Sergeant Dean Forester was no stranger to killing. The Orith proved that much. He considered his augmentations a rebirth of life. He was designed to be the ultimate weapon, and the pinnacle of human engineering. For five years he had fought alien invaders. His mind was that of a soldier, the mind of a killer.

Even if he was in a new world, Dean knew that he would have to keep killing. He didn't particularly enjoy it, he only killed when he thought was necessary. Like when the Terrorists held hostages at the mall in his hometown, when the Orith attacked Africa, and now, when a group of primitive and uncivilised beings enslaved another race with a culture that allowed rape and assault. It sickened him, but he grew used to it. It was his duty.

And so he found himself stalking towards the camp, murder in his heart as he prepared for what he was trained for. He knew all the elves would still be in one spot, disorganized and confused. He had made sure to slit the throats of each sentry to ensure that they suspected one another. He had felt no emotion performing the deed, casually wrapping a hand over each mouth and bringing his knife across each throat.

From there, he had set two nearby wagons alight using his lighter and the clothe covering on the wagon itself. They had burnt nicely when he was leaving and he was sure it would catch their attention. Then he had proceeded to the tent.

He had entered when Twilight was being beaten. The leader had done horrific things. Plucked certain feathers, put some form of ring over her horn causing it to shock her when she built up her energy. He had physically winced as he had broken her leg, though he knew he had to push through the pain of watching the torture. Then when the elf moved to rape her, he nearly snapped.

His gun had been trained on the head of the assailant when the soldier had rushed into the tent. Never before had he felt such rage that he had nearly lost control. He had seen death on an untold scale and watched as civilians and soldiers alike where gunned down in front of him. So why did he nearly lose his composure there?

And that brings him to now.

As he slowly approached the camp, he got low and crouch walked towards the rows of tents, his SCAR-H up and ready. He heard the shouts of the elves as their leader berated them. He slowly stalked through the tents, weaving and ducking behind cover, constantly looking over his shoulder and checking his surroundings. He could almost hear his drill sergeant in his ear as he went through the routines. Some might think it was stupid, but it had saved his life on more than one account.

Dean froze when a twig snapped off to his left, behind a cart. Mumbling sounded as Dean swiveled his gun towards the noise. His feet carried him forward as he slowly peered around the cart. What greeted him was an elven soldier rummaging around in a box with his back turned to him.

"C'mon, c'mon! Where is it!" Dean quietly unsheathed his knife and moved behind the oblivious elf with practiced ease. He turned on the sound dampeners on his feet, causing no noise to be created. It seemed that luck was not on his side however as the elf must've heard something.

"Sorry Captain, I'm going to report, I just need to find my sword," the elves voice was slurred and his movements where jerky, obviously a sign of intoxication.

"Alright ready to-" The elf turned around to find a knife buried into his neck. He choked once in surprise, blood pooling out of his mouth and gushing from his neck wound. The elf fell to his knees clawing at the knife weakly while Dean stared deeply into his eyes. Then, he fell on his face in the dirt, dead. By that point, Dean had removed the knife and was already on the move once more.

He crept towards the growing noise at a snail's pace. He had resheathed his knife upon not encountering anyone else and brought his rifle up once more. The suppressor that was outfitted on his gun had been a new design during the war. Just like other suppressors, it didn't fully silence the gun. However, while his rifle usually ranges around one twenty to one sixty decibels of volume, the suppressor attached brought it down to fourty.

The noise grew in volume once again and Dean could now make out yelling. It sounded like he had done his job to well as he heard the crack if a whip and an elf's cry of pain. He smirked deviously as he peeked around a tent and into the open center of the camp. The fire had died down at this point but the pot of stew remained, smoke wafting through the air. To Dean, it actually smelled quite good.

His eyes moved around the assembled enemies as he counted who he was up against. While he did this, he also went about a plan on how he would proceed. He would be able to gun down a bunch of the bastards, but more than a few would survive. Not to mention, he had to be sure that not a single elf survived. If one were to escape, they would inform their leadership about were his temporary base of operations was, putting himself and Twilight in a very compromised position. Until Twilight healed fully and he was able to get bearings on what he would do in this world, they would have to lay low. If the elves were to find his location, he would have to move, but the question was where?

He decided he would gun them down, his advanced reflexes and his power armor would allow him to move quickly enough. If push came to shove, he was certain that he could easily overpower the elves. He had to be careful with his ammunition, the only resupply being whatever was in the crate that came through the portal with him.

He smirked as he brought his rifle to bear. He would injure the leader first and leave him immobile for questioning. Then, he would switch to full auto and hose into the packed enemies; there was no way he could miss. Thirdly, he would move into close quarters. The ensuing chaos and confusion would let him enter and kill the remaining elves easily.

Lining up the scope with the leaders thigh, he breathed once, blinked, closed his left eye, and pulled the trigger....

*****

Trignar was about to lash the traitor once more. He enjoyed bringing punishment, it gave him a head rush every time the whip came down against exposed skin.

'Maybe I can do this to that whore in my tent once I'm done here?' He brought the whip down, and all of Tartarus broke loose.

Trignar felt both his legs catch fire as daggers of pain shot through his body. Screaming, he collapsed to the ground in pain as the rest of the soldiers shouted in panic. He heard muffled thumps somewhere behind him but didn't bother to look, he was to focused on not passing out. However, he did open his eyes when the screaming started.

Trignar tried to push through the pain and managed to get himself onto his back. He turned his head towards the noises and nearly died then and there.

His troops, his elite guard, were dropping like flies around him. He watched as some tried to run, but a muffled crack later and their heads exploded into a gory mess. Those who stood in a stupor where brought down as well as blood flew from holes in their body. Trignar tried to call out to his men, command them to get to the ground and avoid whatever was killing them.

Some found sense and dropped to the ground. Others jumped behind any cover they could find. Trignar groaned in pain when silence reigned across the camp. Ever so slowly, the heads of the cowering elves popped into view, looking around in terror. Trignar counted eleven elves in total, less than half their original number. A fire had started when an elf had tripped and knocked over a few burning logs, catching the grass and tents.

"We've got to get out of here! The gods wrath is upon us!" One of the survivors jumped to his feet and sprinted past Trignar, his face holding a manic expression as he charged past. Trignar tried to reach out and stop him, but all he managed was a low groan and a turn of his head to follow the elf. His legs felt like they were on fire.

He was about to call for help when a sickening snap echoed through the space the elf had disappeared into. A wet squelch sounded, almost like someone had cut into flesh. Trignar and the rest waited with baited breath until, suddenly, a figure flew out of the smoke, landing beside the downed prince with a squish. The elves in hiding jumped from the gruesome display.

Trignar tried to stifle a scream as the twisted face of the elf looked back at him, fear and shock dominating most of his features. Blood leaked from a large gash in his abdomen and the neck hung limply to side, broken.

He blinked, then noticed something moving through the smoke. At first he thought it was an elf, but as it materialized, he realized this was not the case. The beast before him was covered head to foot in metal, the only exposed part being its face. Trignar shivered as its eyes passed over him. It was like the god of death himself had come to enact his judgment.

"Your kind have done enough damage to the people of this country, It's time you paid the price for your actions," the being stopped in front of Trignar and looked down. The glare was so intense that he was forced to look away out of a primal fear. "Pathetic, I will deal with you yet."

"Help the Prince!" Trignar breathed a sigh of relief as he looked towards his elite guard. Their devotion and willingness to die for the royal family sending hope into his heart. This was just one creature, surely ten elite fighters could take this creature?

The first elf grabbed a light spear off of his back and pointed it towards the creature, his finger mashing into the trigger with gusto, sending a beam of pure magic towards its chest. The creature dodged, and Trignar felt a chill wash over him.

He hadn't seen the creature move. One moment it was there, the next, it was beside the offending elf. He watched as the creature whipped a knife from his chest and stabbed it into the chest of his guard, killing him instantly. The next guard threw a knife at it, but the blade deflected off of the metal armor on its chest and impaled the ground not two feet from Trignar's face. He in turn gave out a terrified eep and slowly began to crawl away from the monster.

The creature lunged forward and grabbed the elves throwing arm. Pulling the poor soul forward, he twisted and lifted, throwing the elf over his back, breaking his arm, and causing him to smash head first into the ground. Two sickening cracks sounded as the elf's skull caved in, killing him.

And so this thing, no, this Demon, blew through his guards, killing each one in a display of savage persistence. They never stood a chance.

The last guard dropped his sword, his legs shaking. He fell to the ground on his knees before the Demon, his eyes begging for mercy. Trignar thought the Demon would show none, but this was not the case. He watched as it slowly knelt down to the terrified elves level, its eyes never leaving his face. The beast was covered head to toe in his elite guards blood, their bodies strewn about the now torched camp. Trignar couldn't help but sympathize with the poor elf. He was terrified of this thing, having watched the massacre first hand. He had never seen something so brutal in his life, not even when he ordered the mass execution of the pony guards; at least their deaths where mostly painless.

The Demon whispered something to the elven soldier, who nodded quickly, his face was white than snow. What a coward, socializing with the enemy. Sure, it was a terrifying beast, but to stoop to conversing with it, that was inexcusable.

"C-coward!" Trignar coughed as he tried to yell to his fellow elf. The elf looked at him, but the Demon reached up and moved his head back to face it. More words where whispered, none of which Trignar caught.

As quick as a flash, the elf bolted from the site, a slight dust trail left in his wake. Trignar coughed once more as he tried to move, his legs having dulled and gone numb. He made it four feet before the Demon was upon him. He felt its rough, leathery hands grabb him by the ponytail and pull up, bring them face to face.

Trignar analyzed the beasts face, then realized it may not be a beast at all. Its face was strangely elf like with the strong jaw, and smaller eyes. It's nose, however, was more condensed and he couldn't see its ears beneath its helmet. Then it decided to smile.

It was more of a sneer than anything, but it was still just as terrifying. Trignar could see the pointed canines on the beast as its lips curled up. He was looking at a predator. It's eyes held malice and death as well as a cold calculating mind.

Trignar would like to say he was brave, but he wasn't. He had others do his bidding for him and he only partook when he knew he could win. So it was at this moment, as he looked on in horror at his captor, that he felt liquid trickle down his legs.

"Heh." The beast grunted in amusement before winding its fist back. The last thing Trignar saw was the canines and the blood covered face of the Demon, then it all went black.

*****

Life in Ponyville was dull for its inhabitants. They walked around on leashes, pulled by their masters. When doing manual labor, they were under constant guard. If they fell behind, they were beaten. Life in Ponyville was not just dull, it was downright terrible.

Lyra Heartstrings, the local conspiracy theorist, was sitting on the porch of her old house, napping in the midafternoon sun. Her owner was a plump old elf with a swirly mustache wearing a fancy suit and tie. At the moment, he was talking to a female slave broker about getting another pony.

"D'ya have any o' the younger 'uns lef', Missus Brown'igg? Lyra 'ere would be a'le to care for 'em when I'm not 'round," Lyra's owner crossed his arms as Brownrigg checked over her chart.

"We have a yellow filly with a red mane, well toned from working on the farm for most of her life. Are you sure? I have many much better candidates that would suit your needs Mr. Jowl.

"Yah, you might be right. Though I like 'em young and fr-" Jowl was suddenly pushed to the side as a skinny elf guard ran into him, causing both to topple to the ground.

"Eh! Watch were 'ure goin' ya' daft idiot!" Mr. Jowl roared, trying to stand himself up and ultimately failing.

"H-he's coming! He's c-coming for us all! Guards! Guards!" The elves eyes were frantic as he looked around the town. Lyra snorted before looking up at the commotion, her eyes slightly droopy from exhaustion. She hadn't been getting much sleep lately. With her owner keeping her up mixed with the odd nightmares of a metal being, she was getting more and more tired every day.

"Who's coming, wait, are you an Elite Guard?" Mrs. Brownrigg examined the frantic elf before her, surprised at his behavior.

"He is coming! He's going to kill us all!" The elf lunged forward and began shaking the poor broker violently, throwing her glasses to the ground.

Lyra examined the elf. He was an Elite Guard, only seen around royalty. She knew they were the best of the best and played a part in the capture of the princesses. Something very bad must have happened for one such as this elf to be in such a frenzied state.

Jowl had finally gotten to his feet and pried the delusional elf off the poor slave broker, throwing him to the ground. When he went down, he started to cry, his lips sprouting random nonsense.

Guards began to arrive and soon, the entire house was surrounded.

"What happened 'ya punk?" Jowl glared down at the poor elf as he sobbed uncontrollably. After a minute, Jowl signaled the guards and they moved to take him away.

"It killed Trignar! It killed the Prince!" The elf sobbed even louder.

The guards recoiled as if struck. The faces of the slave broker and Mr. Jowl went pale, and Lyra's eyes widened.

"Who killed him," One of the guards demanded as he stepped forward. Lyra recognized him as the captain of the local militia. "Who would dare touch a member of the royal family?"

Lyra's eyes narrowed as the elf looked around, his sobbing having stopped. He was clutching at a good luck charm around his neck as he rocked back and forth.

"It was a Demon." The elf looked around before his eyes settled on her. Lyra gulped as he spoke directly to her. "A Demon made of metal."