A chilling wind swept through the small fortress town of Maritime Bay. Gray clouds and the threat of rain was predominant to the denzines far below, and many were already seeking shelter. With the town being so far from civilization, and the small population it boasted, the weather had a mind of its own. The Pegasi had no time to clear storms, nor bring rainy days. Out of the few hundred Unicorns present, none had spells to keep the weather at bay.
Maritime Bay was at the mercy of nature.
Two beings, both bipedal, walked up a pathway leading to the main fortress. One, a massive seven and a half foot tall Human, and the other, a four and a half foot tall dragon. The two hardly spoke, and neither caught the other's gaze. Any conversation between the two was dead.
Within minutes, the double oaken doors of the barracks came into view. Two guards stood outside the entry, their spears in hoofs, and their faces a stoic mask. Their armor was a ragtag of cloth, steel and leather, but both sported the old standard issue helmet used by the Royal Guard.
As the Human and the Dragon came within spitting distance, the guards crossed their spears in front of the doorway.
"Halt." The guard on the left stated, causing Dean and Spike to cease their movements. Spike carried an uncertain look, and looking up into the faceplate of his companion gave no comfort to his plight. The burly guard on the right seemed to be staring into his soul, and Spike fidgeted under the gaze. Sweat began to crease his brow, and the stare only increased in intensity.
"Enough of that, Private, you are scaring the poor drake." Dean finally spoke, causing the two guards and Spike to jump. The guard on the left narrowed his eyes and huffed, but backed off as ordered. The elder of the two on the left merely rolled his eyes.
"Apologies for my associate, First Sergeant. We are still a bit jumpy after the... Changeling incursion." The soldier suddenly wore a tired look in his eyes and gave a hefty sigh. His one hoof subconsciously rose to trace a scar down his left eye, but stopped short and quickly returned to its place.
"That's understandable, I assume the council made some changes for security?" Dean asked. The pony nodded.
"Aye, a mandatory scan is needed when entering into certain establishments, and guards can do a random scan on passersby should they feel it's needed. If you two hold still for a moment, we will perform the scan now so you can get on your way."
Dean and Spike both nodded as the two ponies lit their horns. Both got no warning as a thin ray of light, similar to a retinal scanner seen in the movies, passed over them once, then twice. After about ten seconds, both guards cut off their magic and nodded in approval.
"You two are free to enter. Later tonight, a sing-along is being hosted by Lieutenant Midnight for the day guard. It starts around six."
"We should be back by then to check it out. Have a good afternoon gentlemen...er, ponies." Dean gave a wave. "Come along, Spike."
The little drake scampered to Dean's side as he pushed open one of the doors. There was a moment where Spike saw the inside of the barracks, but a sudden gust of hot air slammed into him, causing his eyes to close. An influx of noise suddenly reached Spike's scaly ears, and he felt a gloved hand gently tap him on the shoulder.
The little drake finally grew used to the heat, and his mouth practically dropped open from taking in his surroundings. Bunk beds lined the walls to his left and right. and ponies wearing armor were scattered about the room. Somewhere playing cards, others were reading books or chatting to their bunkmates. More than a few were sleeping, their loud snores causing Spike's ears to twitch.
"Common Spike, let's head to the common area to get a drink."
And so the two walked past the guards. There was maybe ten seconds where everyone was going about their activities, but soon their focus switched to the Human and the Drake. The looks were intense, but judging by facial expressions, he saw more than one look of gratitude. Spike saw Corporal Steel standing beside his brother, and upon catching his eye, received a nod and a smile. Spike smiled back, but it only lasted for a second; there were too many eyes on him, and it was making him nervous.
"Sergeant Dean."
Spike and Dean both stopped in their tracks, the latter turning and facing the new voice calling to him. The man reached up and slowly pulled his helmet off with a hiss, causing Spike to wince ever so slightly. Underneath the protective gear, Dean's grim face was revealed in all its glory. The beginnings of a beard were showing upon his face, and his hair was long, greasy and unkempt.
'Rarity would have a heart attack if she saw him like this.' Spike suddenly thought. He had long ago come to terms that he would never see his childhood crush again, but it still hurt to think of her or any of his other friends. It had been two years, and he hadn't heard anything about them. Chances were they were dead.
Refocusing, Spike realized Dean was speaking in response to some question posed by who he saw was a blood red Pegasus pony with a dark brown mane. A bandage was wrapped around her front right hoof, and she sported a black eye. Spike recognized the mare as Dean's squad member, Stormfly.
"I was only doing what was right. You all are the real heroes, as are the ones who sacrificed themselves for the greater good. You should all be proud of yourselves." Dean smiled as a few ponies gave small cheers and whistles before starting to disperse.
"Will you be joining the sing-along tonight, Sergeant?" Stormfly asked as Dean was about to turn. There was a moment of silence before he spoke a single word.
"Sure."
And then they were walking once more. Spike followed close behind Dean as fast as his little legs could carry him. His eyes drifted every which way as he took in as many details as possible. He had been around the Royal Guard back when he lived in Canterlot with Twilight, but never had he seen the inner workings of their day to day life. And while these soldier's weren't the same as the old ones he knew, it was still cool to experience.
"Here we are." Spike's focus returned in full, and he found himself following his Human companion through a large oaken door. A light flipped on as they entered, and Spike's eyes grew upon getting a look of his surroundings.
A large pile of equipment was sitting in a corner of the room, and beside it sat a strange, angular box. Said box was alight with what could only be described as blue holograms straight from science fiction, and different diagrams of various pieces of gear popped up every few seconds. Spike's eyes slowly drifted to the left, and he noticed a large crate half the size of the Sergeant sitting with its top open. A pale green folding stool sat beside it, and an open package containing the letters M.R.E sat on the floor nearby. A strange, yet oddly familiar smell wafted through the room, albeit faintly, and Spike's mouth began to water. He didn't notice the large, haphazardly patched hole in the wall off to the side facing the city. He also failed to notice the Sergeant wince once his eyes fell upon it.
"I take it you're hungry?" Spike looked up to the Sergeant and saw he was holding a similar, but unopened package in his left hand. Spike nearly nodded his head, and the Sergeant grinned before walking towards a desk. Spike heard a tearing sound, then something shaking before Dean gave a hearty chuckle.
"Hot damn! I'm Jealous, Spike! Looks like you got spaghetti and meat!" Dean gave a shake of his head, the readied MRE in his hands once more along with a little plastic spork. He slowly walked back towards the little dragon, unaware that he had frozen at the mention of a certain food.
"M-M-M-Meat?!" Spike whimpered as he stared at the steamy package. The smell wafting from it caused him to salivate, but his conscious screamed at him to refuse the dish.
Dean slightly cocked his head to the side and frowned, his eyes moving up and down to take in the dragon's fear filled stance. He was confused more than anything, and quickly glanced down at the packaging. He saw the word beef as an ingredient, but didn't see a problem. He looked back down at Spike with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah... meat. Don't dragons eat meat? Woulda thought you'd be carnivorous or at least omnivorous."
Spike was shaking his head before Dean even finished his sentence, his eyes never leaving the package. With his draconic vision, he could barely make out the word 'beef' on the side of the package, and his eyes widened further.
"YOU EAT COWS??!!" His shriek of horror caused Dean to wince and slightly recoil. A shocked look came across his face at the little Dragons tone, and both his eyebrows rose.
"Well yeah, of course I eat cow. I mean, back on Earth, they're just stupid... animals..." Deans mouth formed an 'O' shape as he finally came to realize what he was missing. This planet had talking ponies, Gryphons, Zebras, and who knew what else. Were the cows here more than animals as well?
"Ah, Shit." Dean frowned as he slowly backed away and placed the MRE on the table. An apologetic look came across his face as he regarded his little friend. Spike held a confused expression, but the fear was still there. It wasn't a fear held towards him, but more for the food he had almost been given. Dean sighed and walked towards his crate once more. There was a chance he could find a vegetarian option somewhere, but he only had so much food left.
"Dean?"
The man stopped his rummaging and turned to look at Spike. The little Dragon was looking at the floor in shame, and his ears were drooped slightly.
"I just wanted to say sorry for exploding on you like that, it wasn't very fair of me." Spike kicked at a small pebble on the ground, and he kept looking up at the Human out of the corner of his eye.
Dean was regarding Spike, wondering what to say in response. Should he apologize? But what was there to apologize for? Things were different on Earth, but the fact that he ate what was likely an intelligent creature on Equis obviously scared his companion.
With that thought in mind, Dean took a step forward, but stopped when he saw Spike flinch. His tail was tucked between his legs, and his eyes were squeezed closed. That's when it hit the man: Spike had been a prisoner of the Dark Elves for nearly two whole years. Just his body language showed he was expecting Dean to hit him, and the thought sent a spark of anger through his heart. He didn't let the emotion show on his face, however, and instead crouched down to Spikes level.
"Spike, I know you didn't mean anything by it, and I know you are scared. I want you to know, I will never hurt you. I don't make a habit of eating things that talk anyway." Dean flashed a disarming smile, and he saw Spike's tense posture begin to relax. Dean slowly stood up and stretched, his arms scraping across the stone roof in the process.
Looking down, he saw Spike ogling him with a look of fascination, causing him to chuckle. The little Dragon shook his head and crossed his arms, a light blush appearing on his cheeks as they puffed out.
"How did you get so big? Wish I was like that!" Spike huffed as Dean walked towards his crate. He reached in and pulled out a wire brush, a cloth, and some kind of oil. He had borrowed it from the armory some time ago, but he had forgotten it in his rush to save Twilight. Looking sideways at his rifle on a nearby bench, he knew it would take quite a big effort to get the green stuff off.
"Well Spike, to get as big as me would require something your planet doesn't yet possess." He turned and tapped the side of his head. "Genetic augmentation."
Spike cocked his head to the side and walked over to Dean's side. The thought of food was temporarily put on hold as the Human began to work. He was currently disassembling his rifle, and he watched as more and more pieces quickly found their places on the small bench and in neat piles. It was incredible that such a basic looking weapon could house so many small parts. He had no doubt that if they won this war, Twilight would be all over his stuff trying to understand it.
"What's genetic augmentation?"
Dean gave a low hum as he paused and drummed his fingers on the wood. Some of the details of the surgery were a bit explicit for someone so young, but he knew that Spike would likely be offended if he didn't tell the truth.
"Well, my people created special chemicals, drugs, and small devices called organic nano-machines. These were inserted via needle into the body, and enhanced muscle growth, reaction time, speed, strength, eyesight, hearing, smell, and every other function the Human body could perform. Once that was done, I had to do physical training in order to tone my new body and become accustomed to it. After seven years of non-stop war, what you see before you is the result." Dean turned and faced the young dragon, spreading his arms wide in the process. He heard Spike give a quiet 'whoa' before turning back to his gun.
"You fought in a war for seven years? That makes the current conflict look small in comparison."
Dean was already shaking his head before Spike even finished his statement, a small scowl crossing his expression. He turned his head slightly to hide it. His next words came out in a growl.
"Spike, one thing you have to understand is that war is Hell, no matter how long, or how absurdly large the conflict. It doesn't matter if the Equestrian war with the Dark Elves is smaller than my own. What matters is that they are trying to enslave the planet, and exterminate those they think they don't need. We had a fellow like that on Earth once, his name was Adolf Hitler. On Earth, there are many different types of Humans. People who have skin the color of coal, or wool, or wheat. There are people who are old and wrinkly, who have narrowed eyes or larger eyes. People who like the same gender, and people who like the opposite sex. And then there are people who hold different religious beliefs. Adolf Hitler held the belief that there was a master race, a perfect Human. He believed that in order to have this master race dominate, he would need to take over the world. He and his government started a secret plan, and began rounding up people who were considered undesirable, or lesser. Jews, Gypsies, Christians, Muslims, homosexuals, cripples... he gathered them all, and began to exterminate them." Dean heard Spike gasp and looked down. The little dragon's eyes were welling with tears, and his mouth was hanging open in shock. Dean sighed and shook his head before continuing.
"Hitler began a conquest of a continent called Europe, and in doing so, started what would become the greatest conflict in Human history: The Second World War." A dark feeling suddenly entered the room, and Dean's face fell into shadow. "In the end, my point is this: It doesn't matter how large the conflict is, nor who wages it. It is something that should never happen in the first place. Hitler waged genocide against undesirables, the Orith are waging genocide against my species, and Dark Elves are waging genocide against those of this world. What matters is it has to be stopped, because evil can not be allowed to prevail." Dean crouched down and poked Spike in the chest lightly, causing the little dragon to giggle. His tone softened, and a small smile appeared. "And that means people like you need to help in this mission. Capiche?"
There was a moment of shocked hesitation before the little dragon gave his head a good shake. When Spike looked back up, he gave a little salute, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. The dark atmosphere was now gone, and the topic of genocide was put behind them. Dean smiled and stood up, his back cracking.
"Alright, I'm going to take a shower, and then I can show you how my gun works. How about it?" Dean smiled as Spike nodded vigorously. His smile slowly dipped as he remembered something important, but it could wait until the scheduled meeting tonight. In the meantime, he had to clean off about half a week's worth of grime. His nose wrinkled in disgust as the smell of body odor reached him.
"I'll go wait out in the common room and grab something to eat; I saw some muffins sitting on the table!" With that, Spike jogged away, opened the door, and was gone in a flash. Dean sighed as his room became silent. He could hear a small breeze coming from the somewhat patched hole, and internally shivered.
The next instance, the feeling of lonesomeness was gone, and a steely look came over the Human. He had a job to finish, and not a whole lot of time. He turned and stomped towards the fabricator before turning and standing a few feet to its left, beside the solitary bench and facing the doorway. A quick mental command, and whirring noises began to sound as gears, screws, and other various objects began to undo or move. As his suit went about its process, Dean went through a mental checklist.
'Repair suit, clean guns, acquire nullstone, organize offensive against the Elves, kill the Emperor, then go.... home....'
Home. All movement stopped. That single word caused his head to swirl, and his gut to clench in on itself. Faces appeared in his vision as it flashed. The light coming from the nearby window seemed to dull, then brighten.
Home.
Death.
Dean began to sweat. The sounds of explosions, rifle fire, and screams echoed around him. He blinked and found himself looking across a war torn battlefield, the remnants of a once beautiful city. Human soldiers charged forward towards the advancing aliens, only to be torn to shreds by the more advanced species. He watched as civilians were butchered, ripped apart, and used in horrific manners. Strange bio-machine-like things snatched any unwary people into the air before devouring them. Tank shells ricocheted off their armor, and the enemy laughed at the pitiful attempt at an attack.
Home.
His home.
Burned, ravaged, destroyed... and he wasn't there to help protect it.
Dean blinked, hard, and the sounds suddenly disappeared. All he could hear was his own labored breathing. His eyes scanned back and forth, but he saw nothing. That's when a memory suddenly entered his consciousness, one that was buried deeply. It actually felt as though something had pulled this memory forward; a foreign presence made itself known. His eyes closed, and he suddenly saw his wife sitting beside him on a blanket. Off to their right was their son, playing on a swing Dean had made a year prior. One of his arms was wrapped around his wife, and a happy smile adjourned his features.
There was a low, growling laugh. It sent a shiver up Dean's spine, and his gut clenched from the noise. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, and he began to sweat once more.
Dean tried to talk, to say something, but no sound came from him. The memory warped to the point where he felt as though he was truly there, but it all felt wrong. Tree's warped around him, his son's squeals of laughter distorted, and the sky was turning an ugly shade of purplish green.
Then it all went silent.
Dean lifted his arm from his wife and cautiously stood. His eyes scanned for threats, but he found none. However, even with the visual confirmation, the man felt eyes on him. They seemed to pierce through him, and his mind. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his protective instincts kicked in. He tried to call too his son, and succeeded, but something was wrong.
Not once did Jaxon look at him, or acknowledge him. It was as though he wasn't there.
Dean turned and looked down at his wife, a question already forming on his mouth, but a horrific screech caused him to clasp his hands to his ears. It was as though the world was being torn apart, and Dean felt a hot substance on his hands. He already knew it was blood.
The agony only continued to worsen, and he tried to close his eyes, but found that he couldn't. His vision was becoming blurry, and a swirling rainbow of colors lay before him in the air.
Dean screamed then. It was a scream of fear and pain that only a man being flayed could make. Everything in his body hurt now, his skull felt as though it was splitting, and his chest seemed to be crushing itself. He writhed on the ground, his muscles contracting and cramping from the strange motions.
Then it stopped. The pain, the sounds... everything.
Dean gasped for air, as though he had just had the wind knocked from him. His breaths came in horrendous gasps, and each lungful of air seemed less than before. He lay there on the ground, his mind blank and his hands still clasped to his ears. He didn't notice at first, but upon feeling something wet on his cheek, he blinked. Focus seemed to return to his being, and he realized tears were pouring from his eyes.
Dean slowly, oh so slowly, pushed himself to a sitting position. His breathing was finally returning to normal, and he closed his eyes for a second.
Upon opening them, he was back in his room in Maritime Bay.
"What the fuck?" He stated dumbly as he took in his surroundings. He was standing there, unmoving. He tried to remember what had happened, but his mind came up blank. His brow furrowed as he tried to think. He remembered feeling fear, then pain, and then... nothing.
Dean shook his head and groaned, a small headache forming. Worry etched inside of him for a moment, and images of that tentacle monster appeared briefly. He shook his head once more, his own conscience telling him he was being ridiculous. He gave a small chuckle before a wave of exhaustion suddenly hit him, causing Dean to sway in place.
"Three days without sleep. Man, do I need a vacation." Dean chuckled at his little attempt to lighten up. He had a little bit before his meeting, and he desperately needed to get his list of things done. Chuckling once more, Dean turned around-
-and came face to face with the rotting corpse of his wife.
A scream erupted from his throat before he realized what was happening, and he found his body subconsciously stepping backwards. There was a slight problem however, and that came in the form of the desk that was right behind him.
'It's not real.'
Dean felt his body topple over as both his legs caught on the desk, and he suddenly found himself lying on the ground. His right arm hit the stone floor and exploded in pain before going numb. The man cried out as the corpse left his vision, and upon hitting the ground, gave an explosive curse as he began to scramble backwards.
'It's not real.'
Once more, his body reacted before his mind, and he found himself backed into a corner. Not three feet from him was the lightly patched hole in the wall, and an eerie breeze blew through the room.
'It's not real.'
Dean blinked, and finally realized that the corpse was gone. He blinked again, and found his pistol was being held with both hands in front of him, the device shaking slightly as his body trembled.
'It's not real.'
'It's not real.'
'It's not real.'
'It's not real...'
"It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's--"
Dean clamped his mouth shut when he realized what was coming from his mouth. He was a soldier, a Human, who was created to fight a war against the Orith.
'It's not real.'
He has a loving wife, and a lovely child.
'It's not real.'
He has fought for seven years. Watched as his fellow soldiers died, as civilians were massacred, and as the alien menace tore down the once proud Human race. He watched his world burn, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
'It's not real.'
Now he was in a new world, one of fantasy that was corrupted by an evil race.
'It's not real.'
A race that has unleashed a horrific monster to torture him in his own mind. To whittle him down, and destroy him from the inside. He didn't understand how this worked. He couldn't fight back, and this was not something he knew how to beat. He is just a Human, and he was facing a power unlike anything he has ever seen.
'It's not real, fight back."
It is in his head, he can feel it. It's slimy tentacles burrowing into the deep recesses of his mind. Poisoning, corrupting, dest--
'Fight back, it's not real!'
It knows. It sends horrifying images forward. He can't stop it, it's--
'FIGHT BACK!'
*****
With a gasp, Dean's eyes flew open. His heart hammered in his chest, and his eyes scanned the room around him. He was sitting in the chair at his desk, and a quick look to the side showed he had written down the parts required to fix his armor. His tac-pad was lying to his right, and Dean realized a picture was open on the screen.
He slowly reached forward and slid the device closer to him. His arms quavered, and his lip trembled. His fleeting sanity was holding on by a thread, and he didn't know what to do. The world around him was blurry, and Dean realized that once more tears were starting to flow down his face. He looked down and saw one of the droplets of salt and water slowly splash against his thigh. His lips trembled as his eyes slowly rose to the device now gripped firmly in his hands.
"Marie..." He whispered, tracing a finger over the face of his smiling wife. His eyes slowly drifted up and down the image. He could see Jaxon in the background, playing with some now dead friends, and a tear filled hiccup escaped him. His finger once more brushed across the screen, but in doing so, he accidently clicked on a nearly invisible play button.
A soft guitar began playing, and the lyrics to a sweet melody began.
"April, come she will,
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain,"
Marie's voice could softly be heard singing along with the song, her own sweet melody clashing perfectly with the soft breeze blowing past. A small flower, a daisy, was sitting behind her left ear, and she was wearing a white and yellow sundress.
"June, she'll change her tune,
In restless walks she'll prowl the night,"
Dean placed a free hand over his mouth, and his body began to shake. Memories, emotions, fears, doubts, and longing filled him to his core. Feelings that had been buried for seven whole years finally cracked through his steely persona, and Dean realized he couldn't take anymore. Tears fell freely from his eyes, and his body was wracked with sobs.
Marie looked up towards the camera, her sweet smile and caring gaze stared through the screen and into his eyes. The song was coming to a close.
"September, I'll remember,
A love once new has now grown old,"
Her hand reached beyond the view of the camera, and for a brief moment, Dean thought he could feel her grip on his forearm. His head began to shake, and he found it hard to breath all of sudden.
"I love you, Dean."
Dean's resolve finally broke, and the man was reduced to nothing but pitiful, wracking sobs. Seven years of war. Seven years of pain and suffering. Seven years, and he didn't know if he would ever see them again.
The rest of the room was encased in shadow, and as the lone Human wept, a figure lurked in the darkness. A crooked, demented smile came over its gaping mouth, and a deep, throaty chuckle escaped from it.
"Soon, Sergeant Dean Forrester... soon."
As the Human slowly got control of himself, the being slowly dissipated into the shadows; its job only just beginning. Everything was going according to plan, and soon, the multiverse would be brought to its knees.
*****
Colonel Graybeard Stone considered himself a reasonable Griffon. He was well liked by his compatriots, he was skilled in combat, and he was a strong leader. Had it not been for his quick thinking, the Griffon counter-offensive in Griffonstone would never have succeeded.
He had settled many a debate when the griffon High-Counsel was panicking, and he had kept his soldiers in line as they fought desperately against a numerically, and technologically superior enemy.
Indeed he was reasonable, and he would do anything in his power to give his people the edge in the war. But upon arriving in Maritime Bay with his retinue, and hearing about a supposed one-creature army on the side of the ponies, he did nothing but laugh.
"A-and you're telling me t-that a, and I quote, 'a Human from legend with crazy armor and weapons', is helping you guys?" Graybeard snickered as General Blight huffed. His ears had folded against his head, and a scowl had appeared. The pony gave a snort and nodded his head.
"Indeed I am, and I'll have you kn--"
"BWAHAHAHA!!" The rest of the guards burst into thunderous laughter, some with tears in their eyes, and some rolling on the ground. The Colonel merely rolled his eyes and smirked.
"The day you show us this supposed Human is the day that the Dark Elves learn to fly." Graybeard said matter-of-factly. His smug tone did not go unnoticed by the general, causing his scowl to darken.
There was an awkward moment where the two leaders stared at each other. Both had seen combat, and both knew they needed the other. The Colonel, realizing he likely wasn't giving a good first impression, softened his gaze. He still held the cocky attitude, but instead of mocking the General more, he held out his front-right claw.
"Peace, General Blight. Some things are hard to believe, and we both know that miracles are hard to come by in this war." Graybeard watched as General Blights scowl lessened into a neutral frown. The pony quickly raised his hoof and shook the outstretched claw, a sigh coming from him as he looked to the side.
"I apologize for the lack of hospitality on my part. We have had a grueling few weeks, and Prince Shining Armour was recently... killed." Blight flinched as his eyes suddenly became vacant. A gray blanket seemed to hang over the pony, and Graybeard frowned in realization. He had personally met Shining Armour in a tournament some years prior, and the two had gotten along fairly well. With the communications going on between himself and the Equestrian resistance, he knew how vital of a role the Prince had played in keeping them alive. Graybeard felt a pang of sadness, and his soldiers must have felt it too, for they all looked to the ground in a moment of silent respect.
After about a minute, Graybeard finally spoke.
"Shining Armour was a valiant soldier, and I am sorry to hear of this news. Had we come sooner, than maybe--"
Graybeard was cut off when Blight shook his head.
"There was nothing you would have been able to do. It wasn't the Elves that killed him, but the Changelings. We were infiltrated, and they stole away our Princess."
Graybeard suddenly scowled, his features darkening. Behind him, his soldiers' looks of shock soon turned to anger. His feathers ruffled as thoughts of murder went through his mind, and plans for an attack began formulating as he stood..
"Diese verdammten Insekten! I will send for reinforcements, and we will crush those bugs once and for all. I knew they couldn't be trusted, even after their traitorous queen said they were a neutral party!" Graybeard's claw formed a fist before he smashed it into the cobblestone, leaving a rather large crack.
"Colonel, there is no need for such actions quite yet." A voice called from behind.
The griffons turned around in surprise, but none more than Graybeard. It was impossible to mistake one of Equestrias greatest fliers.
"Täuschen mich meine Augen? Spitfire, the Captain of the wonderbolts!" Graybeard called with a smile as the mare trotted past their group to stand beside the General. She held a small smile, but dark bags seemed to sink into the skin beneath her eyes. Her tail had random hairs protruding every which way, and her uniform was only half-heartedly put on.
"The one and only." She rasped with a chuckle. The griffons laughed lightly, but Graybeard did not. His critical eyes scanned the Pegasus, and then narrowed. Spitfire caught his gaze, and shrunk slightly in response.
"I see you also are not taking Shining Armor's demise well." The Griffon said softly, causing her to perk up, her eyes going wide. There was a minute of hesitation, but a slow nod from the Pegasus was all the confirmation the Colonel needed. He gave a deep sigh before signaling them to move.
"Come, Captain and General. Let us discuss this in detail elsewhere." He turned to his retinue and gave a single whistle, causing them to stand at attention. His eyes passed over the small group critically before he nodded his head. "The rest of you can go to the local tavern. That is where we will be staying. Dismissed."
The group saluted before breaking up and walking away, their conversations fading as they tried to locate their place of rest. Graybeard turned towards his two compatriots with a light smile. He shifted his weapons and armor on his back before gesturing ahead.
"Lead the way you two. I would like to know everything that has happened, and spare no detail."
The three walked towards the barracks, completely unaware of the single Human making his way into town.
*****
"Are you okay, Dean? You look kinda down." Spike said as he walked along beside the man. He was eating a blueberry muffin, courtesy of Midnight, and the two were currently making their way to the blacksmiths. Dean's eyes held a vacant look, and his little companion was growing slightly worried. He had walked in on the Sergeant holding his device, and a somber mood had seemed to radiate throughout the room. Instead of questioning it, he had walked over and gave Dean a muffin.
This had seemed to work, and over the next few hours, the two had cleaned Dean's guns, taken inventory, and were now heading towards their next task. It was about four in the afternoon by now, and the skies seemed to be slowly darkening with clouds. If Spike had to hazard a guess, he would say a storm was coming.
"I'm alright, Spike. I'm just tired."
'Three days without sleep, another seven with less than five hours... Seven years of constant war. Just tired my ass.' He thought to himself with a scowl.
Dean was currently wearing the tactical vest he found in his crate along with a slightly too small, heavy black jacket. His knees and elbows were padded, and he carried his P23 on his side. His knife was attached to his chest, and the tactical helmet was strapped to his vest.
Even without the armor, Dean was still intimidating in his current getup. Ponies quickly moved out of his way, and some of the guards ogled him. Instead of a metal suit, he now looked like a normal Special Forces operator; a commando.
The reason for his switch was two-fold. One, because he didn't like going anywhere without some form of protection, and two, because he wanted to experiment with the nullstone once he combined it with the vest and the helmet. His features were grim as he and Spike approached the blacksmiths building, and hushed whispers could be heard through the street from passing ponies.
It was then that Dean realized that the majority of the population of Maritime Bay would have last seen him running from the guard. And while his innocence was proven, many of these ponies were obviously shaken up by that terrible night. It didn't help that news of Shining Armour's death had spread.
"Spike," Dean leaned down to whisper, "When is the funeral for Shining Armour and the guards at the battle of the Hive?"
There was a moment of pause before Spike answered.
"Tomorrow at three, I think."
Dean nodded before reaching forward and clamping the door-handle. Sweat was accumulating on his neck and brow from the stares he was receiving. Everything about the situation just seemed so... wrong. And after his breakdown a few hours earlier, he was beginning to question his own reality.
'Dean...'
Dean whipped around to face the voice, a crazed look in his eyes. He barely heard Spike give a surprised yelp as he scanned for the one who had spoken.
The crowd before him was silent as the grave, their activities having stopped at his sudden movement. Many looked at him in fear, and some in confusion. His eyes passed over a sea of ponies, and a sense of something uncanny passed over his consciousness. Everything briefly flickered, and he saw people in place of the ponies. Their clothing torn, their eyes... lifeless.
Then it was gone.
Dean blinked and shook his head, a small bout of nausea entering his stomach. He quickly turned, opened the door, and slipped through without a word. He hardly noticed Spike beside him as he took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out. He could hear the clanking of hammer on metal, and Spike as he talked to Iron Hammer. He could smell the metal, the burning coal, and dry air.
His eyes opened, and Dean found the noise had dimmed. Iron Mallet was walking up to him, and Iron Hammer and Spike were looking at him expectantly.
"What was that?" Dean asked, quickly reading the room and seeing that he missed a question.
"Ah asked if'n you're okay there, Sargeant?" Iron Mallet repeated, an eyebrow quirked.
Dean nodded his head and blinked the heat from his eyes. The fumes in the air were causing them to water slightly, and it didn't help that his head nearly touched the roof.
"Y-Yeah, I am, thanks." He replied with a grunt and a wince. The older pony didn't look convinced, but didn't push any further. Instead, he and his son sat on their haunches and looked up at him.
"Not a problem. Now, what can I help you with? Don't tell me the metals I sent yah ended up being bad." Iron Mallet scowled slightly, causing Dean to chuckle and shake his head.
"No sir, they were just fine. I actually came looking for a particular rock that caught my eye when I first came here. I believe your son called it... nullstone."
Iron Mallet put a hoof to his chin in thought for a second before nodding.
"Aye, we've got nullstone 'ere, but only da one boulder. Might I ask, what yer lookin' to use it for?"
And so Dean explained his theory. Iron Mallet and Hammer listened with rapt attention, their eyes going wider and wider the longer he explained. After he reached the third minute of how the metal could be incorporated into armor designed for equines, the grizzled Iron worker held up his hoof.
"Say no more, lad. If what you are saying is true, and I'm willing to believe such, then you may have just given us the upper hand in this war. I'll drop the nullstone off in the barracks at some point tonight, and I believe this kind of information needs to be brought to the General as quick as can be."
Dean nodded and slowly stood up. He had taken a seat on a nearby metal bench while he had talked, and he heard his bones cracking from stiffness. Dean figured he needed a good rest once the fighting was over. Maybe even a massage before heading back to Earth.
"I intend to do just that, Mallet. I have a meeting tonight with the council at nine. I have a feeling that in the coming week, there will be drastic changes to the way we fight against the Elves."
Iron Mallet nodded.
"Aye. Well, I best get back to work if ya' want that Nullstone on time. When you do figure out how to refine the metals within, send for me, and I will help you configure it into armor."
With that, Iron Mallet turned and trotted back to his work, a pep in his step and a perk to his mood. His son seemed to be in the same boat as he whispered excitedly with Spike. Dean smiled and reached into his pocket. Pulling out his tac-pad, he crossed another item off on his list before seeing what he had to do next.
"Right. Three hours until the meeting... Maybe something to eat?" Dean mumbled to himself. His free hand had unconsciously moved to his pocket where he felt a small pile of what the Equestrians called bits. They were solid gold coins the size of a Canadian toonie, but weighed a surprising amount as they were slightly thicker. Dean had no idea if they still used the currency seeing as how the central government and infrastructure of Equestria was gone, but he figured it was worth the try.
Dean made a note to himself then. Once the war was over, and they had one, he would stay long enough to ensure stability. It was only fair, as he knew from stories how war torn countries could turn to anarchy after devastating conflict. He didn't want all his hard work going to waste.
"Alright Spike, come along." He called, waving the teen over. Dean turned and opened the door, the evening air slightly cool with it being the middle of autumn. It was a bit uncanny, considering what Twilight had told him weeks ago. Apparently, the ponies took care of the four seasons of the year. Moving clouds, making rainbows, and everything in between. Twi had told him about an event she had taken part in called the running of the leaves, an old tradition by the Equestrians that forced the leaves to fall for winter.
If one were to look outside the walls of Maritime Bay, they would see that the leaves had not yet fallen, and the sky was constantly a misty gray. The times it was sunny were far and few between, and storms from the ocean came in regularly. It was mundane, dull, and sad. An effective reflection of how costly the war was.
The ponies' way of life was nearly gone, erased by an invading army without remorse. It wasn't an occupation, nor an annexation... no, it was the attempted destruction of a race. The Elves were genocidal, as proven by the camps and slave markets. Dean still did not know what their end goal was, but many sources have told him it is very, very bad. While he wasn't scared of the horrors of war, he still had the nagging feeling that this wasn't something he wanted to find out. Each time he encountered the Dark Elves, he had discovered them to be doing something worse to the Equestrians each time. He needed to end this, he was chosen to end this. One Human, against all odds. It sounded cool in theory, but when failure meant total annihilation, Dean couldn't help but feel something shrivel up inside him. He had faced impossible odds before, but in those cases, if he failed, then another would take his place. It was clear that if he failed here, it was over.
"Dean?"
Dean snapped out of his musings with a shake of his head, his brow creasing as he frowned. He felt a headache coming on, and cringed as he reached up and rubbed the troublesome area. His other hand slipped his tac-pad back into his pocket.
"Yeah, I'm fine Spike, just thinking of something."
Dean was about to step away, towards a tavern he could see half a kilometer away, when a claw on his leg stopped him. He looked down at the worried expression on Spike's face and raised an eyebrow.
"Dean... your nose is bleeding."
Dean blinked, his mind temporarily coming to a stop. He noticed a few ponies around him had stopped and were staring up at him in confusion and slight fear. His eyes flicked around the square they were in as he tentatively reached a hand up towards his face. He noticed that the limb was shaking ever so slightly.
His fingers brushed under his nose lightly, barely even touching the skin. He felt a sticky substance on his fingertip and pulled it out in order to clearly see the blood now sitting before him in the afternoon glow. He blinked once more in stupefaction, his mind saying it wasn't real while his eyes told him a different story.
Finally, after what seemed like an eon, Dean coughed, causing the ponies and dragon to jump. He gave a sniffle and wiped his nose against his sleeve, leaving a dark streak across the pitch black fabric. He sniffled again and looked around before noticing a red handkerchief floating to his left. He grabbed it and nodded his thanks to the unicorn responsible before holding the cloth to his nose.
"Keep it." The aquamarine stallion said gruffly before trotting off to wherever he was initially going. Many quickly followed suit, and soon Dean found it was just himself and Spike standing outside of the smithy. He looked down at Spike and saw he still had a look of concern.
Thinking quickly, he just shrugged.
"Just the dry air from the forge, used to happen all the time back home." He lied.
The young Dragon seemed to buy it as he gave a hesitant nod before crossing his arms. Dean shuffled in place as he looked around, his eyes seeing what appeared to be a Mexican pony band playing on one of the balconies of the tavern.
"Come on, Spike. Let's go get some grub." Dean grunted as his feet carried him forward. He heard his companion rush to catch up, his feet pitter-pattering on the cobblestone road behind him.
The two made it to the front doors of the tavern, and Dean made note of how western it looked. The building actually resembled an old saloon from the eighteen hundreds, and the wood looked just as old. There was a slight comical tilt to the building in some places, but otherwise it seemed to be holding firm.
With a grunt, Dean stepped up the stairs, his boots thunking heavily on the wooden deck. Even without his armor, he was still seven feet tall and built like a freight train. With all his muscle, added on to the height, he weighed over three hundred pounds.
Voices, singing and other noises echoed from behind the door, and Dean was once again reminded of an old western movie. All he was missing was the hat.
The door opened before he had a chance to push forward, and he found himself staring down at a hybrid of a lion and an eagle. Its feathers on his wings were a dark brown, and the tips were white. A red plume was on its chest, and its eyes were a sparkling blue.
The griffon, as Dean remembered from what little he knew of Greek mythology, blinked before looking up at him. His eyes slowly grew wider and his irises smaller. His feathers ruffled before fluffing up and out. There was a moment of silence where the patrons of the tavern stopped all activity and turned towards the door.
"MESSER-OHR!!"
The sudden screech caught Dean off guard, and he had just enough time to kick Spike out of the way before the strike of a flintlock hammer triggered. There was a deafening explosion of white smoke, and a small metal ball slammed into Dean's chest.
The combination of the pounding headache, disorientation, high emotion, and lack of awareness ended up being the Human's downfall. He should have been fast enough to dodge the projectile, or see the Griffon pull the pistol off its hip, but something had routed him in place. For a split second, a foreign presence shut down his motor function, and kept him from escaping the danger.
There was a blinding pain, but in an instant, Dean knew he would be fine. The vest had thankfully protected him, but he wouldn't be surprised if one of his ribs were bruised or broken. The pain instantly evaporated as he regained control of his body, and he found himself starting to sit up from his keeled over position on the ground. There was yelling coming from all around him, and anger was slowly working its way into his mind. Someone attacked him in the middle of a populated area, with a gun. Rage replaced the anger, and Dean's lungs heaved as they attempted to bring in enough air for his adrenaline fueled blood.
Looking up with a snarl, he saw the Griffons' shock be replaced with a snarl upon realizing he wasn't dead. His claw reached for a sword on his left hip, and in one motion drew it and raised it above his head.
He heard someone behind him yelling orders, most likely to the Griffon to his front, but they seemed to fall on deaf ears. He saw the bloodthirsty look in the mutated bird's eyes, and knew that the only thing stopping the Griffon would be him.
The bird's sword arc'd downwards, its expression turning smug as it realized Dean hadn't bothered to move from his kneeling position. That smug look was erased as a hand flew forward like a flash of light and locked around the Griffons sword arm, stopping it in its tracks. The smug look once more turned to shock, then fear as Dean slowly lifted himself up, his eyes burning in cold rage. He towered over the griffon, and in order to get his point across, his free hand rocketed forward and latched around the bird's throat.
The Griffon gave a strangled squawk as its airways were suddenly closed off. Its sword dropped from its right claw, while its left desperately tried to pry Dean's arm away from its neck. Its hind legs feebly kicked in the air as its body was lifted far into the air.
The silence around the square and in the tavern was almost deafening, but all Dean could focus on was the bird in his iron grip.
'Click.'
"Human... drop my soldier, now."
The cold metal barrel of a pistol pressed itself against the back of Dean's head, and his focus seemed to sharpen once more. He was now acutely aware of how quiet his surroundings were, and what he was about to do. The man gave a slow glance behind him, and he could see in his peripherals a much larger griffon wearing many medals holding the gun against his head.
"I know what you are capable of, and you've shown you are not to be trifled with, but now I ask that you let my comrade go." The bird's voice was deep and guttural- with a heavy Germanic accent, and one that spoke of experience. Another quick glance left showed General Blight standing a few paces behind the Griffon, a pleading look in his eyes.
Dean sighed, and ever so slowly, relaxed his grip and lowered the griffon so its feet were touching the wooden planks of the tavern. As soon as he let go of the bird, it immediately scrambled backwards, hacking and coughing as it massaged its throat. All the while, its fear filled eyes never left Sergeant Dean.
"Kommandant, dieser Messerohr hat versucht, mich zu töten!" The bird growled upon reaching its comrades sitting nearby. Each of them was giving Dean a dirty look, and more than a few had their hands on their weapons.
"Weapons down, every griff. This is not a knife-ear. This is a Human. There is no need for High-Imperial speech to be used." The griffon leader, who Dean assumed to be a General or Colonel based on his attire, spoke with calmness with a commanding undertone. The training routed inside him nearly caused him to straighten and salute, but he knew that would be a bad idea. He felt the pistol slowly get removed from his head and gave a sigh of relief. Even if he was capable of evading the shot, he did not want to deal with the aftermath.
"Turn Human, and face me."
Dean did as he was ordered, and upon confirming that the Griffon was indeed a Colonel, straightened and saluted. The Griffon merely cocked an eyebrow at the gesture, but responded by tapping his right fist twice over his chest.
"I am Colonel Graybeard Stone, the leader of the Griffon detachment to render aid to Equestria. I take it you are the Human I have heard about." His eyes scanned over Dean, who had dropped the salute, and lingered particularly long over his ears and mouth. Dean smiled, being sure to show his teeth, causing the Colonel to give a nod.
"First Sergeant Forrester, RSTF Special Forces. Pleasure to meet you, Colonel."
Graybeard huffed and rolled his eyes. His beak twitched upwards into a smile, something that wasn't lost on Dean. He gave the man another once over before speaking once more.
"Why don't we take this conversation to the council chambers. The meeting you called won't start for another hour, but we can discuss some things in the meantime."
The Colonel made to turn around, but a deafening crack of thunder suddenly erupted far above, causing the Griffon to sigh.
"Let us hurry, so we do not get caught in the rain."
Dean closed the door to the tavern, causing the mumbling and hushed voices to go quiet. He then looked to his left and noticed Spike was standing still, his eyes wide and his mouth agape in shock.
"Uh--"
"That was sooo cool!!" Spike cheered as he rushed up and hugged Dean's leg, causing the man to stumble slightly. He looked down at the drake in confusion as the little guy gushed about what seemed to be random nonsense. Looking up, he saw the General rolling his eyes at the display.
"Come Sergeant, we have a few minutes before the rain falls. I am not in the mood for Dilly-Dally."
Dean huffed and looked down at the young Dragon, who was once again staring up at him in awe. He gave a chuckle before gesturing ahead of him.
"Lets go Spike, time's a wastin'!" The Dragon rushed forward, and Dean began to follow suit, but once again, something stopped him. It wasn't the sickly feeling from before, and it wasn't like he was being watched. No, this was a sense of foreboding. Something was going to happen soon, and he wasn't going to like it.
As he began to walk through the slowly emptying streets, he quickly realized something important.
"I forgot to eat." Dean groaned and face-palmed, but was forced to continue on his way.
Behind him, a fierce storm was brewing, and the wind was picking up. As the Human made his way to the council chambers, the sense of foreboding never once left his mind. Something was going to happen, and it was going to happen tonight...
