasped an overhead handle to the spinal turret and held himself as if he were standing straight. Only the billowing pink material around him ruined the impression and made him look perhaps a little like a conjured image of a raunchy sequentialist. But the primarch peers past Loken, taking in the sight of his own enormous flagship's erratic movements. “Coms officer,” Horus's bass growl dips to its gravelly landslide tone. “Are the vox networks still down?”

With a light squeal of noise and static, the mortal gulps and stares stiffly ahead at his console. “Y-yes lord Warmaster. There's still too much interference.”

“It's safe to say we're being jammed. Hmm, it's almost certainly a full spectrum blanket, too.” Horus snarls, eyeing the Vengeful Spirit before casting his gaze around the cosmos with a studied eye.

“From where?” Loken glances back at Horus before peering more intently out the front glass at the bevy of ships hanging like spears among the stars. From their position, they all appeared like silver lights, their green, gold, grey, and black hulls were all illuminated by the sun that painted them in stark white.

“There.” Horus points past the war galleass laying off the port side just a few dozen kilometres from his stricken flagship. Behind it, partially obscured by the raised communication spine and astropathic tower, hides a sharper vessel behind yet another broad galleass. Even from that distance, Loken could see it wasn't one of the 63rd expeditionary fleet's aged grand cruisers. No, it was sharp, stark, with the sleek triangular armored prow indicative of recently laid down hulls from the Sol fleetworks. “Harbinger class?”

“Cardinal heavy cruiser.” Horus's replies with a shake of his head. “ Erebus's new toy straight from the Saturn shipyards.” he growls and looks over the shoulder of the communication's officer.

The new Saturnine vessel yaws away from them, using the bulk of another vessel to screen it. The shield in question was one of the mighty Odysseus-class Galleasses; a nine kilometre long warship lined in stately white turrets and towers. Its outriggers of engine banks and the flat spade-prow could have given away what vessel it was without effort.

“I can tell you one thing, Loken.” Horus points at the seemingly stationary warship, “If Captain Erdoss isn't moving the Cthonic Dawn in the next thirty seconds, he'll be scrubbing meteor dust off the prow tomorrow.”

“Sir... Tarik might know better than me and maybe we should have brought Abaddon with us, but isn't it too late to evade if the Vengeful Spirit is lining up a shot?” Loken continues to watch as their stormbird banks sharply to the left.

“Yes, but sometimes the attempt is what matters most. Then luck picks up the slack.” Horus growls and leans forward to point past the pilot's shoulder, “No, no! Keep us on course with the Vengeful Spirit. Take one of the fighter bays if you have too.” The extension of his arm gets the primarch to hiss in pain as the movement agitated the black clotted wound in his shoulder. But as Loken looks back to his liege with no small degree of worry, Horus's eyes were fixed on his target.

“Horus?” Kibre's worried voice and pounding fist ring on the stormbird's flight crew compartment door.

Again Loken looks at the Lupercal, though this time the slight twinkle in his golden eyes couldn't hide. He covertly shoots the captain a playful grin that says 'if we stay quiet, maybe he'll give up and go away'.

Screaming alarms and bleating klaxons ring through the Vengeful Spirit's entire length, occasionally interspersed with the clatter of bolter fire and screams of the ratings and crew. Burbles of unintelligible vox traffic babble uselessly in a psychotic menagerie that echoes ceaselessly through the immense Hall of Memories. A single lanky astartes hurries down the run from the corridors from the librarius, one of the last flowing chambers before the civilian 'gate' towards the remembrancers' gallery.

Iacton Qruze takes in a few lungfuls of air, only hearing his armor cycle to full power now, the aged mark two battle plate had been taken straight from the librarius's exhibit of the ancient legion. The glossy pearl plate buffed to a mirror shine was still, perhaps, a little more familiar than the sea-green mark four suit he'd been issued. While he followed the Lupercal, a part of the aged captain was still more comfortable as a Luna Wolf than a Son of Horus. But between the ancient reawakened battle armor, a power gladius that he could only hoped still functioned, and the long barreled phobos bolter with a single full magazine that had been plucked from the stasis field cases, it was all that was at hand. They were relics of war now pushed straight back into use once he heard gunfire in the distance.

The aged third-company captain halts at one of the hall's intersections, pressing his back to a flat stone arch topped with a glinting golden aquilla at the mouth of the water garden. It was a place for reflection on the great crusade, and terminated right before the glowing civilian concourse. The crowds from taverns and entertainment halls primarily set up for the remembrancers and iterators had screamed and panicked, but the astartes captain was more concerned with them noise blotting out his hearing.

Peeking out around the corner, he can see the flash of red lights and shadows filtering through the water gardens. There's a slight lurch of what mortals often described as 'void-sickness' as the stars slowly shifted beyond the enormous armorglass bubble running the full length of the hall. Other warships slowly appear to drift and turn in the void, and Davin's accursed grey-green moon slowly sets from their off-kilter roll.

Whatever thoughts passed his mind, the veteran said nothing of it. Instead, he ducks out, power armour creaking and whirring noisily at every step as he crosses straight along the side of the Hall of Memories with a clumsy shuffle. He instinctively bolsters the power to his legs, feeling the sluggish movements give way to the more familiar lope he'd grown accustomed too in his earlier centuries.

Even this ancient battleplate, enshrined from their assault on Terra's sole natural moon of Luna, was 'new' in comparison to some of his memories. They were good memories, but damned if he couldn't figure out why bolters would be cooking off here aboard the flagship. What assassins or xeno intruders had broke in? This was all uncomfortably new.

A hundred meters disappears in a fugue of half-conscious memories as captain Qruze hustles through the dark red flashing space and up the wide mouth avenue. He sighs, breath rasping as his accumulated age made the necessity of regulating his breath a priority. A voice calls from the darkness of a hutch near the Nemesis arch and its short Avenue of Conquest.

“Sedeirae? Is that you?” the wheezing rasp was unmistakable as the figure lumbers from the gloom with an uncomfortable lurch and tap of a cane.

Iacton's hearts jumped in his chest, surprised at the sudden appearance, though training had the illum sight dance across the figure's center of mass for just a fraction of a second. The dull red dot traverses reinforced astartes battleplate, the piston outriggers of an exoskeleton shackle keeping the form upright, though it leans awkwardly to the left on a twisted skull-topped cane. From a heavily scarred and burn-slicked face, Maloghurst The Twisted shoots him an immediate glare of disdain.

“No, it's me.” Iacton grumbles at the Warmaster's equerry. The intelligence officer merely harrumphs, but Qruze slows his pace and inclines his head as the pair uncomfortably join up as he notices a flurry of activity from one of the walls along the short hallway to the xeno museum. Qruze fights off the scowl at having not noticed the small bevy of figures, Imperial Navy armsmen. He hadn't attuned the armor's prey-sense, and it had overlooked the allied armsmen completely.

“For a moment there, you looked like the ghost of Sejanus.” Maloghurst wheezes, and makes a series of sharp gestures that the armsmen take note of. Ten black-armored forms slink through the gloom, covered one another as they form up in a kneeling circle around the two astartes.

“There's no such thing as ghosts, Mal.” Qruze's soft, untainted voice is only mildly hardened by the helmet vox.

Maloghurst makes a harsh tut of irritation. “I know, I know. Half-heard.” Qruze flinches at the inauspicious nickname, comfortably certain it was repayment for the informal way the equerry had been addressed. “There's no need to lecture me about what I already know. But tell me, did you hear general Varvarus just now?”

Qruze nods as the rest of the squad falls in around them, and he picked up the telltale-blip of allied units just further up. His preysense wasn't needed at the moment, he could damned well see the pair of terminator wardens emerging from the mid-corridor lifts around the enormous Arc of Triumph that rose fifty meters in the chamber, just short of the armorglass dome's plasteel girders.

“I thought it was my imagination. The vox net is completely distorted.” He pulls off his casement helm and whistles loudly, getting a start from the armsmen, but also a sharp look from the tartaros guards. The captain waves once, and both of the hulking figures approach as fast as the lumbering walking-tanks could manage. “Mal, what in the blazes is happening?” he subtly shifts as the Twisted and their guard all plunge forward to meet the wardens.

Maloghurst's augmented shuffle is painfully slow even as he does try to hurry, each wheezing huff of breath a struggle exasperated by the severe limp. “Damned if I know, I heard someone say they saw an astartes killing a crewman, and just thought after the embarkation deck incident...” he lets the sentence warble off.

“Sacred Unity, you thought Varvarus did something stupid?” Qruze lofts a brow.

“Varvarus?” Mal's chest shakes with wet laughter, “No, no, don't be foolish. If someone did something this overtly stupid, it would have to be Sedirae, Abaddon, Ekkadon, or Targost. And two of them are planetside.”

“So why Sedirae?” Qruze asked as the pair of tartaros close enough to meet them.

“You were running. Targost doesn't hustle like that, smug little worm struts everywhere.” It gets a bit of an airy half-laugh from the captain. “Where's your company?”

“Vox is down, I haven't a clue. I assume they're still in the barracks.” Qruze replies, loping over to the group as they resume their ascension up the long and intricate corridor to the main ship spine. “Am I supposed to assume you've tried the mag-lifts?”

Maloghurst spits a wad of phlegm. “Do you think I'd be walking for any other reason? The vox is down, the lifts are down, and the trams aren't responding. Something's happening and I damned well refuse to be the last person to know about it, Iacton.” he turns sharply on the two terminators and points a gnarled gauntlet at them, “You two, report.”

The first plodding terminator slows, but his thunderous steps echo in the hall as the slinking armsmen fade into near obscurity under the power of the walking-tanks.

“Lord Equerry, Captain Qruze.” One begins, voice echoing with the deep roil of the external vox amp. “Inconclusive reports, but we heard gunfire and were prepared to reinforce the bridge nexus. Orvan thought he heard something about 'a trade'.” he nods to his terminator equal.

“Smugglers in-system?” Qruze lofts a brow as the whole group continues their more stately march up the wide boulevard. They pass completely in the shadow of the shrines of fallen warriors carved into the tall arching pillars plated in plaques of etched bronze. The memorials and trophies of the 16th legion were always laid out here, under the stars, for all the galaxy to see.

“Don't be daft, nothing would attack a vessel this size, let alone a fleet.” Maloghurst sharp rasp slowed as he let one thought slip through, “Eldar raiders?”

Qruze even ventures a glance up at the void, seeing a pair of Siluria cruisers in the middling distance, though there was no blistering tines of lance fire or spastic blooms of batteries engaging. If it was a foreign entity, it damned well wasn't from a capital ship. And if they were smaller raiders, how in Terra's shade did they get past the roving clouds of fighters?

“No... something else.” Qruze replies, albeit it more darkly and quietly than he meant. The gaze into the starry abyss always did this to him, but it did cut the conversation short. As such, the motley little band continues up the corridor.

The first herald of something dreadfully wrong is the blob of red-yellow light shining from the top of the steps, then the rush of pressurized fire. Sprouting gouts of flame spew from the opening like the depictions of dragon's belching fire from their mountain caves. And then came the shapes.

From the end of the nearly kilometer and a half long corridor, the ghostly grey figures emerge from among the curls of smoke and flame. Bearing flickering hand-held flamer units, a pair of legionnaires can be picked out clearly by genhanced eyes. The Word Bearers atop the steps spit fire at the rows of banners taken from defeated warlords across a thousand worlds, immolating the priceless cloths held in stasis fields by the steps to the entrance of the Warmaster's Hall.

“What are they doing?!” Maloghurst's dry hiss is as shocked as it is indignant, creeping up a full register. “Don't stand there looking for orders, kill them!"

The duo of Tartaros terminator guards flick their bolters up, advancing with the armsmen slinking behind them as they try to get to a better spot to fire.

“I can get them from here.” Iacton unslings his bolter and kneels to set up the shot.

“You?” Maloghurst snorts in derision before resuming his assent after the lumbering terminators.

“I'm not so old as to need glasses, Mal.” Qruze scowls. But in truth, it was uncomfortably close. He squints, letting his experience make up for aging senses. The breath of stale air, the roll of the ship, he could see it all. Even fifty years ago it would have been an easy shot from this distance. He'd been a Seeker once, a marksmen of the highest caliber. That was well before he'd been a captain. Now, that was a distinction that few remembered.

It would have been galling, but as he squeezes the trigger, the first shot goes wide. A puff of vaporized stonework half a dozen meters above the flame-lit Word Bearer is his only sign where the shot drifted. He adjusts a fraction, squeezing the trigger again. With a splash of sparks, it slams into his target and bursts off its pauldron.

“High, to the right.” he whispers to himself before guiding his palm to shift it just a hair. He still his breath, letting him press the trigger twice more with a flutter of thought. A double tap. It bursts low under the arm, tearing the limb off in a puff of pink. A second shot pumps into the stump, bursting inside his target and dropping him on his side.

“Hurry up, Iacton!” Maloghurst says, clomping up the steps, his own bolter on a sling around his neck.

It takes three more shots to drag down the second Word Bearer, but he'd done it. Whether by remembered skill or luck, a shot to the neck nearly decapitated the Word Bearer. The final echoing thrum of his bolt rings off the rafters and to the armourglass bubble letting in starlight far above them.

He looks for a moment before the realization hits. “Maloghurst, we're still rolling!”

The Twisted looks back, then up out past the ribbed armourglass blister sixty five meters overhead. The sunlit glare bleaches the adamntium hull of the massive Odysseus-class galleass visibly hanging in the starry void. Its massive slab plated sides carried over from the earliest days of the Great Crusade, as did its gleaming towers. The slow drunken roll of the Vengeful Spirit telegraphed what was happening in horrid painful detail.

“We're lining up a firing solution on the Cthonic Dawn?! On whose orders?!” Maloghurst indignantly hisses, but is swiftly seized in a coughing fit.

“I can't tell you who gave the order, but I can tell you who didn't.” Iacton hefts himself back up to standing and redoubles his lope up the steps. Even the broken form of Maloghurst shuffles faster as he mutters darkly beneath his breath.

“It was rhetorical." Maloghurst huffs, leaning heavily on his cane as he tries to hobble down the corridor, "They'll have completely taken the bridge, there's no other way this could have happened.”

“You're better at void warfare than I am. How long?” Iacton catches up and slows his pace to match the crippled astartes.

But an armored palm stops him, and Maloghurst fixes the ancient captain a stern glare. “Three minutes, maybe more, maybe less. I'm not going to get there in time. Go with the wardens, take the bridge back at all costs. Here.” He snaps off a silver medal from around his neck, presenting the Warmaster's personal seal that only Horus and his equerry possessed. “If they won't listen to you, they'll damned well listen to that. Now go! See if you can get us out of this.” The shove was harsh and insistent. Any harder and it might have tossed Iacton flat.

But he took the medal in hand and nods before sprinting towards the nexus, leaving the lagging Maloghurst to hobble behind.

The white-clad captain hurries forward, catching up with the terminators and armsmen as they near the broad steps leading up to the nexus. The stink of charred fabric and drifting ash clog the air, though it doesn't quite cover the iron stink of spilled blood. Qruze stays with the two terminators and ascends the steps in their midst.

Emerging into the Nexus, his hearts skip a beat. Broken grey armor lies scattered in seeping blood slicks as the shattered bodies of legionnaires stretch from the middle of the room straight up in a broken line leading up to the doorway of the bridge. Two of the posted terminator wardens were surely dead, slumped down the steps and laying in heaps of slag, almost assuredly the work of plasma.

Iacton saw it with his own eyes, but the scene still wasn't real or authentic to him. Astartes killing astartes? It had to be a mistake, or a nightmarish dream. The numbness set into the captains limbs as he spots four Word bearers draped across the hacked apart corpse of a third warden.

"The captain didn't say anything about 'a trade'." Iacton's voice hitches, "he said 'betrayed'."

“Halt. Identify yourself.” a distorted voice proclaims from the stop of the steps. One of the wardens kneels in front of three corpses, having dropped to one knee with an axe flickering weakly and his combi-bolter leveled at them. His leg was broken to bloody pulp by a krak grenade, helmet and cuirass showing deep gashes and scars, but the ship's guardian remains at his post to bar the way.

“Captain Iacton Qruze, third company. We have two other wardens and a compliment of ships armsmen.” the captain says without so much as raising his voice. “We mean to pass, on authority of Horus Lupercal.” The 'half-heard' produces the silver emblem. After the faintest moment, the warden nods and shifts to one side on protesting servos.

“Iacton?” a wheezing gasp pulls itself from among the ruined husks, wriggling up from the dead.

Iacton Qruze points his wardens terminators and group of navy armsmen towards the bridge door while he scrambles towards the frail shell crumpled in the center of the room. “Targost?!”

Serghar Targost lies under the auspice of the immense Eye of Terra emblazoned in garnet and onyx doorway. Red light pulses from the emergency system and the scream of klaxons still fills the air. Crimson light lands on the sharp edges of an intricately carved marble and bronze relief, red glow illuminating the damaged wrought by gunfire and reflecting wetly from a blood slicked floor as the captain slowly raises one shattered arm.

The assault captain weakly pulls himself towards the bottom of the steps, making it all the way over to the bronzed relief of a Luna Wolf legionnaire framed in art deco bands of sunlight. The ancient Lunar battle memorial is smeared red from the corpses of two Word Bearers blasted apart, along with a tangle of mortal crew who were evidently caught in the crossfire.

Targost was sweating in his black reaver plate, gory pits are carved from his side, his face gouged with knife wound and scrapes from a gauntlet, and the man's left arm terminates in a ruined stump. But his right shakily clutches a bolt pistol, spent casings littering the polished marble around him.

“What happened?” Iacton crosses over as Targost lets go of the bronze and slumps to the floor leaving a crimson smear. His bolt pistol clatters down into his lap.

“Word Bearer bastards.” he coughs as the rest of the terminator team and armsmen make it to the door. Already their wounded warden was tapping an exposed data terminal to allow them entrance. “We were headed for the bridge... said it was to secure it from any enemy attacks.” He coughs up a light pink foam and weakly mops his lips. “Probably converging on the astropathic choir, labs... and there's more on the tram line below. Iacton, doesn't matter why. .. kill them. Just take this and kill every single one of them.” Qruze slides to kneeling only to have a plasma pistol thrust into his grasp before he's weakly shoved away. “M'alright, I'm alright for now. Go!”

Iacton nods sharply and hurries up the steps as it opens wide. Climbing the steps, it leads to another Wolf-head emblem of the legion as the hallway splits upwards into another slanted hallway leading to the armored bridge bulkhead. Its untouched by violence, but still plunged into the rhythmic flash from emergency lights. Iacton Qruze takes up a position between the two interceding Terminators while the rest of the black-clad armsmen in their far lighter carapace mingle among the demi-gods.

To look at the warriors standing among giants was almost pathetic, but the steadfast guardians had seen the ship through before. Though never against astartes. Qruze could see the trepidation in every tight grip around a shotgun stock, or in nervous little head bobs, or even the tap of toes inside metal shod boots.

They had every right to be scared. Qruze locks his bolter to his hip and checks the plasma pistol. The plasma fuel cells were used, but there was still at least a few shots left. Drawing his power sword, he thumbs the activation stud, sending a skating blue haze dancing across the blade with a mellow hum.

The door chimes with a vibrant soft 'bing' and opens right into a firestorm. The chatter of bolters and whip-crack of rounds scream in the moment a crack opens in the door. The first armsmen is blasted apart at the clavicle and drops. Terminator armor deflects rounds off sheer plate and scatters spall into the surrounding mortal troops. It wasn't a straight fight, even as the first warden plunges into the breach he would have to pick his target to avoid hitting a console or any crew left alive.

The green and black tartaros warden growls from the vox amp, firing almost a full second after the barrage rakes his frame. The combi-bolters' demonic chatter slacks the fire in a howl of rage, and already the second and several armsmen hurled themselves into the breach. Qruze hears another of his troopers hit the floor as the abattoir of the Vengeful Spirit's command deck opens to them.

One grey slab-sided cataphractii fires from behind a heap of shredded crewmen, another shaking helmsmen cowering behind a console in front acting as a partial human shield. Two belches from shotguns draws out the helmsman's scream as he drops, and Qruze lines up a shot with the snub nosed pistol, aiming it at the small well armored head of the Word Bearer cataphractii. The Colchisian doesn't even stagger as the shotgun blasts patter harmlessly across the immense slabs of adamantium. But Qruze's pistol howls with a high pitched undulating thrum. The white hot lance of super heated plasma connects him and the cataphractii for a moment, before a shimmering energy field ripples just in front of the warrior.

Despite the searing after-image and stink of scorched ozone, the Word Bearer still blazes away unharmed. The plasma pistol wafts smoke from its barrel shroud, and despite the risk, Qruze plunges through the door and taps the trigger again. The pistol barrel glows red hot as another high-pitched scream lashes out. This time the cataphractii is caught in the chest and the energy shield shimmers for a moment before fizzling out. The terminator's chest collapses completely, pouring out in a molten slag as he staggers back, loses his footing, and drops into a crew pit.

Another Colchisian terminator roars a challenge and closes in at a slow ponderous run towards the wardens. One of the armsmen tosses a grenade, bursting at the giant's feet and sending scads of white-hot metal buzzing through the air to shred terminals and ring off armored plate. But a brace of shotgun blasts and another grenade unsteadies the Colchisian warrior just long enough for the warden's power axe to split him down the middle in a single stroke.

A third and forth cataphractii fire from the forward part of the bridge, partially obscured by the slope of the descending deck. But as Qruze plunges into the room, the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The elderly captain throws himself into a roll, ducking behind a console as a rippling tide of fire hits them from behind, shredding four armsmen in a hail of explosive bolts and spattering the terminator wardens with scraps of wet tissue.

A pair of cataphractii fire down from the strategium rail, pumping combi-bolter shells into them as they emerge. Bracketing fire shatters the heavily reinforced venting on the back of the warden's tartaros plate, but besides pitting the armor and bending the vent grating, it does little to the unsuspecting Horusian elite.

Peeking out from the railing, he spots a Word Bearer terminator with a crest and raises his pistol again. The plasma pistol glows, flashing a single searing ray of energy and arching it upwards. It catches the rail a glancing blow, deflecting some of the energy and bending the now curling red-hot metal back towards him, while the rest of the blast carried on and buckles the Terminators hip. Instead of immolating the warrior, the servos whine and protest for a moment, the combi-bolter shells suddenly weave wide as the leg gives out. With a ponderous roar, the immense figure falls forward from the strategium's dais.

He falls like a bolder, slamming into the ruined command throne peppered with bolt shots, and crushes the ship's helm in a bellowing roar of shattered adamantium, stone, and steel. A dust cloud erupts from the impact as the remaining four armsmen dart inside, firing from the hip and taking cover behind consoles.

“Get the ones in the forebridge, I'll deal with this one!” Qruze bellows to the two wardens as he ducks out, only to be chased right back into cover by the twin-barrel combi-bolters tearing apart the console and clattering off the shrouding of his power pack.

An armsmen pops up, firing a shotgun at the terminator above, only for the reflexive fire from his target to walk across the console and catch him a glancing blow in the shoulder. The entire joint explodes in a pink mist, leaving a screaming, thrashing heap of a man behind.

But it was an opportunity. Among the shrieks of pain and the momentary lull, Qruze hurdles the console and darts forward, firing his pistol from the hip. The first beam connects with the cataphractii's energy field, sending watery ripples across the blue hazy ribbons.

Slowly but surely, the second cataphractii was rising up like some ancient golem. Taking his chance, Qruze darts forward as the power fist is splayed on the ground. The pistol's cowling crackles and clicks from its immense heat buildup. It gives off a lambent white hot glow, wafting smoke rings around it as the device desperately tries to vent the heat. But he caught the steady red glyph on the side, and despite its Colchisian nature, he recognized 'empty' when he saw it. Qruze mag-locks the smoldering pistol to his hip, its immense heat actually sending spikes of pain through the flex-steel joint. But it frees up a hand as he darts towards the downed terminator with both hands firmly gripping the power sword.

Weak points, joints. A blade like that wouldn't carve through the armor and reach the warrior inside... not unless he got lucky. But he'd worn cataphrctii plate before, he knew the problem spots, and knew just what had to be protected. Lunging by the lumbering giant, the blade lashes out in a single sweep, snipping the power fist's power couplings from the back of its elbow. And as Qruze turns, he plunges the blade into the back of the terminator's other leg. The howl of pain comes loud and fast, and as the immense warrior turns on him, he swings the blade again to bisect the combi-bolter just in front of its grip, splitting it in two and disarming him completely.

That was it. Already his other opponent was getting closer to the edge, swiveling the dual barreled weapon down to draw a bead on him.

Qruze throws himself backwards, trying to scramble for cover as the chatter of hellish fire chews apart instrument banks and blasts apart heaped corpses spread across the floor. The Luna Wolf veteran finds something broke his fall, and it was no surprise two mushed human bodies lay beneath his immense frame. But it was still distasteful, no matter what happened. The smell of cooked meat as his overheated plasma pistol touches the bodies is equally sickening.

Grasping the hard edge of his cover, he unlatches his bolt gun and braces it against the edge. Squeezing the trigger, it hurls a thunderous flurry of bolts towards the terminator pinning him down. The explosive shells patter harmlessly off his pauldrons and cuirass. But as a return torrent of shells clatters into his station and gnaws away at the edges of the now sparking terminal, another sound rises over the din.

A rhythmic 'clunk-scrape' noise from not too far away draws his attention. Iacton can hear the Colchisian grunt, and he peeks out just long enough to see the lamed terminator shamble towards him, dragging his dead limb like some mutant bell-ringer of a bygone morality play.

Qruze takes in a sharp breath, fully realizing the position he was in: pinned down, no support, and flushed out of hiding with an enraged enemy just meters away with the staircase and easy exits on the far side of the bridge... it was a bad situation. But a smile forms as an ancient adage quietly slips his weathered lips.

"Since when did that matter? We're Luna Wolves."

Qruze grips his bolter and twists to confront the terminator. Launching his foot out, he kicks off of the console and flings himself backwards while staring down the barrel and loosing a fusillade at point blank range into the face of the hulking monstrosity. The withering fire clatters in sharp yellow sparks from the gorget and comb of the terminator, pitting the armor where the shots impact against the surface. But the armorglas visor cracks and the hulking warrior raises its enormous hand in front of its face to stop the stream of shells.

Already the second terminator was firing, ringing shots off his white plate as the astartes captain unhesitatingly turns his boltgun in reply. Qruze sends a chattering stream of shells sparking on the near-impregnable battle plate as he darts for another station closer to the wall. The captain urges more power away from the suit's preysense and towards his legs as he thunders across the open space around the command throne, pursued by twin tails of gibbering fire all the way. An impact shatters the edge of his pauldron and another lucky shot bounces from his cuirass against his cheek to dent his aging helmet. His own shots don't even phase the terminator, and he lets the exhausted relic drop to the deck cladding with all the grace of an empty lamp-pack battery. The astartes' running start lets him leap on top of a broken weapons station to, propel himself up towards the raised strategium's railing.

Too much speed, not enough height. It wasn't a difficult jump for an astartes to clear, but instead of catching the rail, the armored captain's foot nicks the edge of the dais. The entire railing gives way as he barrels through it and tumbles into a roll on the flat open strategium

The terminator turns ponderously, bringing his weapon to bear. Opportunistic shotgun blasts rake the giant as it pivots, sending clouds of sparks up as they scrape off its plate. Qruze kicks himself up to his feet and barrels at the figure, power sword braced in both hands. A few meters, nothing more, just enough to gain some momentum as he throws his weight into the rush.

Bolts scream past him as the terminator fires, shredding his knee plate and pulverizing the segmented thigh armor. More shots bounce from his helm and crater against the pauldron. A shock of pain flares through his elbow as the entire casing buckles and bends in on his limb, but he was too close to stop.

With a roar, he throws himself against the terminator, slamming it back and rocking the object past the point of no return. The short stabbing gladius digs in under the terminator's cuirass, severing power conduits and stopping cold against the butted rim as both terminator and captain are carried out into the empty space above the bridge. For a heart-stopping second they hang in the void, the terminator's power fist crackling to life as it reaches for him. Qruze presses the hilt of his sword against his midriff and waits for the impact.

With a juddering 'bang', the terminator slams into the decking, buckling metal grating around its immense frame and carrying the captain down into him. The braced sword cleaves through the rim and carves up and into the terminator's chest cavity with the added force of the impact. Seeing just the smallest bit of surprise and hesitation, Qruze pulls the blade to one side like a leaver on an ancient steam engine. The whole blade pivots around in the wound, slicing through everything inside the terminator's chest. In a single sweep, the man inside was bisected without anyone knowing it in the outside world.

The power fist continues to crackle, the eyes still glow, but the warrior is stilled. With his breathes coming in panting waves, Iacton Qruze stays hunched over the fallen Word Bearer. The sound of a snapping power axe barely registers as he looks up, seeing a battle-scarred warden with one dangling arm swing his weapon down on the cataphractii's head. It takes two more swings before the last Colchisian warrior was dead.

"Re...port." Qruze's usually quiet voice finds a rasping edge as he's racked with a cough mingled with a deep-seated laugh. A sound rarely expressed to the galaxy.

"Bridge secured, Captain Qruze, sir." the warden's booming reply echoes in the towering blood soaked cavern of the ship's bridge.

Qruze rises and tries to free the blade from the terminator's guts, but it was stuck. Even with a foot on its chest for leverage, the blade remains lodged in the terminator plate. He leaves it jutting from the warrior's stomach like a mast, and rises up over his quarry. “Anyone alive?” A few warbles from here and there were all that could be heard from a crew of almost three-hundred. “Helm control?” The Spirit was still listing.

With no immediate response, the captain stands up straight and looks over the shattered, corpse-strewn wasteland before calling, "All bridge crew, report." Two of the three remaining armsmen hustle towards the astartes while a third tries to carry out some form of triage on his still screaming compatriot.

From a distant niche, he sees movement. Qruze's hand did reach instinctively for a bolt pistol that wasn't there, but he notices a shaking junior officer clambering up from a pit. She wasn't particularly tall, or noteworthy in any respect beyond being 'alive'. The astartes sharply bobs his head and she halts. "Helm?" Qruze asks and gets a sharp bob of his head. There wasn't the need to mention the unsightly wet patch on her uniform or her erratic breathing. "Good." he points the two armsmen and says, "You two, keep her safe at all costs. Bring us out of this death role, chief helmsman."

Qruze keeps pacing, looking for Word Bearer trickery or more crew alive among the slaughterhouse. But once again there was a captain on the bridge, bearing the battered but recognizable livery of a Luna Wolf. "Very good."

Out the armourglas bridge window the Cthonic Dawn rolls to port and angles its bridge away from them. The massive galleass was descending, trying to run under the Vengeful Spirit's guns and below the horizon. It was too slow, too close, and far too late for a ship that size, but only after a moment did he catch a glimpse of silver glint past the warship. It heads towards another vessel already breaking formation and turning away from them with engines flaring blue hot plasma.

“Comms.” Qruze calls, his typically soft voice getting a warbled unintelligible response. But a glance across the bridge saw two other officers carefully emerge from behind a astrological monitoring console. “Get to your position, find out what's happened in the rest of the ship. He lets out a ragged sigh and turns to carefully edge towards the pit where the Word Bearer was. Peeking over the edge with bolter upraised, the Word Bearer was ripped open and still, but had crushed another crewmen beneath his armored bulk.

“This is a disaster.” Qruze whispers, hoping it didn't carry. But he knew few aboard would think anything but that once the final bill was tallied.

Chapter 37: Ebbing Tide

With the embarkation deck closed, the most useful into the Vengeful Spirit was its fighter bays. Of course, the small hangars' flat trajectory would make it a challenge to land a shuttle with any degree of grace. Landing a Warhawk IV stormbird in the same compartment was an exercise in equal measures of bravery and stupidity.

The vessel's wings sweep inwards like a folding jackknife as the engines screamed in protest at the maneuver typically meant to lend speed rather than bleed it off. The quartet of thrusters throw flames back as the elegant machine funnels super-heated air into the narrow confines of the bay, blasting back push tractors and sweeping away mechanics kits left to service the far-smaller lightning crows.

The nose scrapes and screeches across the conduit lined roof of the hangar while the engine cowling grates noisily against the decking, scraping off the patently unhelpful landing symbols. The landing claws touch down, tearing the deck open but finally halting the stormbird as its nose snaps down with a bang, shattering the forward gear. Its buckled prow ramp lowers, disgorging the cluster of green and black clad warriors who scan the abandoned hangar.

Kibre sniffs at the air like a hound. The Widowmaker wrinkles his nose, “Something...”

“Burnt circuitry.” Horus grunts as he strides down the landing ramp still clad in his loose pinkish stained shroud. His eyes fall on a shape tucked carefully in the corner, a dull black storm eagle had evidently landed, and been taxied into a shadowy recess of the starkly lit hangar. “No, no you're right, Kibre. There's something putrid lingering here.”

"The scrubbers are off, for one.” Marr chimes, having followed with Loken and Torgaddon in Horus's wake. Two Justarian follow with their Word Bearer prisoner pressed between them.

It's Falkus Kibre's voice the breaks them out of it as the stormbird's petulant engine whine begins to fade. “That's our bird, so who brought it back?”

“Never mind that now.” Marr nods ahead to the wide blast doors shielding the flight deck from the crew ready rooms. “Keep alert.” Horus and his entourage follow the justarians.

“Emergency protocols, we're locked out!” Kibre snarls as he taps on the small biometric palm reader and keypad. He nods towards one of his black armored warriors with a chainfist, “ hit the door.”

“How easy you forget, Kibre.” Horus shoves his way through the protective circle and lays his hand flat on the keypad, letting the door shunts open with a scrape. "Even at the worst of times, everything yields for the Warmaster." Horus smirks.

The open quarters were still shockingly empty, with only the constant wailing to break the oppressive silence. Wide open halls lead to galleries and briefing rooms for the bevy of flight officers, mechanics, and other mortal fighter crews. Shocks of red light flash from grated wall sconces, plunging the stark yellowed walls into a bloody hue.

“Tarik, Sergeant Vipus.” the later in particular just balks, as if surprised to be even known by the Warmaster, “take Locasta and any of our injured and head up to the apothecarion. And get this filth out of my sight." he gestures to Kal Belekar, "Keep him alive, I will want a word with him. No excuses, this is an order.” The Lupercal's stony golden gaze brooks no dissent.

But the Warmaster settles his hand on Marr's shoulder, an almost affable gesture it it didn't come from such an enormous presence. “The rest of us are going to find out just what is happening to my ship.”

“Sir, we should fetch your battleplate-” Kibre starts, only to be cut off with a scowl of irritation from the primarch.

“I refuse to sit here while you fetch me a spare suit of armor from my room like a feeble princeling. Besides, it will take too long... if you insist on my protection.” The Warmaster strides towards one of the ready room doors. Without looking back, he grasps it in two hands and with a roar of effort, rips the metal slab from its mounting in a shower of sparks. Taking it by the handle, he hefts it like a shield and flashes his warriors a wolfish grin, “You worry too mu-”

“Hooooooorus....” a voice echoes with a wet lathering laugh, prickling the fine hairs on the back of his arm. “I know you're there, Horus the Horse-Tamed.”

The others quickly crowd around the unarmored primarch again. He merely sighs, spitting the word, “Ceifador.” With a whirl of blue-black energy and spotty patterns in the air, the mystic halberd forms in his right hand. It suddenly judders, wavering with a loud series of spluttering cracks as it spits white and blue sparks from its entire length like lit phosphorus. Horus clenches his teeth and holds on as it stops spitting sparks. The primarchs palm is fire-blackened and his eye twitches as he tightens his grip on the weapon haft. “Where are you now, you conniving little wretch?”

“Okay, if no one else can be bothered to ask,” Torgaddon wetly coughs and looks over before pointing offhandedly with a little loop at the blade, “Lord Commander, what in sacred unity is that?!”

“A gift, a gift for dealing with just such pests as that little mouse hiding in my ship like the vermin it is.” Horus grates and slams the polearm haft against the door frame. “Come on out then!”

“Oh, is that all? I don't recall any piece of archeotech like that in the armory.” Torgaddon plies, looking to Kibre and Loken for support and finding at least a few nods of agreement.

“Tarik, are you saying I must make account of all my possessions to you, like one of Malcador's tribute eaxactors?” Horus's voice deepens in its gravelly base.

Torgaddon visibly shrinks back. “Wouldn't dream of it, sir.”

“Good... because I'd say you can get out and float to another legion that will have you. I won't bear the shame of one of my sons turning into a damned tax collector.”

Turning back, the primarch looks down the corridor just as something rattles at the end of the hall in the machinists bay. A clatter of a metal spanner hitting the ground jolts the astartes to their senses, though it's followed by the equally loud and unmistakable wet tear of flesh. The sodium lamps flicker and die with a fizzling pop just as the first rivulet of red trickles towards the oil sink in the middle of the room.

Horus nods and the group advances. Outlines of push tractors and mechanical trolleys on hoists flutter at the far reaches while the silent sway of tackle chains squeaks to emphasize the rasp of flesh and muscle torn like wet parchment. With a meaty thump, a shin and lower leg is tossed across the hall leaving a ribbon of red droplets sprayed across the grey floor.

Horus redoubles his pace, turning into the room just as the waft of rot fills his nostrils. The putrescent sickly sweet odor of decay was suddenly overpowering in a manner he knew too well. They all did. It was identical to the odious miasma they'd trudged through in the assault on the Glory of Terra.

They all spot the figure at once, a lanky fat-bellied creature clad in shattered grey plate. Moribund flesh squeezes between the popped out flexsteel undermesh of the grey battle plate, turning the sleek lines into a mocking parody of itself like a blubbery singer squeezing into a dress three sizes too small. Its legs were twisted, recurved like a dog, ending in hooked claws that tore through the ceramite mag-boots.

It doesn't even turn as it shovels mouthfuls of meat from the carcass of three crew heaped upon a metal press bench in the corner while four other corpses strung from chains like macabre streamers on a Nostraman street corner. Its pudgy fingers and curved talons grip and twist the human bodies apart before flinging them back into a short muzzle. It had a short lieutenant's crest on its helm that now bears a mocking resemblance to a pony's mane. The red hair flows down its back, dripping yellow bile and ichor from long unkempt strands. The beast hesitates, half twisting its head, saliva ropes hanging from its jaws.

Kibre hisses quietly, “What in the depths is tha-”

The beast roars and lunges backward, spinning swiftly and grasping the corpse of one half-devoured crewmen. It tosses the corpse hard at the Lupercal only for the primarch to raise his impromptu shield to block the grisly missile. The corpse spatters across it, pouring blood and trailing meat across the door and the backs of Marr and Loken's armor.

Out of munitions and wrong-footed, the warriors quickly gather around the Lupercal while the beast breathes a spittle flecked hiss at them, then sprints for the door. Latching onto the slowly opening metal edge with its claws, it wrenches it open and disappears into the hall.

“It... ran?” Marr stiffens.

“It's trying to bait us out.” Horus takes the door and flings it aside before seizing Ceifador in two hands and dashing headlong after the beast.

“Wait, don't tell me it worked!” Torgaddon calls and sighs as he starts to lope after the Lupercal, only for Loken to press a palm to his chest.

“Tarik, get to the apothecarion! We'll keep him safe!” Loken darts off with Marr and the Widowmaker already pounding over the deck towards the disappearing primarch.

Klaxons echo through the halls of the Vengeful Spirit, red emergency lights bathing the grey ceramite in a sanguine shine. Blood pools here and there where crew lay scattered in pieces in the wake of the daemon. They were tracking the creature that drew itself further and further into the heart of the flagship, avoiding the worst of its opposition as if by instinct and tearing through lone legionnaires with reckless abandon.

The blaring alarms finally draw a growl of annoyance from the Lupercal, “I wish someone would silence that racket.” He glances down a four-way intersection, all suspiciously clear. Glancing up, clawmarks gouge the surface as it had evidently pulled itself up through a narrow servitor maintenance hatch.

“It went up.” Marr grumbles, getting only an unimpressed glare from the Widowmaker as they all slow to a halt in the crossroads.

“Above this is the apothecary laboratories, genevaults, environmentals, and hydroponics.” Loken mutters before looking at Kibre.

“Secondary tram hubs, no primary lines. Nothing defensible but plenty of places to hide or escape. Well, that and there's the spinal gates to the Engineerium.” The Widowmaker nods, “I doubt it'll go that way, too many servitors and mechanicum guards to wade through even if it can bypass the bulkhead doors.”

“It's not going to hide, it's leading us somewhere.” Horus snarls and sets off again down one of the halls as he mulls over his own unspoken ideas. The sextet follows after him only to come to a stop as the primarch halts in the middle of the hall, weapon outstretched.

"Horus?" Marr ventures, "What's wrong?"

Horus closes his eyes for a moment, breathing a little deeper and holding up a finger for silence. "If we can't track this thing, and we can't follow it, I have an idea about who can... she had better not be hiding under her blankets trying to ignore me."

'Luna.'

Darkness. It was often a comfort, though the blackness of a fainting or blackout spell was so often the pleasantness of oblivion until the inevitable morning. It was dreamless, formless. Or at least, it had been. There, hovering in front of her, Luna stares up at a pair of glittering eyes in the yawning depths of nothingness.

'Princess Luna.'

And if she didn't move, it was like they couldn't see her. But something about it was bizarrely uncomfortable, and not just the bizarre blue-red hetrochromia or the slitted pupils she tried to pretend weren't uncomfortably familiar. They both stared at her, in ruby and sapphire, unblinking but tracking her swimming movements in the ether.

'LUNA!'

A voice shakes the void in a concussive wave of sound.

'LUNA, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!'

Again, a stunned silence grips the Alicorn as she muddles through the unfamiliar sensation of a voice in her head.

'DAMN YOU, LITTLE HORSE! ANSWER ME!'

Luna waits for a moment, realizing the voice at long last. "Horus?"

'WHO ELSE?! NOW STOP HIDING LIKE A PATHETIC MEWLING FOAL AND GET OVER HERE, I NEED YOUR NOSE!'

"F-fine, fine... but why are you shouting?" Luna snorts, "This had better not just be about 'the thing'."

The sound of sliding granite and creaking steel bounces back. It was the sound of icebergs scraping against each other in the darkne- 'wait'. She recognizes the squeal of grinding teeth and the roiling sound of irritation from a cavernous chest magnified to unthinkable levels.

'I'll... Later. We'll deal with 'that' later.'

His deep and controlled voice was a different timbre, more controlled but no less dangerous. Part of it made her shiver, like when her sister used her full titular name and wouldn't glance her way. It was an unnerving and unpleasant tension "... you are absolutely sure it is not about-"

'GET YOUR HAUNCHES OUT OF BED AND DO SOMETHING, YOU MISERABLE MADDENING MARE!'

Luna tries to right herself, and with remarkable clarity, she stares into the red eye as the rest of the world blurs away with even less effort than it usually took to enter the dreamscape.

"Commander!" Kibre calls, head on a swivel as he scans for the ever-present sign of danger in the red-bathed hall, "Is everything-"

"Quiet." Horus grunts from a half trance, forehead beading with sweat as he opens his eyes again. While slightly glassy and glazed, he glances left and right only to spot the wavering form he'd expected. The blurry and indistinct equine form stands just off to his right, staring at him, outline flickering and hazy as the catalepsean node takes hold and lets the primarch enter the half-asleep state.

"There you are." he growls, getting a look of confusion from everyone present.

'Yes... how is... is this. Thou art resting, yet not?' Luna's confused voice bubbles up as if through a quiet veil, but Horus just nods.

Kibre's vision follows Horus's, but sees an empty space in the flashing hallway. "Comman-"

"Shut up, Falkus!" Horus' snarl breaks the silence as he looks back viciously over his shoulder. "You don't need to understand everything right now, only I do." with that, he settles on a somewhat taken aback Luna.

'This is,' she pauses, 'unsettling.'

"That's hardly my problem. You and Loken are the only ones here who have seen and fought one of these things. And you did seem to have the nose for finding spirits, so tell me, what do you see?" By now it wasn't just the silent Falkus Kibre that was staring in the Warmaster's direction, but the entire group with a wary mix of confusion and worry.

But Luna's shadow does look towards Loken, where the Warmaster had instinctively bobbed his head a moment before. 'It is difficult to see, there are still many shadows here and-'

"I didn't ask for some metaphysical communications check. Can you sniff anything out or not?" He growls to the open spot of deck plating that the ephemeral Alicorn occupies in his flickering mind's eye as the catalepsean node rhythmically sends small sections of his brain into deep REM sleep one after another.

'Of course I can sense them. But Horus Sedecem Lupercal, We are not a dog! And We shall not be used like a hound on a leash, it is undignified, unjustified-' Seeing Horus's continued glare, she glances down to see his hands grip the haft of her own halberd- 'That's mine.'

The primarch tilts his chin up and purses his lips, "I decided to borrow it for a little while longer. Now, let me rephrase this in no uncertain terms: I need you to sniff out that creature so I can hunt it down and kill it. Or rekill it. Or whatever it is that we've done before."

'Banish it. But Horus,' The amorphous blob of a pony quirks its head a bit, 'Why are you wearing a dress? Do not misunderstand, it is not the worst garment we have seen, but neither is it the most becoming garb for the occasion. Wait, is that the sheet from the stone bed?'

"Yes, I'm wearing it because I can't damned well fit into anyone elses armor, can I?"

'I shall say what I said to sister, thou needst to consume less sweets, and exercise more. You could simply disrobe, it serves no purpose and is likely ungainly, correct?'

The deathglare the pony gets melds with a furrowed brow and eye twitch. Horus's voice turns sharp and cold, "This is not the time, my crews are dying and I need answers. Are you going to provide them, or are you going to stand there nitpicking my wardrobe?"

'W-we.... yes, yes of course.' Luna swallows, head drooping as she turns to look around. 'We are sorry-'

"Don't be sorry, be useful. That will be enough." The primarch growls, and watches immediately as she follows the trail up to the entrance hatch, taking to wing and hovering beneath it. She pokes her head inside, scrambling up and hanging from it, getting more than one questioning stare from the primarch as she kicks her feet and tries to flap her wings.

To Luna, it was a shifting maze of black inky lines and juddering shadows, but a single thick oil slick leads in one direction down the narrow unlit channel. There's a single span in the distance, an upward chimney-like duct, still dripping black ichor. She ducks back out and clatters down on the hard surface, 'this way, then up.' she points to the right further down the corridor. 'But why are the lights flashing? Is that merely in the dream? And how are you asleep and awake?'

"It's headed towards the apothecary." Horus says sharply, taking off at a run in the direction the pony indicated. "It's the emergency lighting from the attack, and lets just say 'I can'. So can everyone else here."

'Truly?' she asks, while keeping pace beside him at a sprint.

"Yes, now be silent. It's hard enough to concentrate like this." he growls, listening to the phantom gallop of the quadruped keeping up with him.

'We had not thought ourselves that distracting, but perhaps it is a compliment all the same.' She mutters more to herself, in fact, completely to herself.

"I can still hear you." Horus growls as he takes a corner sharply, sliding around with the sheet rushing like the tail of an ancient statesmen's robe. He tugs it further on his frame with one hand, the other still clutching the halberd. The sprint is less than fifty meters before a mag-lift alcove appears. Taking the bend hard, he slides to a stop and slaps his palm on the ident reader panel on the cold ferrocrete sheet. The shuffling group slides into place behind him just as the mag lift doors yawn open and the safety rails slide down.

'How big is this castle? It appears to go on forever.' Horus doesn't answer, but a faint phantom smirk passes his features. It's gone in a moment, returned to its regal glower as he steps on the lift. With a small jolt, the platform rises. sharply

'Woah' Luna wavers, hooves shaking, getting a wry grin from Horus.

"Careful there." he cackles with a smile and keep scanning the darkness.

"Copy, Commander." Kibre mutters, taking up a spot at the front of the group, getting a bit of a grin from the Warmaster who adds nothing to correct him.

But as they travel upwards, Luna's attention had since drifted. The sounds of the whining lift grav plates mingle with something else, her attention focused squarely on Marr's bracer as the sharp carved edge of her cutie mark emblazoned upon it. He stands with his silvered blade raised upwards in a low guard, determination clear on his features that run much the same as Horus' own. 'He is your son, isn't he? Is that...'

Horus merely nods, getting a sidelong glance from Loken.

The captain could only see the Warmaster fixating on an empty space between himself and Marr with an certain amused intensity. But the Commander's eyes were definitely tracking something. Whether it was delusion or invisible assistant was impossible to tell.

'I would have thought... I thought the colt... We... assumed.' Luna drifts closer, seeing the blood spatter and unwavering features, nearly identical but for the green eyes that stare up into the darkness. 'He greatly resembles his father.' Some rippling quiver in the Alicorn's voice was off, like she wasn't sure if that was possible or should be. Was there a hint of disappointment, or relief, it jumbles together in a rattled sigh only the Warmaster hears.

The Alicorn seems to watch each and every one, though there was definitely a major focus of her attention on the supposed colt, now that she was seeing him as he was, even through hazy watercoloured blurs. But a sudden drip of black draws Luna's attention. Drawing in a sharp breath, she points to a simple door three levels up, 'there.'

"Good," Horus replies as the lift halts at the broken doorway and hisses to a stop, "Now, we're going to kill a creature that mankind once called a demon." The door opens with a rasp and scrape where the bent metal drags on the edge of the lift. It empties into a plain apothecarion lobby dominated by etchings of the medicae prime helix behind the triage terminal.

Low pained groans and bloody streaks line the concourse, but they spot movement beyond three bloody smears in the middle of the room with parts of two medical orderlies and a single armored limb laying crumpled against a pillar. More than a dozen orderlies in green medical scrubs huddle against the far sternward halls towards the operation theaters among a few grey imperial fleet crew, while four white-clad giants protectively in front of them in various states of dress. Three only have their medical smocks as they clutch surgical saws and reductor syringes while the forth, a one-armed armored apothecary still bleeding from his spot sitting on the floor, hefts a smoking bolt pistol leveled at the entrance to the laboratories. His gaze flicks to the recently arrived group.

'H-Horus, by the stars...' Luna's sickened gasp at the sight is heard only in the Warmaster's ears, and he patently ignores her.

"Commander?!" The wounded apothecary's shocked voice rocks the lobby as eyes fall upon the primarch from every corner of the room.

"I see you met our quarry. Which way?" Horus says as he strides into the aghast and stunned room, evidently enjoying the spectacle he caused,

"Y-yes commander. It went that way, towards the labs. H-here, I'll-" he hefts himself upwards to his knees as another of the apothecaries races forward to help the staggering warrior up now that the black-clad justarian were present.

"Don't you dare, here." The primarch strides over, picking up the wrenched off bloody limb from the pillar and tossing the ghastly item towards the other apothecary at his side. The man catches the limb, "take that and get yourself immediately to the operating theater, tell Vaddon to fix you first though he should be expecting more guests shortly."

"C-commander." A shivering female doctor stands from her protective huddle of other medical practitioners. "W-we haven't seen Vaddon in at least twelve hours."

"... is that so?" Horus clicks his teeth and nods to two of the Justarian, "You stay here, make sure that our ugly guest doesn't double back." he steps around the obviously dead corpse heaped in the middle of the theater, and quickly heads up the short sloped ramp towards a wing marked very obviously 'Laboratorium'.

Redoubling his pace, the Warmaster whispers covertly, "Thank you for your assistance, Luna-" he ignores Marr's sudden stutter, "But I think I'll need all my concentration now."

'Horus, WAIT!' She nearly wanders straight into his legs. 'You said we would be doing this together, we did before, and I can still help!'

Horus pauses for a moment, shooting the air a little glare, "Well don't expect me to just hand this back." he tightens his grasp on the halberd and straightens, taking a breath.

No one else present could hear Luna doing the same as the phantom pony gathers herself, looking at the gory red scene, seeing only twisted shapes, the world as sketchy and artistic as it had been when she entered the creepy grotto... and had been punched for her efforts. This 'apothecarion' bore some semblance to a hospital done in charcoal sketch, though the limbs and split open bodies were awash in splashes of red oil paints. And through it all, like black ink, she could spot the fading trail as if it was intentionally trying to lead them somewhere. 'Through there' Luna nods her head, still padding alongside the primarch.

Loken flashes a look of surprise and confusion Horus's way, but receives only a wide grin and knowing smirk. "Don't worry, I've not gone senile, Garviel. You'll just have to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Sir." Loken nods as the sound of a jostled crash cart echoes from further up the hall. The lights still flicker red, but as they enter the long radial hall, the three split level ramps separate the more sensitive portion of the Vengeful Spirit's medical decks. Glassteel doors show locked down lab rooms not in use, empty, well after research hours were over. But a single steel cart with an overturned medical test set lies scattered in mangled pieces, spewing shattered crystal specimen tubes and synthetic stoppers across their path to the lower reaches. The whirling crimson light reflects in the shattered and crushed shards, scattered like rubies down the grated slope to the lower level research labs.

"It definitely came through here." Horus grunts, never once stopping as he heads down the ramp.

'That is what We said.' Luna snorts, but slows her pace as she peeks over the lip.

At the bottom is another blood trail, this time smeared across the floor with shredded bits of pink flesh that appear black in the alternating light. Horus descends, and spots the sunken pits and operating rooms immediately. But something else, at the rear-most corner catches his eye. One of the centerfuge rooms for medical studies is lit, stark pink light flooding through the glassteel window panel. In front of it is the towering inhuman shape silhouetted by the grim light.

"Horus Horse-tamed. It will be your legacy. You are a worse degenerate than that lunatic Curze." The daemonic figure licks its bestial muzzle clean of gore and begins to cackle, its laugh bubbling like a toxic stew as sludge pours from its lipless maw. Still, Horus edges forward with his detail a step behind, "He knows. Others know, too. Others will see your weakness for what it is. Even your sons. You have no-"

Quick as lightning from a clear sky, the primarch hurls the halberd like a javelin. Though the creature was swift and tumbles to the side, the halberd catches it high in the shoulder, punching through the bulging ceramite plate and pinning the squealing beast to the wall behind it. Snatching the executioners axe and wrenching it from the Widowmaker's grasp, Horus thunders across the space with the murderous weapon upraised for a killing stroke.

The creature pulls itself away from the embedded weapon, shedding its entire upper right side as it splits deep into its chest, forming a fanged maw in the gash as the arm and flaps of skin twist into a writhing tentacle. Luna's racked breath hisses in the primarchs ears, and there's a low crystalline chime. The beast stumbles, lashing out at the primarch and scattering foul smelling fluids from its suppurating wound. A spray spatters on the Warmaster's makeshift robe, turning sickly black with spidering veins of contagion blooming in mossy growths across the fabric. But a flicker of white blue flame, the rest burns away before touching his skin.

Marr charges in with Loken and the Justarian behind him. Kibre's hand had already settled on a short stabbing dagger at the back of his waist behind his cloak as he closest in from the side.

The creature lashes out with an unnatural scream, its clawed hand at the end of the unnaturally flexible scrap of flesh that had formed a lower mandible on that portion of its body. It claws against the Warmaster's shoulder, but seems to rebound at the last second with a sizzling hiss and accompanying screech as the limb shrivels back with the same white blue flicker. Then, the axe descends.

With two hacking blows, the other arm is sheered off, then the creature's head is lopped from its shoulder. The body continues to write, pouring black ichor from the wounds as the head keeps screeching as the Warmaster takes a step back to wind up another blow like a lumberjack. Marr's long blade slams into the wound from the side, puncturing through where its primary and secondary hearts should be, only for the right talons to stretch out and shred a craggy furrow through his pauldron.

Marr snarls and steps back as a Justarian's lightning claw slashes the outstretched talons to ribbons. The screaming finally stops when Kibre drives the dagger through the eye socket of the severed head. The body continues to thrash and writhe, but the Lupercal swings the axe hard, spattering the interior of the lab with clotted black gore, chopping limbs from the corpse one after another until nothing remains intact.

Covered in the stinking black blood of their foe, the group slowly steps back, just as the mystic halberd fades with a wisp of smoke. The sudden silence leaves the lower research labs in relative peace aside from the flicker of a sodium bulb. The klaxons, for the time being, had ceased. "Just like last time." Horus cackles, barely breathing hard at all, "they all love to spout their little monologues."

"Sacred Unity..." Loken draws a sharp breath, looking sidelong past the kneeling Falkus Kibre and into the illuminated lab entrance. Through the pink smeared transparent wall, all eyes were drawn to the figure slumped over the table-sized centerfuge in a familiar green medical smock, stained black and red. "Vaddon."

The hallway wasn't a trap, it was a stand for their foes as well as a test for the chosen sons of the gods. Shields raised, they plunge forward into the wide T intersection, one that ended with the three story tall gantries surrounding the armoury, banners strung about them representing the mortal auxiliaries of Horus Lupercal and that of the wardens of the Vengeful Spirit. What awaited them was exactly what they had all expected.

Dozens of predatory Cthonians gather in feral packs, chainswords humming and bolters raised in preparation. Mortal armsmen crowd the gantries, aiming autorifles and stationary support weapons from the railings ascending into the darkened heights of the immense arterial hall. Hashutz' thirty five legionnaires would barely fill two ranks across the span now crowded with at least as many of the motley Horusian warriors.

There at the front is a single black armored terminator with a red flowing cloak and spiked helm. The warden chieftain, master of the Spirit's terminator guard, stands still and points the finger of a crackling power first at them while hefting a long Cthonian blade in the other. And there, at the rear, was a single thick armored ceramite blastdoor leading to the armory.

“Where there is uncertainty, shall we bring the light!” Hashutz's eyes burn with a light of a dying star, mouth twisting into a rictus grin as he sweeps his thunderhammer aloft, his troops gathering in their wide V shaped shield wall with him at their center. The thunderstorm erupts. Sons of Horus open fire, sending blossoms of flame and sheets of bolts scything into the gathering Word Bearers, battering the shield wall. The accompanying chorus of chattering autoguns and thumping grenade launchers illuminates the gantries in ribbons of flame. Word Bearers breachers tumble forward, overwhelmed by the hurricane of fire as the fury of vengeful sons is slaked in a single cataclysmic roar.

Hashutz ignores the blazing runes warning of bolter impacts raking his shield and deflecting off his reinforced helm with enough force to send shockwaves through his skin and dampen his helmet's preysense from the light bloom. “Where there is doubt, shall we sow faith!” It was a remarkable feeling, one stolen so long ago and back in force as his hearts flutter with a burst of elation.

Joy.

“Where there is shame, shall we restore pride!”

Joy of finally wrenching aside the proverbial hand that had laid on the back of their necks since Khur. Joy at the feeling of eternal frustration finally released in one bitter scream of anger. Joy at the words he felt spewing from his cracked lips. And joy that he could see the looks of equal hatred and bestial rage in those that opposed them. He was the first breacher to trundle forward, but not the last as the echoing cry arises around him.

"We bring his word!"

“Where there is rage," Hashutz was linked into every vox in his breacher platoon, every Word Bearer still alive on the vessel, and if the lieutenant had done his job, every vox on the Vengeful Spirit. "shall we harness it!”

Their terminator chieftain breaking in among their vox-net instead, momentarily stealing Hashutz words away, "fine sermonizing, Colchisian." his voice echos in a condescending chortle, softer than the typical harsh consonants of the Cthonic accent, though Hashutz couldn't place it. "Lets try something simple: Sons of Horus, no prisoners!"

Not content to await the Word Bearers, a savage undulating cry rises from among the Sons of Horus as they hurl themselves forward. A Cthonian slams into the shield wall to his left, bulling his way among them and stabbing with a chainsword. The blade bites into a corporal who drops in a frothing bloody heap, moments before Hashutz' thunderhammer finds its way around to smash the Cthonian in a downward sweep of bloody ruin. But the gap was made, and where one fell, another pair of top-knot barbarian Cthonians sweep in to hack at them.

Terran. Cthonian. Saturnite. Let the galaxy send everyone to them, drown them in blood and bodies. But now, Hashutz of Colchis could hear the song of eternities. Kor Phaeron was right.

The melta bomb on his hip clacks as if in anticipation as well. He could do it. Get to the armory, fight his way through, and carve a hole in the legion's collective memory so that they would know the pain that could lead them to the light. Just like Monarchia. Then they would know a measure of their own resolve. Then, perhaps, they would be ready to be transformed.

Fighting equals was different than the unprepared. His own warriors had trained to fight each other, but this was different. The rattling fire of autoguns from the soaring catwalks had been hesitant, but the ferocious howls of Cthonic rage had been immediate. They had been allowed just long enough to get into the hall and even then he was sure he saw the anger. The bolter fire didn't slacken until the moment the green and black tide actually slams into them as Cthonians throw themselves at the shield wall with reckless rage-addled abandon.

It was intoxicating.

The song echoes around him as more breachers try to force their way in, but a shoulder slams against his shield and forces him to lean into the impact. His left arm strains to keep the slab of adamantium down as fingers grip the bottom to force a gap wide enough to plunge an icicle-tip poignard into his knee joint. But as it was, he was forcefully shoved back across the smooth metal decking with an audible screech of protesting metal.

The Cthonian barked something in his harsh palatal native speech, something Hashutz couldn't understand as was likely glad not to. But he did slam the butt of his thunderhammer down on the warrior, feeling the helmet's comb dent though it didn't stop the shield from rising as the legionnaire opens a gap. Hashutz slams his knee forward against his shield, unbalancing his opponent and driving him back a pace as the dagger skitters back out of reach. It opens just enough room so he could swing the thunderhammer to pulverize the legionnaire's right side in a flurry of shattered battleplate and aerosolized blood.

Hashutz tries to barrel his shoulder forward and raise his thunderhammer for another swing when the guttural roar of a terminator warden shakes the room. They had evidently hidden among the packs along the left and right flank only to throw themselves into the fray, and Hashutz had more-or-less forgotten about them. But he could see the monstrous warriors in his peripheral vision where his Colchisian brothers should be, their blood soaked axes rising and falling with a frenzied animus.

Bits of broken plasteel from a shattered shield ricochet off his pauldron, and he slams his shoulder into his barrier as two more Cthonians replace the one that fell. He swings his weapon in a wide arc, one opponent ducking, the other dodging back while slicing a scraggly line across his bracer with the monomolecular tip of his poignard.

"I'm going to cut your throat, maggot!" The fiery black-pauldroned warrior etched in barbaric gang-markings throws himself forward again. He was off-balance, and Hashutz had to meet the charge with his own, shield bashing the warrior and throwing him flat. Instead of staying put, he carries on and bulls the second legionnaire out of his way as he breaks from the cover of his formation and into the whirling maelstrom of Cthonic rage.

It was a dangerous gambit, but Hashutz could hear the song of eternities now.

All around him echoes the celestial machinations of the gods, the pounding of blood in his ears. His brothers were behind him... or they were dead. He could hear the clatter of armored feet to his left and right. Either way, he carries forward with the burble of a spluttering vox babbling meaningless words in his ears. Hashutz forces his way forward, swinging the hammer high overhead and sending it crashing down onto an unsuspecting terminator warden to his left. The feeling of invulnerability swells as a heady aphrodisiac when he sees the tasset plates and thigh of his opponent disappear in an explosive concussion of spattering red.

Invulnerable.

Invincible.

He lashes out again, scattering another pair of legionnaires to the eight winds. Swinging the hammer back, it rings harshly on shimmering steel, and stays put. The leering face of the terminator chieftain pulls itself closer, blood red eyes staring into his chilly blue visor. “That's far enough.” He slams his energized fist out and shatters the shield in a rocking 'bang' of overlapping energy fields.

Hashutz is thrown back through the crowd, slamming into bodies and even slumping off a breacher shield that props him up in a sitting position. The broken tatters of his protection hangs from his bent and twisted left vambrace as the reality of the tartaros chieftain's presence sinks in. With the scarlet cloak swirling around him, he could hear the roar of sound from behind him, Colchisian speech calling words of warning amid shots and cries, of exploding rounds, and the roar of chainblades.

Hashutz looks around or a moment, casting about for the hammer that had slipped from his grasp during the fall. He turns over, spotting it nestled up against the side of a dead legionnaire. A dead Word Bearer. Slowly, he looks up and its patently clear, the shield wall is gone.

Individual breachers try to cluster back into some semblance of order, but some had turned, firing and thrusting stabbing blades back as if within their own ranks... it was in their own ranks. The warden terminators shattered both sides, pincering in to block off their escape, while sea green Sons of Horus pull themselves from the shattered blast door and throw themselves into the fray.

“-shutz, repeat!" the vox finally clears as his blood turns to ice, "They got around behind us!”

Hashutz pulls himself up to one knee, watching mutely as the two realities of what he thought and what he sees, breaks apart the delusions. Shattered Word Bearers lay around him, Cthonian despoiler troops double-team his lone warriors like wolves, darting in to draw a deflecting blade while the other fights to pin limbs and open vulnerable joints. The line of unbroken grey was a swirling maelstrom of wrath and ruin.

Looking at the terminator captain, Hashutz grasps his thunderhammer and rises to his feet. The combatants part around him as the tartaros-clad lord wades through his warriors, letting his longblade rest easily in both hands, powerfist gripping the pommel.

Hashutz staggers from side to side for a moment. "We are the chosen sons of the gods, and so are you, Cthonian. In time, you shall ALL see. The rightful rulers will not be denied! Glory to the martyrs! For we shall be remembered for eternity!"

Hashutz throws himself forward with a howl, the over-head sweep would obliterate any mortal or astartes alike. But their captain weaves aside nimbly in the terminator plate, elbow gliding along Hashutz' gauntlet and letting the hammer strike the synthscale cloak. A sharp pain radiates out from the back of his leg, and taking a step forward to turn, Hashutz stumbles as the servos whine in protest.

The chieftain had twisted back to face him, crackling blood sizzling off the long blade. "Chosen sons of the gods?" The warden chieftain scoffs, "What next, vague prophecies and a few petty miracles? Have you learned nothing since Khur?! There. Are. No. Gods." each word thunders from his throat in a vile bark of contempt, "But, I'll let you in on a secret-"

Each little shift releases pain balms into Hashutz bloodstream as his mind quickly tells him the truth: the Cthonic bastard had hamstrung him!

Hashutz looks up, practically seeing the smirk on the faceless mask dominated by a shock of blood red from a horse hair plume. "There are such things as chosen sons, and if you wish, you may bow to us. We belong to Horus Lupercal. That's as close to a god as you need."

Taking a moment and feeling the venom of the terminator's mockery wash over him, Hashutz stumbles forward to sweep the hammer upwards in a wide arc, only for the over-extension to leave him open. The warden captain steps back as Hashutz rotates, thrusting the blade forward and gliding the killing blade up along his arm, splitting his rearbrace along his bicep and snipping the power feeds.

The Cthonian laughs, a dark and hard sound completely devoid of mirth. “Where's your fire and fury now, Word Bearer?”

Pulling himself back, Hashutz smirks beneath his helm, feeling the sting of sweat in his eyes. “Your hubris will be your undoing.” he shifts into a defensive crouch.

“Probably,” The Cthonian lunges forward, terminator plate whining as more power floods through its synthetic veins and the power field flickers to nothing but a static hum. It was too good to miss, and Hashutz throws the hammer in a massive round-about sweep, only to find the Cthonic blade sweep out and snip the power coupling connecting the hammer to its generator. It fizzles in a shower of sparks, and then slams into the terminator's pauldron with the sound of a ringing bell. But it was just steel, nothing more.

Painful vibrations ripple back through Hashutz limbs as the captain reaches out with his powerfist, covering both the warrior's hands and the hammer's haft, "But not by you."

With a crackle and pneumatic whine, the powerfist activates. A radiating pain flares through Hashutz' hands as they're crushed in a crinkling snap of bone and plate. He draws in a sharp breath as the terminator captain pulls with all his might, tearing the ruined thunderhammer from his grasp and sending it scraping across the ceramite deck.

Hashutz falls to his knees, looking at the twisted ruins of his barely recognizable forearms. The chieftain's voice barely registers in his ears.

“I told you that you may bow." He taps an unenergized powerfist to his breastplate three times, a gesture lost on the Word Bearer. "Though, remember what I said: no prisoners. But don't worry, I will remember you." he looks to his warriors, letting Hashutz glance around as the Cthonian legionnaires carve into the remaining Word Bearers. He presses the sword edge against the flex steel mesh of Hashutz' throat and pulls the blade across in a single sharp draw. “Kill the rest, keep the heads."

With a gasping shake, the princess kicks her hind hooves and jolts awake as her hoof bangs into a wall. Luna twists and turns suddenly, turning onto her belly and tangling herself up in a mass of thin green medical sheets. Lights still flicker from arcane luminescent orbs and beeswax candles, reflecting crazy shadows from her blurry eyes. She groans and grumbles, feeling the weak trace of cold air flick across her sweat-stained fur. The sensation only helps to fuel the rising gorge in her stomach as the last few images flash in front of her waking eyes.

She'd seen battles and horrors before, but there was something about the callous way none of Horus's half-dozen sons shied away from them that put her ill at ease. Stallions staring at dismembered corpses and open organs, the single almost blasè warrior seated on the ground clearly in shock but still unaffected by the loss of a limb. It all rings so bizarrely out of touch with what she knew despite having, at various points, seen each of these before.

"How could he think to just dismiss Us like that?" Luna mumbles in a half-awake stupor.

"P-prinzess Luda!" a stuffy female voice calls that sounds mostly familiar. Sure enough, the off-white magi Moondancer stands at her bedside, her nose stuffed with two pink-tinted wisps of cotton batting. The mare smiles awkwardly, "are you awright?"

"We are fine, perfectly fine." she harrumphs indignantly, laying her head on a pillow and keeping her frown. But with a blink, she turns to the Unicorn attendant. "What afflicts thee?"

Moondancer licks her lips and looks aside, "Ummm... you laded od my muzzle afder you fainded."

"Oh." Luna's cheeks burn red as she settles her face deeper in the pillow, "We apologize, magi."

"And you subtimes kick in your sleep." Moondancer continues as she gingerly touches her swollen muzzle.

"... V-verily, we apologize." Luna groans from her pillow.

Moondancer, perhaps sensing she was on a roll, just shrugs a little, "Guess you didn't 'dow that, huh?"

The Alicorn stiffens, and slowly raises her face up from the pillow. There was a sharp, judgmental stare gracing her tired features. "Mistress Moondancer, do prey tell, exactly how should We know We kick in Our sleep?" Moondancer's eyes widen as she mentally backtracks to exactly what she'd just said.

Chapter 38: Canterlot Nights

Dusk passes more quickly and quietly in the ensuing days. Night folds in and cloaks the land in its comforting embrace, but it's not the same as it once was. The stars no longer shine as bright or twinkle so warmly in the misty firmament. The stillness of the night, the absence of dreams, the strange aura in the dark: while Equestrians knew the night held little to fear these days, the yawning void was a disconcerting pall cast over the land that even the coming dawn didn't fully dispel.

Three days of suffocating stillness and the council had finally yielded the day to Celestia once more. However, the Night Court still lay deserted. All but a small coterie of nocturnal guards were barred to the audience hall despite the cadres of ponies that ventured to the castle in the night shrouded hours. Even if they were turned away without explanation, those individuals didn't escape notice. A shade stands atop the battlements of the upper observatory jutting from Canterlot Castle. Shining red-rimmed cyan eyes pierce the gloom, watching as another small tangle of ponies meander from the open front doors, escorted by a pair of her night guard.

Luna takes a breath, inhaling the chilly wisps of mist that drift from further up Mount Canterlot. She should be talking with her subjects, but the Princess of the Night merely stands and watches, the brass and steel rimmed telescope lazily resting close at hoof on its thin silver tripod. She hadn't used it much, even when the opportunity presented itself. Like now. Instead, she squints and picks out the little bobbing lantern glow from five ponies that had departed the castle and now wend their way through Canterlot's serpentine High Market streets. She loses sight of them once or twice, but focuses on picking them up when they pass by limp pennants that hang from the spires of noble merchant houses.

“..ncess Luna?” A soft feminine voice breaks her concentration. Gazing over her shoulder, trying to shake off the fugue, Luna glimpses a now familiar periwinkle Unicorn softly lit by a black cast iron lantern.

“Oh, 'tis thou, Miss Barnyard.” Luna nods and gestures for her to approach.

With a touch of hesitation, the doctor pads over and sets the lantern down. “Sorry, your majesty. But you didn't show up for your evening check in and I was afraid something might be...” she trails off, but the tight clutch of Luna's wing to her barrel doesn't escape notice. “It's not getting any better?”

“It will.” Luna snips back tersely.

“But it hasn't improved or worsened, correct? Is there any inflammation, any point of physical harm?” Seeing the medical talk wasn't helping her patient, the Unicorn falls silent to await Luna's reply.

“We have been through worse and persevered, physician.” Luna's cold voice trails off into the chilly night air.

Barnyard takes a breath, biting back whatever reply might have formed in her mind before rising and circling around the Alicorn to the far side, the 'protected' side. “May I see, your majesty?”

While no verbal reply is forthcoming, Luna also makes no move to rebuke her. Still, Barnyard keeps her distance until she had too; the swelling of her snout had only just gone down. Luna's awakening after she passed out may not have been exactly violent, spastic may have been closer. It turns out, Moondancer had been correct: the princess did kick in her sleep. A reflective backlash had sat Barnyard on her haunches the night before, and it had been just a relative tap.

Gingerly taking the wing, she stretches it out and carefully watches Luna's muscles twitch and tense as the princess fought back the obvious wave of pain. Slowly and tenderly, the doctor eases the wing to its full extension to expose the joint. It didn't look it until the fur was brushed aside by a pale arcane aura, but combing through to her flesh showed the dark banded bruising and black flesh like some sort of deep frostbite.

“Well, it hasn't spread.” Barnyard replies and licks her lips before gently rasping one of her primary feathers back. Luna twitches back and jolts from the sharp pain. “But sensation is still there. That's good.” Slowly and carefully the doctor tries to aid the Alicorn folding the wing back to her body. “Princess, I still have a lot of medical texts to go through. If I speak to my colleagues-”

“You will do no such thing.” Luna's guttural growl sends shivers up Barnyard's spine. It was recent. The Canterlot 'royal voice' had been a subject of jokes and plays for centuries, but for the past few days, a serpentine seething or bestial snarl had emerged. It could even send her retainer guards scampering away.

“P-princess...” Barnyard stammers, flinching away.

“We took you for our personal physician because we were given less of a choice than we wished. Princess Sparkle has abstained from the role until she has fully prepared and passed her medial terminology, and whatever other bloodletting rituals you chirurgeons have concocted." The princess snorts in distaste, "And convinced the bispectacled magi to do the same. Nor could We call upon Starlight Glimmer, or Sunset Shimmer.” She takes a breath, recognizing another clop of hooves ascending the winding staircase just inside her observatory. Doctor Barnyard's ears splay back, and she trembles, too focused to take notice of their intruder.

Doctor Barnyard just quietly stammers a reply, “I'm s-sorry, Prin-”

“Do not be sorry, be useful. When thou proves thy worth, then We shall be satisfied.” Luna tilts her chin up and takes a breath again. “Thou willst not be dismissed for the performance of thy duties.”

Doctor Barnyard nods and half rises, haunch off the stone battlement. But she hesitates, nerving herself up with a deep inhale, “I'd prefer it if you had a full check up and inspection done in the morning. We need to know if there's any physiological considerations in addition to thaumotological complications. And, as you see fit not to allow me to seek outside assistance, perhaps it is best if you officially recognize Princess Sparkle as more than an aid regardless of her reservations. It is your privilege to do so, according to the college of practitioners charter. Good night, Princess.” she bows, rump up, head down like some teeter-totter, before swiftly trotting away, completely forgetting the hooded lantern.

Hearing the little squeak, Luna keeps her gaze focused squarely on her city, knowing the two individuals nearly collided. She doesn't need to ask who it is, instead, she waits to hear the patter of hoof falls disappear into the depths of the tower. “You have recorded everything you remember?”

“Yes, Princess.” The Unicorn watches from the doorway. "Wasn't that a little harsh? Not to mention pretty impersonal."

Luna sniffs, but offers no rebuttal. “And you are certain you want to go back near there, Sunset Shimmer?” The princess pushes on with her own line of questioning, the stilted early-modern speech draining away in the stale night air.

“I'm not sure I really have much of a choice, do I?” Sunset steps out onto the balcony, hesitating just long enough for Luna to pat a seat next to her.

“You always have a choice,” The princess replies before taking a breath. “does 'it' still appear in your dreams?”

Sunset sighs and nods before replying, “Yeah. I'm afraid to go back, but I still feel her watching me even here. Something, she did something, and I don't quite remember. I think I told her something, and I don't remember what. But she's definitely watching.”

“And you still want to come?” Luna finally glances over, seeing the Unicorn staring down out over the city as well. Sunset's eyes hadn't focused on any one thing, wide and dilated as they are, but instead she takes in everything at once.

“Absolutely. Besides, if she's a dream creature, who better to have nearby in case something happens?” Sunset looks up to see Luna staring at her with a wry smile.

“I once held a discussion with a dignitary, miss Rose Field, who once said that when one looks fear in the face, you are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror, and I can take the next thing that comes along, too.'” She keeps looking, feeling Sunset's gaze locked with hers. The princess nods in self-assured finality. “You, Sunset Shimmer, remind me much of her. You have the understanding to not be brash, the strength to not hide, the wisdom to listen, and the intellect to speak. I see why my sister chose you for her protege.”

Sunset winces and hisses lightly, letting her gaze trail down between her hooves. “So, she really did tell you all about that.”

“Yes.” Luna reaches out to tip her chin up to once again set her gaze up. Ears back and lips pursed just a little too tight, she tries to look away in shame. “And we understand that weight of guilt better than almost anypony alive. 'Tis true, my sister would likely not consider you her protege after your choices, and you are being instructed and aided by Princess Sparkle, but that need not be all. What if you came to be my apprentice?” Seeing Sunset's open mouth and perked up ears, Luna slips her hoof from the Unicorn's chin to her lips. “I have decided that it would be prudent to gather a small group of talented whom shall act as my aids and confidantes in any future dealings regarding the other realm. Which means I shall require those ponies at my side. You were there, you saw, and thus you have experience. Sunset Shimmer, I can think of no other pony that I would rather ask first.”

"Not even Twilight?" Sunset squeaks in surprise.

"Magi- that is, Princess Sparkle is too hidebound, too inflexible in certain instances." Luna blows a breath from her nostrils, "She will be instrumental, yes, but I said 'first'."

Sunset just nods and avoids answering for a moment. But seeing Luna's smile slip into something more formal and polite, Sunset reddens. “C-can I think about it for a while? I mean, I still have so much back home and...”

“Of course.” Luna replies neutrally. “Are you still willing to continue, Sunset Shimmer?”

The Unicorn rises to all fours, taking a last glance out over the balcony edge and across the city that fell away beneath her. She savors the pale threads of dwindling starlight and takes in a lungful of misty air tumbling down the mountain slopes. “Alright,” she breathes out, “Lets go.”

“You've gotta be joking, Twi. Whaddya mean you were in Canterlot the whole time? UUUUuuugh.” Rainbow Dash just grumbles, tossing her flight goggles by the red divan in the corner, making Rarity to balk at the sudden accessory tossed into her folded forehooves. She shoots a withering glare past the needle she was threading in front of her face, but the oblivious pegasus was completely immune to it. The fashionista wrinkles her muzzle as Rainbow trots by Applejack, seeming to enjoy the roar of the fire, or perhaps liking how the stark flame cast long eerie shadows across the rest of the room. She ruffles her own messy prismatic mane to get out the frustration. “I was three bucking minutes away at the front gate the whole time... how come I never-”

“Sugarcube, ain't no train coming through those gates.” a soft clock of a hoof on skull echoes to a chorus of a few giggles and at least one guffaw. “They couldn't ah known, neither could ya.”

In the somewhat stuffy and slightly too small Canterlotian living room, two other ponies work in relative peace and quiet. Twilight and Moondancer sprawl across the central couch, books cluttered and even layered over a paper strewn coffee table while several more grace nearby chair arms. A shock of Fluttershy's pink hair sticks out from under a towel as she lays on a plush buttercream wool and white lace blanket by the fireside near Twilight. Her cyan eyes twinkling as she follows another pair shining in the dark. A smile forming as she silently communicates with a tiny mouse slowly edging towards a crumb that fell from the iron grating on a sweeping cooking arm above the hearth.

The rasping crackle of a warm fire is tended to after a few moments by a content Applejack despite being glared at by the prismatic pegasus.

Rainbow huffs and trots by, her fur still slicked in spots and stuck out like bullrushes on a frozen pond. The Wonderbolts uniform still awkwardly hangs from one of her two sets of saddle bags as she gives the earth mare's flank a sharp snap of her tail. The little 'woah' and mock glare from Applejack only gets a sour raspberry in return.

Raritya shakes her head with a sigh and licks her lips before delicately threading a needle, the pale blue thread snaking through and knotting itself. But she gives an audible sniff and wrinkles her muzzle as Rainbow passively asks, “Hey, where's Pinkie?”

Rarity looks down her snout through a pair of designer cherry red cats-eye glasses, “Kitchen. Rainbow, darling, forgive me for saying but you smell just the teensiest bit ripe. Wouldn't you rather, oh, I don't know... freshen up a bit?”

“Yeah yeah, gimme a break.” Rainbow huffs and inelegantly drops one of her saddlebags down at the foot of the divan. Rainbow just ignores Rarity's wrinkled muzzle of distaste as she cringes at the sloppy grime encrusted bags. “I pay for a ticket to get to Ponyville so I don't have to stick around and shower with some grungy castle guards, then I get to the station and there's a note waiting for me saying to meet you here? Look, I'm dead on my hooves here and somepony couldn't hold her halter.”

“What? It ain't me. Ah don't care whatcha smell like, formative time in a barn'n all, if'n ya don't recollect, hon.” AJ just shrugs defensively and turns back to stoking the fire.

“C'mon AJ, I didn't mean you.” Rainbow turns, shooting a look to the kitchen entrance, a partially open sliding door with the only notable feature being it was off its track and wobbled like it was about to fall.

“I said it was a joke, Dashie! C'mon, you're not still mad at that, are ya?” Pinkie's voice rings out along with a puttering wheeze. “Awwww... my souffle.”

“HAH! The Great and Powerful Trixie isn't responsible! She told you! You lost the bet and now you will make Trixie whatever she desires!” Another accompanying voice calls while a third just sighs. The tap of weary hooves echoes from the kitchen as a frazzled Starlight rounds the bend to look at a nonplussed Rainbow Dash.

“Greaaaaat," she lowers her irritated voice to a breathy stage whisper, "I just figured out a way to keep them from talking or fighting with a souffle bake off and now we're back to square one.” Starlight just waves a hoof and trots past Rainbow to a spot on the couch between Moondancer and Twilight. She levitates off one book, neatly places it open on the coffee table, before flopping face down on the couch.

“Admittedly, not a bad idea. Novel, sounds pretty ridiculous, but it got results for, like, ten minutes.” Moondancer shrugs, still not looking up from her book. But the sharp scowl was gone, and even though her eyes skim lines of text in an aged weatherworn medical journal, there was a lightness to them.

“What can I say, I know my mare.” The awkward silence for a moment lasted for just longer than the skipped heartbeat as Starlight stiffens, “Not that she's mine, just.. I mean, when you're.”

“Starlight, I really don't care.” Moondancer twitches her muzzle and sniffs, “Just don't get my sheets wet.”

“Awwwww gross, I didn't need to hear that.” Rainbow groans and pauses at the kitchen, as if blankly wondering if it was worth entering the fray at the sound of clanging pots rattling around in lazy circles on the floor.

Moondancer just glances up at that, staring blankly at her too. “Uh-huh... sure. That goes for you too: don't get my sheets sweaty, musty, or otherwise disgusting. Shower's the second floor, first door on the left. The yellow one just took one so I don't know how much hot water's left so, y'know, don't blame me if you freeze your teats off.” She flips a page haphazardly.

“It's Fluttershy, Moondancer.” Twilight repeats in her disconnected blasè way as if by rote.

“I don't mind.” Fluttershy's timid voice still reaches their ears, though Moondancer's have to pivot to actually pick it up. The soft yellow pegasus sneaks a hoof out as the mouse edges closer.

“If we're gonna be staying here, everypony should try to get along.” Twilight replies while using her magic to levitate a quill and pop open a vial of ink.

The Alicorn goes back to her writing as Rainbow takes a breath, plunging into the kitchen with an unconvincing, "heeeeeey you two," echoing in everypony's ears.

“Darling, not to sound churlish or ungrateful, but why precisely are we here invading your abode? We could very well take a hotel, or stay in one of the castle suites.” Rarity asks while focusing on the few precisely placed strips of lavender and pastel blue. But after a moment and sideways glance at Rainbow's grubby saddlebags, she sweeps the fabric aside and picks up the containers to restitch a loose button. Celestia knew that wouldn't be the last 'fix' or 'alteration' that bag saw.

“Only if you want to sleep on a thin cot or share it with Luna.” Moondancer grumbles, “With the medical staff and secrecy about the whole thing, there's no extra rooms. I'm already in Canterlot, Twilight's a friend, Sunset's okay though a little flaky right now, Starlight's pretty okay, I guess I owe Pinkie for last time, Trixie's a grade A whorse but she's got her leash so whatever. Long story short, they asked if I could put you up and I didn't say no and frankly I expected more time at the castle before Twilight thought it would be a good idea to point out I didn't have the certification I 'technically' needed to be Luna's nurse."

Despite Starlight's reddened face and slight spluttering wheeze at the reply, it did get a bit of a laugh from AJ. “You probably would've made a new friend in one if'n Rainbow would'a heard that.”

“That's not nice you two.” Twilight again resumes her post of unenthusiastic moderator.

“Ain't apologizing fer that, you know it's true, Twi.” Applejack finishes with the fire, placing the fire poker aside and circling back around to Fluttershy. “Scoot on over, Sugarcube.” she smirks, settling in and curling up alongside her friend basking in the soft glow, in the absence of any more chairs. But it was friendly, pleasant enough to be just a hooflength from Twilight. “Hey, Starlight?”

“Mmm?” comes the tired reply from the mare who had been playing peacemaker all day.

“Did ya meet Sunset?” Applejack asks, turning back to look over.

“Yeah I... thought I told you I met her last time.” Starlight rolls over onto her side, curled up against the comfortable brown cloth couch before turning to look back at a blank faced AJ. “Did I seriously not tell anypony about that? Ugh, fine. Yeah, she's cool.”

“Well that's nice, glad ya got to make a new friend. So when are we gonna meet her?” Applejack lofts a brow, looking at Twilight.

That gets a momentary blink before the Alicorn looks over, then up at an aged brass clock hanging jauntily on the wall. Perched off-center between the closed doors to a broom closet and the rickety foot of the wooden staircase, it reads 9:24 after Twilight uses a light arcane touch to straighten it.

“Well,” Twilight muses, “She's been sleeping for a good six and a half hours now and missed dinner.”

“We all did.” Moondancer interjects.

“Mmm, I try to make a habit of not eating after eight. It's bad for one's figure, sleeping on a full stomach.” Rarity replies, but the fugitive peek to the side and curl of her muzzle caught at least Applejack's attention. “But I couldn't possibly say no to a night cap, s'il vous plait.”

“The fancy means 'I want it now'.” Applejack's smirk gets an indignant huff from the divan's occupant. She hefts herself up, giving Fluttershy a little bump and making sure not to trouble her as she bounds over the prone pony. “Ah'll getcha somethin. Rainbow might need it after her shower, ain't no way ah'm gonna deal with that filly like that if'n I draw the short straw and have ta share.”

“I thought you said you didn't mind?” Moondancer lofts a brow and fixes Applejack with a curious gaze.

“Ah don't mind a smell, but grit'n grime ain't comfortable by a long shot. Bad enough she shuffles in 'er sleep like a jackrabbit on a hot tin roof.” Applejack shakes her head and, with a steadying breath, traipses into the kitchen from where voices were already rising between a shrill Pinkie and even louder Trixie.

Moondancer looks to Starlight, fixing her a look as she asks 'what?' before turning to Twilight. "I can say Luna does the same, but that's because she kicked me in the face when I went to check on her. Should I ask what's her excuse or, like, leave that alone?"

“Applejack usually volunteers if we have to share sleeping arrangements on a mission,” Twilight explains with a sigh, “She also tends to draw the short straw. Rainbow snores and flails, according to Applejack at least.”

“Mmm, it's true, darling. When we were on our camping trip she was a bit of a hellion. Needless to say, it was far from restful.” Rarity keeps her voice low, letting it scrape by under the din of the kitchen.

But Moondancer was looking at her. It's a sharp, calculating look that makes Rarity smirk and coyly glance aside.

Moondancer's mouth hung open, and a slight smirk forms as the pale purple maned fashionista snips the thread and binds it to a white thread before switching from the now-fixed button to embossing Rainbow's cutie mark emblazoned saddlebags. “Clever filly.” the knowing smirk passes between them before Moondancer's grin widens even more.

“I'll go wake up Sunset. Besides, I don't think I can stand any more noise. Call me if they end up drawing blood, but after today, I think I need two nightcaps tonight.” Starlight flops onto her side and rolls to standing with a grunt. "I don't mean hats, for the record. I need a drink... a very big, very strong, and very salty drink." Slowly she trots toward the staircase and, with a long suffering sigh, starts the climb.

It leaves the small group of four in near total silence by the crackling fire, listening to the accusations and a few more than bizarre conjectures from the kitchen. Moondancer just stretches out a hind hoof to nudge Twilight's haunch, “Your friends are a bit weird.”

Whatever was going on in the kitchen soon swells to a crescendo. Trixie's voice rises just loud enough to catch everypony's attention, “Well yeah, but Trixie is NOT going to lick that clean, so get it out of Trixie's face!”

The resultant silence could have suffocated a pony before a hiccuped, stuttering voice bursts into gales of wheezing laughter. A second giggling, snorting voice blends in with a distinct 'harrumph'.

Trixie all but hurtles from the kitchen, red-faced and trailing frothy vanilla frosting on her front left hoof. Even before she could look for a seat, Rarity looks down to snatch another spool of red thread, “She's upstairs with Sunset, dear.”

“With Su-Starlight?!” With mechanical precision spurred on by embarrassment and, whatever else it was, the mare weaves past the divan, around the couch, past the little end-table covered in yellowed letters, and takes the steps two at a time.

Moondancer once again looks at Rarity with a certain collected awe now. Her gaze tails back up the steps before slowly panning again to Rarity. “Oh, oh you're good.” She smirks and gets a knowing glint from the alabaster mare who offers no reply or defense.

“What?” Twilight finally asks but gets nothing but two mock-innocent smiles in return.

“Nothing darling, nothing at all. Don't let us interrupt your studies, Twilight.” Rarity's affable coo garners that intended smile and nod from the Alicorn princess.

All of it is broken by a light stumble and call from upstairs, “Hey, girls? No one's seen or heard Sunset, right?” Starlight calls from the top of the stairs, “Caaaaaause it looks like she tied a bed sheet around a post and snuck out the window.”

“... would you kindly run that by me again?” Rarity blinks, thread halting in mid-air.

“She... oh just perfect.” Twilight lets out a frustrated sigh as she levitates her half dozen books into a neat pile and quickly rolls off the couch, “I asked her not to do anything risky or rash, but nooooo. Hmmmph, I bet I know exactly where she went.”

The halls lay empty and clear, even the night guard are completely absent in the depths of the castle catacombs. Two ponies trot in near silence, only the sounds of hoof steps and the soft shuffle of saddlebags on fur disturb the suffocating stillness.

A dark blue Alicorn paces in front, her royal regalia completely absent though she wears a light silver cuirass buckled on her chest. Her cutie mark is etched at its center with just a small amathyst oval jewel. The soft black leatherette saddlebags on her haunches rustle. Sunset follows behind, eschewing any form of armour or weapon, but her own pale brown saddlebags were just as down-laden. They scrape softly, something crystalline rasps against each other on the inside. She follows after without comment as they wind their way back through the halls.

In moments, the old plain vault door looms up before them, and opens after Luna presses her horn to the divot.

“Princess, Sunset!” Both ponies look back, spotting Twilight and her cadre of friends bounding down the steps, though it's far too late to actually stop them.

Luna turns, pausing just for that second before nodding her head once to Sunset, who gives her wordless assent. The doors open, and both gallop straight towards the tall opalite and silver mirror standing so innocuously in the middle of the moonlit room. Both dart to the entrance, but halt right before they step in. Luna casts a hoof over Sunset, and with that, both enter just as Twilight breathlessly reaches the door in a stumbling awkward mass of outstretched feathers and skating limbs, only to skid straight past the vault door. Rainbow banks hard and swoops inside, taking the turn with expert precision. “Hold it!”

“Rainbow, nononono wait! We talked about this!” Twilight's words coming far too late for the impulsive Pegasus who darts straight after, disappearing with a ripple of liquid silver.

With a warble of worry and surprise, Twilight storms through moments later. For her, the world swirls and spins, screaming into life with far more vibrancy than it should have to the other world, and sure enough with a sickening sideways lurch, she's spit out onto the rocky hardpan.

By now, the world was familiar enough for her to find her hooves and look up the escarpment by reflex. Rainbow hovers at the summit before touching down, wings outstretched and flicking awkwardly. Galloping forward, Twilight crosses the dusty ground and surges upwards with a few flaps of her wings before landing hard right next to the Pegasus. “Hey,” Twilight reaches out to gently nudge her friend, “You alright?”

Rainbow's eyes were set across the wide blue-hued plain at the enormous marble, brass, and ruby door that the two rapidly disappearing ponies were galloping towards. The free-standing doorway slowly starts to yawn open.

“Woah, what is that? Twi, where are we?” The Pegasi's voice had dipped from the chase and descends into something utterly enraptured. The blackness of space lies like a torn open wall behind that door, and Rainbow could only stare as Luna, then Sunset, disappear further into the distance.

“Twilight?! Rainbow?!” Sunset's voice breaks the spell cast on them. Both ponies look back to see Starlight, Trixie, Pinkie, Applejack, Rarity, and finally both Moondancer and Fluttershy who pour out from the mirror portal and collide into an awkward pony pile.

Looking back and forth between the two groups, Twilight could only anxiously trot on the spot. Rainbow just calls back over her withers, trying not to tear her eyes away, “C'mon, you gotta see this! There's a huge door in the middle of nowhere and it's awesome!”

“Just think about that statement for a second,” While spoken with some authoritative glint, Moondancer's simper couldn't quite hide in the back of her throat as she extracts herself from the pile.

“OooOOOoo, neat!” Though she had her muzzle shoved to the ground, Pinkie reaches out and toys with one of the ribbons of arcane energy rippling across the ground.

“Hey, Rares, it ain't too dusty here, neither.” Applejack laughs and pulls herself free before offering a hoof to help her friends up.

“Ugh,” Rarity mutters, “but it's so drab-”

“Girls, seriously, get your flanks up here or we'll lose them!” Rainbow hollers before clicking her tongue and shooting back over to help. It left Twilight to stare at the quickly disappearing pair. Luna and Sunset slip through the massive marble doorway that starts to close behind them, presenting just a towering edifice emblazoned with two mirrored canines and dominated by a single enormous sigil.

Twilight's breath hitches in her throat as she looks at the slitted ruby eye, "Nightmare moon..."

Chapter 39: Dusk and Dawn

Apothecary Logaan looks down over the beam of light illuminating the twisted black chunks laid out on the laboratory research table. He, the chief geneticist, and a half dozen other mortals and astartes peer at the remnants of the creature killed literally just outside their door.

"Are you seeing any sub-dermal bonding layer at all?" chief geneticist Leaura Evance asks, her sharp black hair trailing wispy bangs in her face as she stares from behind a magnocular faceplate armature.

"Nothing, it seamlessly transitions between organic and inorganic like they'd already undergone a molecular weld." One of her sub-orderlies says while picking away with an adamantium probe and its digi-auspex.

"And we're sure that's the undersuit mesh?" Evance asks, shooting a cursory glance at Logaan, one of two legion representatives present.

The astartes still couldn't move his re-attached arm very well, but he was here for moments like this. "Positive. You can see the adamantium monofiliment lines here and here. It's layered precisely like the flexsteel undersuit should be."

"I agree," a sonorous voice intones from a spot just behind Evance. With a little whir of servos, one of the legion's Forge Masters impassively peers over the geneticists shoulder. Logaan hadn't caught his name. "It's layered in a diamond pattern, and shares all the properties expected of a flexsteel undersuit. There's no cross-hatch weave like the Konor variants, it's too dense to be Imperial army, and it's not laced with psychoreactive crystal filament of Prosperine issue."

"It could be a thermal bra." Evance says, no trace of humor but the twinkle in her visible eye.

Ordrad Hermies, the Byzant Janizars chief field surgeon distastefully looks down his aquiline nose at her. "Is it really the time for jokes, doctor?" He was a tall, humorless man, with a noticeable hump that only made him twice as sinister owing to the plethora of grafted cybernetics.

"It's the time for answers, but I don't have any of those. So I figured a joke would suffice." Evance sniffs and squints before adjusting the armature limb and flicking another refractory lens over the eyepiece.

"I would have hoped a professional silence in the absence of information would suffice." Doctor Hermies says and looks at the rest of the surgical teams illuminated by the overhead lamps. "Servitor, focus a light on the subject's sinistro-posterior gastrocnemius."

"That explains why you spend so much of your time in the morgue." Evance replies, still picking away at the upper arm where a portion of flesh had been excised with a las-cutter.

"Forge master, Apothecary?," Hermies asks the two astartes as the servitor shines another overhead light on the specimen. It settles on the upper left calf of the creature where the armored plating melds seamlessly with tendons of mutated leathery flesh. "Is the cuisse plate and gastrocnemius muscle what you expect of a legion artifice? Could this be from molecular acid bonding?"

The forge master replies first, "It appears so, but will be difficult to say without a core sample. May we make a vertical incision here where the ligament meets the plate?"

Logaan nods, waiting for an overhead armature with a surgical saw to come down. With a whine, the rotating disc splits the back of the creature's leg open in a fine mist of ceramite dust, barely nicking the edge of the tendon before withdrawing. What's laid open makes both astartes exchange more than one wordless glance.

"Well, my lords?" Hermies asks as Evance continues to pick over the shoulder wound with evident amazement, along with two other fleet Biologis adepts.

"It's not molecular acid bonding. The Laramaan cells should have formed a hardened cyst around the site of the bond from rapid healing, and we're seeing no trauma or musculature deformation from external means." Logaan replies, stealing a glance at Evance.

"The plates are layered like any other power armor, with heat dissipation and neural linkage lines, but look at the cross-section here," the tech marine explains as he indicates the point of interest with a helmet mounted laser designator, "This was melded with the plate, like the muscle growth is a partial non-organic. And this isn't some manufactured joist or tooled splice, it's fused together like non-organic ablative layers... it's as if the entire plate kept its shape but was remade just in the immediate connecting area."

"So," Evance still doesn't look up from her fixation, "He couldn't have taken it off and he wasn't just entombed in this armor?"

"No," Logaan replies, squinting at the utterly mind-boggling implications, "It's like he was vat grown and factory pressed at the same time. I haven't got the damnedest idea about how this is possible, at least, not outside of some of the xeno races. The closest I can recall are the Megarachnid warriors and we still don't know how they were bioengineered. I'm not Vaddon or a Primus Medicae, this is well outside my expertise."

Evance sighs, looking to Hermies and the others cluttered around the body, "We may need to tell the Commander we have to call in outside experts. I know you prefer silence in the absence of answers, Ordrad, but this shouldn't be possible. The monofilament undersuit mesh is actually inside what I can only call the osteodermus and, of course, the costaneural ceramite carapace and exo-ligament tissue... meaning I'm less comfortable calling this particular individual a homo sapien astartes than I am homo sapien astartes terrapin."

Hermies stares down his nose at her again, curling his lip in distaste. With a low sigh, he mutters, "Under no circumstances will we refer to them as 'turtle marines', Leaura."

Logaan's gaze hardens on the chief geneticist, who shrinks back at his steely glare. "I'm sorry, I just can't determine if this is some bio-weapon or even just an inherent defect in the seventeenth legion's geneseed. I've seen some," she clears her throat uncomfortably, "classified reports that have made reference to catastrophic physical deformation at the cellular level. But I wasn't privy to fifteenth legion records, either. There's just not enough information." She tries to direct some attention away from her own faux-pas.

"We're fortunate." Logaan quashes a mirthless smirk and looks up and across the operating table to the doors of the surgical theater. A muffled scream and snarl is only just detectable to his genhanced hearing. "We'll be getting a comparative sample from a donor soon enough."

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.

The metallic clink of a chisel etches the last names on the brass plate four meters up on the arch of victory. The names of countless thousands of legionnaires line the dozen arches like it. Above it all, the Eye of Terra watches over the memories of those lost in glory.

It was, at least, what had always been said.

The wide corridor is now lined in astartes garbed in full ceremonial battle plate. A thousand warriors in two serried ranks hold back the tide of humanity that had gathered to observe the latest names.

Horus Aximand knew different, the vultures weren't here to remember fallen legionnaires. No, they were here to gawk at the resurrected Warmaster, to bask and ease their worry that he wasn't gone. They were here for Horus Lupercal resplendent, beloved by all. They could care less about Gaskar Ayves, Soleum Tempaddon, Yves Kassar, or thirteen others of his company that were killed in the Delphos. They didn't care about the staggering loss of almost all of Lev Goshen's company, chief Apothecary Timmult Vaddon, or any of the three hundred and seventy eight names freshly scribbed on the epitaph. And here he stood, across the corridor at the head of the column under the pulsing light of a world in its death throes, while Horus Lupercal gathers his newest cabal.

Across from Aximand himself was the wounded Serghar Targost and Luc Sedirae. The former's gaze drifts, all but surely locking with his own despite the intervening helmet lens.

It said it all, 'later'.

For all the love and relief that surged through his veins, Aximand could only stare at the Warmaster's broad back and feel just as distant as when they had escorted his still form from the medicae to the embarkation deck. Clad in a purple velvet cloak hanging to the floor, he stood there in his pristine alabaster white armor crowned with the black pelt of an ancient Rougarou. But it wasn't him by Horus's side, though he still held a place of honor at the front of the column next to Yade Durso. No. Garviel Loken stood to the Warmaster's right with Tarik Torgaddon, to his left Iacton Qruze and Tybalt Marr. Each is adorned in the finery of their respective companies, each cloak a panoply of colours. The shock of adrenal anger slips away with the bitter tang of guilt and shame.

He suspected that he knew why he was here: his vote had been the deciding voice that had instigated this whole debacle.

With a final clank, the last bit finished the final name. The nameless swarthy skinned artisan distances himself from his work for a moment, gives the smallest nod, and lowers himself from the telescopic scaffolding. But the Lupercal wasn't done, not yet. Instead, he reaches into the folds of his great cloak to produce an intricate gold gilt scroll and a single adamantium chisel. On it were other names, one of which Aximand knew at once: Hektor Varvarus. There had to be something more to this. They would be commemorated elsewhere, they should be, but not on the arch dedicated to the legion's fallen.

It was impossible, it was-

“If I may, Gerult,” Horus's deep voice rumbling clearly through the silent hall, “your hammer.” he holds his hand outstretched, and with a surprised and mute nod, the man complies.

Taking the scroll, Horus turns, evidently breaking protocol as he looks over the crowd. He was still a luminous being, perfect in features to most, though Aximand can detect the slight pallor of his skin and pinch of gaunt cheeks.

“My friends, my sons: this is not just another moment of conquest among many. Nor is this a bitter-sweet triumph over an enemy forged from ignorance and steeled by arrogance. This is a moment of the gravest importance. This is a moment where the grey follows the flames. This is a moment of revelation: and I do not welcome it, for this is a moment of treason. ” The pause for emphasis was evident, and the mass of humanity begins to whisper while others stiffen.

Aximand catches the smell: a pong of human adrenal stink of sweat and nervousness. Horus strides back away from the new monument to stand between the two solid columns of green-plated Astartes in ceremonial battle dress. His voice rises from its resonant calm into a towering roar, “Treason against me! Treason against our bonds of fellowship! Treason against the very dream of a more perfect galaxy! And treason against all those who have come before us! Look at these walls, do you see them? Do you see these monuments?” He shakes the rolled up scroll for emphasis, jangling the spikes in his palm like a wind chime.

“They are all gone, all lost to the dust of history. We remember them because they wanted better! Better for us all, and this betrayal spits upon their legacy! Their trust! Their legacy! Their sacrifice! This-” he shakes the rolled up scroll for emphasis, his voice rising, “This is my pledge: an oath of moment that I make here, before all present! I pledge by my title of Warmaster, that I shall see Erebus of Colchis, First Chaplain of the seventeenth legion, dead at my feet for what he has done! The blood of the innocent and the loyal has never before been so callously spilled by an Astartes. I shall see this remembered, marked, and never forgotten! Nor any treachery to me, from without-” Aximand's neck prickles as cold golden eyes sweep over him with a gaze to quail a god and split stone, “Or within.”

He knows about the vote.

Horus neatly pins the golden scroll to the side of the newly etched names and maneuvers one of the adamantium bonding spikes against it. Then, with a visible scowl, he bares his teeth and strikes with the artificer hammer. It was the sound of a bell and a gavel both, driving half the spike's length in through the plaque, pinning the oath paper to the metal plate: now a visible marker on the memorial: the moment that vengeance was decreed by Horus Lupercal.

He looks to the crowd, and one parts the sea of humanity as if choreographed. Aximand was forced to admit, it probably was. The head of the Vengeful Spirit's terminator wardens steps forward in his full ceremonial regalia. In his arms and wound around his neck, is a brass chain that clinks and chimes at every step. Upon the chain are hung clusters of gleaming skulls too big to be that of mortal humans. No, they were astartes skulls.

Colchisian skulls dipped in silver.

The chieftain holds up the grisly Cthonic headsmen trophies to Horus as the primarch hammers in two more spikes. Taking the chain, he strings it in two loops across the archway, creating a clear dividing line. A manifestation of the split between them.

“Ancient myth says that there is misery in the knowledge of good and evil. Today we know this to be true. Let there be no more fond farewells to false friends, and no more squandered trust in the unworthy. Now we know them by their stripes and have tasted the fruit of their deceit. They think themselves justified by humiliation? They think themselves begrieved? I shall show them grief. I shall show them humiliation. I shall visit destruction upon them the likes of which they have never seen. I am Horus Lupercal, and I have spoken."

He hands the hammer back to the artisan who fumbles it from numbed fingers, then turns his back. Striding down the aisle between the lines of astartes, he gestures simply, “Come, my sons, we have a war to make upon a nest of vipers.”

Marr was behind him and to his left almost instantly, Loken, Torgaddon, Qruze all following a nearly imperceptible moment later. Left to the head of the column, no longer certain of his place, Aximand stares and watches as light from a dying world glints off the Warmaster's ivory armor.

The grey-black orb that was Davin looms large in the glassteel dome, bearing witness to the dedication of a new and terrible dawn. The once green planet flickers and flares with countless prickles of light as cyclonic bombs and incendiary munitions dapple the surface. Firefly flickers of drop pods and gunships streak from the silver-silhouettes of warships as ten thousand warriors of the legion and countless more, from army drop ships to the towering comets cast by titan landers, streak down to make planetfall.

Abaddon's ruination of Davin had begun the moment the first name had been added to the casualty list three days ago.

Unsure as to follow or remain, Aximand's spine stiffens as he tries to ignore the weighty feeling of a single silver coin with a crescent moon embossed on its surface. It hangs in a pouch on his left hip next to his pistol. It was the summons to a lodge meeting of the Silent Order. Their last.

The first touch on the hard ground resonates with the click of hooves. Every five seconds, a gentle rumble shivers through the ground with the rhythmic beat like the thrum of a world's heart. It's cool, grey, and mostly enclosed though the wisping winds echo hauntingly through ragged fissures in the ceiling. Shafts of light pour through, illuminating the world in stark pale white relief. Luna takes in a breath, tasting the iron on the breeze and smelling the faint stagnant pong of standing water. But there wasa
deadness to the world, like the heat was being slowly leached from her bones and her very vitality sapped into the nebulous gulf. Something wasn't 'wrong' but it didn't feel right, either. Her thoughts are broken by the distant howl reminiscent of the cry of a bird of prey, but part of her remembered the sound of roaring retrothrusters from a shared dream not so long ago.

Another clap of hooves precedes the drawing of a relieved breath. Luna turns, giving the slightly shaky Unicorn a hug and nodding for them both to head forward.

They were within some room, an artificial cavern, perhaps an ancient collapsing building. The floors were dusty and grime streaked, mildew clings to some low laying puddles, but moonlight from the twin orbs in the sky reflects a stark blue tinged dusk.

Sunset looks behind them, smiling lightly, “We really came through that?” Luna glances back at the glossy black silver mirror that made up the whole wall. It was like a polished block of black ice. Perfect... impossible with such a ruin as this.

“We really are here.” Sunset whispers and takes another breath before clearing her throat with a little cough that dissolves into a laugh. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm just... this is amazing.” she looks around and then up at the moon showing through the rift torn in the vaulted cavernous dome.

“Wait for but a moment, Sunset.”

Luna smiles, taking to wing and lifting up through the shaft of moonlight cast through the dark. She smiles, and with a last more energetic flap, slips through the fissure and into the breathy moonlit expanse.

The wind whines a doleful song as it pushes and pulls her along in its wild embrace. The smell of rust and sand wafts strongly with small motes of ash pushed across the moonlit expanse. She alights upon the peak of a small rocky mount, craggy grey basalt granite exposed in a rocky butte from a sea of shifting dunes. In the far distance she could see rocky ridges and monolithic mountain peaks. But not so far away is the blinking lights of a twisting maze of metal pipes and structures bearing a great non-pony skull illuminated by bright spotlights. Streaking away from them was a single fiery form, but for the moment it was them and only them.

Luna takes a deep breath and stares up at the twin-moons hanging so tantalizingly close to her. She smiles, closing her eyes and feeling the radiant light on her face. Before she could think to stop herself, she reaches out into the infinite void in the sea of dreams. It stretches out to the near infinite, a vast canvas raw and utterly massive. There are countless little sparks, and nebulae bands rather than a quiet waterfalls. And despite the swamps and quagmires that swallow some, there was something else. Something unthinkable and utterly magical. Among the little fireflies and glimmers in the dark, were dozens of lambent luminous glows as bright as her moon and a cold white sun.

She reaches out, taking a breath and letting her mind wander. Before she could think what it meant, she takes a whispers, "I am here."

'I know.'

Epilogue

The stormbird silently drifts through the massive blastdoors, klaxons wail as void-clad workers catch a glimpse of the dull grey vessel slowly sidling up alongside the brilliant amethyst hued sister-craft. Already the honor guard squad of pristine purple and gold warriors stand at the end of the telescopic gangway, awaiting the door to open. At its head, a summoned soul. A shock of bleached white hair crowns a perfectly sculpted, albeit sallow, face of Europan nobility. He stares out unflinchingly as the stormbird's blast doors puff open in a hiss of atmosphere. Taut and pinched, the waiting man spots the single grey-clad figure at the end of the walkway, bathed in the red light of the landing lamps.

Crew serfs scurry by on a myriad of duties while the noble Emperor's Children gaze impassively as the First Chaplain of the Word Bearers emerges with two of his own chosen warriors. The tall staff with a book clamped to its apex marks Erebus as surely as the golden etchings and Colchisian glyphs adorning the sacred parchments wax-sealed to his armor.

“Aaaaah, Lieutenant commander Fabius Bile, how wonderful that you got my message.” Erebus's voice slips to its sibilant charm as he spreads his arms wide, as if offering a hug.

The small detachment's leader had assuredly spotted Erebus but paid the Colchisian priest as much heed as a cup bearer in the halls of a Chemosian palace. “Save it, Erebus.” the cold calculating tone of the Emperor's Children's Chief Apothecary intones. “I have neither the time nor patience to deal with your frivolities. You asked for me, and Eidolon and Fulgrim are both busy. We have a war to wage, if you haven't noticed.”

“Yes yes, the Auritian problem. I'm sure it will be hectic, getting along with the Barbarians of the Bloody Twelfth.” Erebus chatters good naturedly as he closes the yen meter gap from Stormbird to station door. “But there's no need to be coy. We both know what holds your attention after your little harvest on Murder.”

The reminder of the Megarachnid infested planet finally ticks something inside the Chief Apothecary, drawing the start of a more dangerous glint. “Careful what you insinuate, Colchisian. I'm a personal attache of the Primarch himself. This is merely a formal nicety. So I hope you haven't come to waste even more of my valuable time.”

“Of course, and of course not, respectfully respectively.” Erebus closes his eyes and lowers his head in a formal bow, “But... I do have business with you. Perhaps, in private? I mean you no offence, my dear Chief Apothecary.” Erebus glances at the four-man honour guard dressed in Chemosian fineries of gold and polished platinum.

“Permission to formally come aboard, Lieutenant Commander.” Erebus intones with a slight bow as he touches his chest.

Fabius Bile eyes First Chaplain for a moment before lazily waving his guard aside with the two Word Bearers. “It was granted prior, or you would be drifting atoms and nothing more.”

As formal as it was, it brings a slow laugh, “How charming. But thank you, anyways.”

Fabius waits for no more than a heartbeat before turning on his heels. The pair leave the umbilicus as it snaps closed with a hiss, leaving them to pass the long full length bank of glassteel panes overlooking the entirety of the Pride of the Emperor's monolithic embarkation deck. Solid white corridors practically glitter with polish and care, and pristinely dressed crewmen snap salutes to them when they pass.

All of it went without mention by Fabius, though the First Chaplain occasionally inclined his head in a form of acknowledgement as he continues. “I take your work very seriously, every single facet and discovery. In fact, I expect that the Warmaster will call upon your skills in the near future. And I would be most appreciative if you would be open to, perhaps, doing me one little favor, my friend.”

“I don't recall us being friends, even if Fulgrim is somewhat fond of your Lord Lorgar.” Fabius's cold tone could have passed for mocking, but Erebus recognized Chemosian insolence for what it was.

“Then that may well change in the near future.” Erebus takes a step closer, getting a look of guarded wariness from Fabius, but it was enough that a vox thief couldn't intrude on their conversation, “You'll have an opportunity to work your art on some very new subjects rather than mostly dead Baalites and a few Chemosian corpses. Something that you might never have considered, but trust me, it will be well worth your time. Just keep an open mind and your time will come sooner than you think. I foresee a great future for you and your legion.” Unbidden, Erebus holds out a single data slate produced from a hard case tucked beneath a jangling book chained to his hip.

Fabius regards Erebus for a moment, not even lofting a brow in curiosity. But he plucks the data slate and asks sharply, “What do you want?”

Erebus's staff taps down as he keeps up the stride. “When you get to the Vengeful Spirit, I'm quite sure you'll get access to a wide variety of interesting spaces. But there's something a thief took from me, then hid in the sixteenth's genevault.”

“And you want me, as a chief apothecary, to fetch it for you.” Fabius sighs, but then blinks and purses his lips in thought as the first images and renderings pop into existence before his eyes. The creature was strange, non-human, but a variety of traits and listed attributes evidently had him curious. “What is it?"
Erebus's smile was self evident, almost audible in fact. “A sword.”

A clatter of armored boots echoes across the empty hardened magazine in the belly of the Vengeful Spirit. The master of the armory paces the endless racks of macro cannon shells, the meager lights suspended on the thirty meter tall vault barely winking off the burnished diamantine penetrator jackets and reflecting their silvery finish in ripples across the grated floor.

Steam hisses and wafts as an automatic winch drones overhead, catching the lead lines of another macro-cannon shell as it is slowly raised into position to fill the empty cradle of a magazine. Munitions always had to be replaced, from test firing to restocking, it was an endless task and one that specifically fell to the master of the armory. The hellish inferno of the mechanicum's onboard ship munitions factorum reflecting in wavering lines or red-hot heat haze before the small passageway closest completely. The momentary wash of heat dissipates as he approaches the sealed white ceramite clad vault at the end of the dismal chamber.

There was one thing that couldn't be simply 'restocked'.

The astartes places his palm on the ident reader next to the enormous round pressure door of the inner magazine, ignoring the light winking off the brass biohazard sigils. Precious few were allowed down here, it was merely the Warmaster, Maloghurst, the legion's moritats, destroyers, and himself. And only the Warmaster, Maloghurst, and himself were allowed in alone.

The door hisses strangely, giving out a strange blurt of code and a weird red flicker from the ident reader before the vault yawns open. A blast of cold frost billows out into the already oppressive magazine.

He quickly steps inside... the second pressure door was open, strange, but the vaults occasionally opened and closed the two pressure doors depending on ambient external conditions to keep any spills or breaks from venting outside. After all, while it was swept clean now, the pristine white inert ceramite cladding did hold the fleet's Life Eaters bombs.

Abaddon had fired every single one of the planet killers into Davin and its moons before igniting them with lance strikes from the methane release. Davin, its moons, its people were no more but swirling ash swept up in tempestuous cyclonic storms fed by the dying atmosphere. But that, in itself, was the problem.

Slowly, surely, the master of the armory inspects each recessed cradle and clamp, each basin in the corners, and even the dozen stacks of stasis crates used to transport the lethal munitions from the magazine to the ship's guns. They were empty. One hundred and ninety two life eater globes had been stashed onboard, enough to fire each bombardment gun eight times, each weapon able to decimate a continent with the virulent plague. But guns twenty three and twenty four had only fired seven times...

The margin of error was small, but one percent meant a great deal when dealing with weapons of mass destruction. Yet the gunners had insisted they fired every round available to them.

Where did the two missing shells go?

The master of the armory licks his lips beneath his helm, spotting something on two small cradles just above floor level, right in the back of the room. Among the blinding sodium light that reflects off perfect white surfaces, there's a smudge.

Carefully, he kneels, focusing as he reaches a hand out to touch the grime. Slowly, he presses his fingers to the small dark blobs, and rubs it between his fingers. It crumbles when rubbed together, and slowly he takes his helmet off, a mop of his unkempt mane flopping down to the side of his head as he lifts the detritus to his nose to take in its scent.

"Ceramite corrosion?" like flakes of black rust, they tumble from his fingers to spot the white plates of the deck. "Ceramite doesn't corrode."

“Holy buck! HolybuckholybuckholyBUCKING horse apples!! Sine, Cosine, c'meeeeeeeeere!” The joyous squealing cackle of delight echoes in the San Palomino observatory's simple enclosure. A pink earth pony mare spins around in her seat, howling and kicking her forehooves up in a happy albeit piercing wail of joy, “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!”

“What?! Clare, you went full Thestral. Never go full Thestra-will you STOP that?!” the raspy voice of an irritated mare snorts. But hooves quickly climb the curving staircase. With a bang, the thin wooden door rocks back on its hinges to reveal a pale plum hued Unicorn mare with shocks of ruby in her messy mauve mane. But the bright cornflower blue eyes stared daggers at the pony on the raised platform next to the wonky contraption. All of its copper and brass loops wheel around in fantastical twists like a massive metal curly straw.

“IfounditIfounditIfoundit. SINE!” The pink earth pony flings herself from her seat and gallops over, leaping over the metal railing of the little raised platform and tossing herself at the shocked Unicorn.

With a whoosh of breath and rolling tangle of limbs that tosses them to the floor, Sine was muzzle to muzzle with the jubilant mare.

Sine's breath comes out in a raspy groan, “Clarion Call, get off, you're too heavy to throw yourself off buildings, filly.”

“I got it! First proof there's alien life!” She completely ignores the now taken-aback mare limp beneath her.

Another voice rises up with a warble from the stairwell, “Hey, you two party poniesth come down here. Mmm'kay? I've got thsoup on and I don't want it to go cold.” Cosine's nasel lisp barely makes its way to Clare's ears as they waggle but little else.

“Wait wait, back up. No, like, literally back the buck up.” Sine shoves the mare off and back to standing before rolling on her side and dragging herself to all fours. She stares at the pale pink mare, still practically shaking with a stupid grin plastered from ear to ear. “This isn't a joke?”

It gets a near-neck snapping shake of her head. Bouncing and quickly trotting in place, Clarion Call just calls down the staircase, “Soup can wait, c'mere!” She darts back towards the sheer ledge, hopping and grasping the raised platform before kicking and wiggling to pull herself up.

Meanwhile, Sine shakes her head and trots around the far side to the little set of stairs leading up to a bank of flashing lights spewing rolls of scratchy ink stained parchment.

With a sigh, another ponies voice calls up the steps, “coming, coming, keep your bit and bridle in.”

“Hey, language!” Sine calls back down over her shoulder.

The slightly abash and cringing Unicorn that pops her head into the room just whispers her apology. She was shorter than either Clarion Call or Sine, thinner, with a pair of small wire rimmed spectacles perched on her freckled muzzle. The pale coral fur was partially hidden by a grey sweater with a faded Canterlot University 'CU'. Her curled powder blue mane hang in twists as she cocks her head to the side.

Her lisping voice whispers, “Did you acthsually do it?”

“Yes!” Clarion Call pulls herself up, Sine already by the chair ahead of her as the earth pony mare hops up on the chair to flick a great leaver before vaulting over an indignant Sine to flick a switch. Two enormous rolls of magnetic tape wind back with a rasping wheeze of gadgets. “Listen!” she proudly says.

The sound from the directional phonograph horn was jarring, the screech and warble giving pulsing pops and then some distinctly non-organic thrums.

But Sine was already sighing, “Good job, sounds like somepony put the shower on too hot before they hopped in. And speaking of showers, Clare-”

The noise fractalizes in an eerie and uncomfortable way, sending shivers down Sine and Cosine's frames as Clarion Call stares enraptured at the tapes. “Then I had to modulate the little throbby bits and pulsy bits, hey you're not allowed to laugh, and i got this afterward.”

The noise that comes out is different, a stallion, no question though it comes out heavily distorted. “et vocem meam audire contempsit et de edicto Nikea. Quod autem adtinet Lupercal additional suas inquietari implicat, atque immediata et verificationem de, rogatur. Ave Emperator, Ave Russ.”

Sine and Cosine look back and forth as a victorious and jubilant Clarion call glances back, panting breathily over her withers.

Sine sticks out a hoof and points, “What was THAT gobbledygook?!”

Cosine looks pale, “I think we should tell the printhsess.”

“Okay okay," Clarion Call's eyes sparkle, "but remember, I call dibs!”

Author's Notes:

Alright that's it for Book 1, the start of this little journey of ours. Hope it wasn't too bad, eh? The second little arc is being all planned and written so we should see it sometime in the new year.

Trying to figure out if I should start a full new 'story' file or just add on here as Act 2.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me, eh!