[b]Three Days Later[/b]

Battlewing, scout of the second localised squadron for the Dragonpoint Outpost, was deeply bored. He had been surveying the same territory for over six months now, and it would be a good while more before he would return to active duty. Despite being on the Stormwing front, Dragonpoint saw very little combat, nestled by the buffer zone of non aligned towns to the north and with the rest of the Stormwing nation on its eastern side, all it ever saw was the occasional incursion of tribals from the Everfree.

Speeding past in loose formation with his fellow pegasi, rolling light forest and the occasional hill made only a minor change in the reasonably desolate landscape. Once this area had been prime agricultural territory, but thanks to decades of war, disease, famine a changed ecosystem it had reverted into barren fuming swamp at its worst, and churned up frontiers, old battles and dead forests at its best.

Frankly he found it all very depressing.

He yawned as his commanding officer, Dusty Feather signalled for them to make a turn to the right, he didn’t even have to process the moves anymore, and everything had seeped into an unconscious pattern. Beside him, Cobalt Flight gave him a terse message in the way of coded sign language.

[i]‘Eyes open Battlewing, don’t get lazy’[/i]

He nodded back in understanding and tried to focus on the territory, but it was hard not to fall back into a daze. The days had been passing so slowly since he joined up for this core it’d all seeped into one giant never ending cycle to him.

A sudden glint in the marshland ahead made him start however, and he focused his eyes on the shine cast upon out-of-place metal by a dull sun, troubled by clouds and portents of rain.

[i]‘That was new’[/i]

He dipped a wing to his companions and signalled further, and they too took note of whatever it was up ahead. Tightening formation slightly they approached whatever it was cautiously, even the Everfree tribes could be deadly when they wanted to be, the endless war with the Earthborn showed that clear as day.

As they made flew over they were able to discern more details of the ground below, but still at this height it was hazy at best. They’d found a clearing and dotted around the place where many curled up forms — probably bodies— and still flaming portions of scorched earth, the glint came somewhere up ahead where a… pillar or stake stood of some sort, but he couldn’t make it out.

The Pegasi drew closer together to make conference, whilst a few out-flyers were sent to circle the perimeter of the place with watchful eyes, Battlewing drew close enough to hear the hushed conversation between the Sargeant and Officer Dust Feather, who seemed to be debating investigating.

“We haven’t had reports of a battle here, one of the squads would have messaged in and told us if there was, and we’ve heard from all the local groups just an hour ago. I don’t like this sir, it doesn’t look right.”

“Come on now Hail! It could just be that we’ve encountered the remains of a small battlefield between two feuding Everfree tribes. You know how are, practically at each other’s necks without Fluttershy to keep them in check. It deserves a look just to note it down in the log, besides, it might give us data on where the remaining scum have headed, and we can’t have them move further into our territory.”

Hail nodded, but he didn’t look best pleased, “have some of the scout’s do another sweep over the place before we land, see if there is anything out of place.”

Dust dipped his head, and signalled to the out-flyers, who promptly responded in turn and dipped into the forest surrounding them. After a tense few minutes all of them rose up out of the forest and sped towards them, in a semi-casual manner. 

The leader of the out-flyers sped forward and saluted Dust, but he looked slightly pale in the face as he did so. “We’ve found no sign of any ambush sir, but there is something wrong with some of the bodies, I think you better have a look at them.”

Dust frowned, “Really Greentip? What’s so odd that I have to come personally to look at them?”

Greentip’s face churned up, as if he was trying to get the words out but was failing awfully, “J-just come sir, I can’t really explain it, I’d say it was the cult but this… this is beyond them.”

Dust’s frown turned into a worried look of concern and nodded, “I’ll be right down, thank you Green. Keep patrolling the perimeter with your fellows, we’ll need to keep our eyes open.”

Greentip nodded again and saluted, before dipping back down into the tree line with his forward scouts, Dust shrugged at Hail with a look of confusion on his face, “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about then…”

Gliding down the scene opened up to them, and what awaited was a vision of pure carnage. Bodies in various states of dismemberment, frozen screaming faces of terror, the stench of gore thick on the air and the cawing of ravens as they glutted on their fresh feast, the scene was that of a utter massacre. Pulling his mail close to his nose and mouth Battlewing tried to block out the smell, but even with his efforts the cloying fetor squirmed through regardless. 

It had been an Everfree tribal warband at one point, but now they were just steadily rotting carcasses. Arrows and huge brutal wounds covered the few remaining corpses which were still in a semi-whole state, the rest were scattered as if a wild bear had charged into them. There was signals that the attack had been both physical and magical, portions of the ground were scorched from magical fire blasts and some of the bodies were still smouldering away, burnt fat filling the air with its noxious reek.

“What in blazing hells…” he muttered, “Who could have done this?”

Dusty had been taken aback by the scene but he quickly established order among the demoralised soldiers as they took in the scene. “Hold it together, you’re soldiers of Stormwing, you’ve seen worse than this. Hail! What is the body count on the opposing tribe?”

Hail looked up from where he was squatting, and gave a look which made Dusty’s skin crawl, “There aren’t any sir.”

“What do you mean there aren’t any? The scene shows clear signs of a close quarter struggle, and there is no way they could have removed the bodies without leaving behind traces…”

“That’s just it sir, there are no traces, it’s like they were wiped out without a single loss on the opposing sides warband, all the tattoos and markings are of the same tribal group.”

“Flaming Celestia, what are we dealing with here? Who could take out a warband at close quarters and not suffer any casualties? I want answers gentlemen, what word from the out-flyers?”

“None sir, they’ve not returned yet.”

Dusty spat, his face contorting into a grimace, “damn it, they’re late.”

“Sir!” came a terrified shout, the voice echoing from the far end of the battlefield, drawing Dusty’s attention away from the irresponsiveness of the out-flyers.

“What in hells name is it now?” he murmured, his face cold, desperate not to see any more of the battlefield than he already had. Still he conjured up some nerve and marched towards the source of the disturbance.

What awaited him looked like something out of a gothic novel.

Made out of shattered and broken weapons and half a tree that had been reduced to a broken stub, the impaled corpse hung like a torn rag doll from the structure, its face a horrible mess of mutilation and metallic additions. Battlewing could tell almost immediately who this was, the tribal shaman. A figure of profound reverence amongst the Everfree tribes and who held considerably sway over whatever group they were a part of. Usually battles between the local shamans for power were a bloody affair, but he’d never seen anything like this.

It was as if someone had created some ungodly idol or shrine from blood and metal, with the shaman as its centrepiece. The bodies lower portion was completely missing, a ragged hole where it had once been dripped viscera and blood in slow tides down the broken stump. Its face had been held open and its jaw pinned back in a demoniacal scream by a series of wires and nails, many of its teeth were missing. Its upper head was completely caved in as if the person doing it had felt some profound detestation of the shaman, and long tubular pipes had ground themselves through the skull into the wood behind it. The form hung with wire and metal fetishes, made of strange signs which disturbed him extensively in the sheer viciousness of their design, wrapped around or embedded into the broken flesh of the corpse.

Battlewing buckled over and vomited on the ground, the yellow mulchy army rations mingling with the blood of the battlefield before them to create a putrid hybrid of filth. Many of the soldiers nearby weren’t doing much better and only Hail seemed to have collected himself enough to comment on the thing.

“Well…” he muttered, his eyes cold and frightened “Someone really doesn’t like tribal religion…”

Dusty nodded nearby, he’d almost gone mute at the sight, but he managed to gather enough of himself to issue a command, “Withdraw, get everyone back in formation, I want us out of here as quickly as possible.”

The rest of the soldiers nodded at the stern command, they had no interest in staying here any longer, Quickly they folded back into a group, rising a couple of meters above the ground as they prepared to depart.

“Where are the out-flyers?”

“Not here Sir…” came the reply from Hail, “they should have returned by…”

Both the sergeant and the officer’s eyes widened at the realisation.

“Ambush.”

 In that second a bolt flew out of the surrounding woodland and embedded itself in the neck of Dusty, followed in turn by dozens more from every direction. Dusty fell choking to the ground as the woodland around them erupted in a storm of arrows and bolts. Within seconds most of the company was either dead or injured. A few of the soldiers broke rank and tried to get away, but they just proved easy targets for the sharp shooters. 

Battlewing had been in the midst of them, and had managed to avoid the arrows, but now he was afraid. He made a desperate rise for the clouds along with the rest of them, panic overwhelming him as his hoplite shield was repeatedly embedded with crossbow bolts, His wings thrummed with the power gifted by adrenaline as he pushed himself up, desperation in his mind solidifying into a single thought.

[i]Run.[/i]

He gained height as stallions and mares alike fell around him, falling like sacks of meat unto the gory ground beneath them, the air filled with their screams and the zipping sound of flying bolts reaching their mark. But he was almost there…

Suddenly a sharp pain erupted through his shoulder, his wings tightened in response and he stared back at a sharp black bolt embedded into his right wing muscle.

[i]No.[/i] He thought.

 And then he fell.

He collapsed on the ground with a heavy crash of metal, the impact hitting him like a ton of bricks. His head erupted in pain and his vision clouded, but still he could see the dark shapes begin to emerge from the darkness towards them as the last hoplite fell.

Even with his disrupted vision, he could tell they were not natural, they moved too swiftly and erratically. He blacked out for a second, and when he opened his eyes again they were less dulled, and the figures stood amongst them.

They were dark abominable things, clad in heavy black armour, sullied by the sod they had been hiding under in wait for just such a group. The visible flesh they showed indicated their forms were twisted with metallic additions, and their hair —which in clumps showed their old colour— was as white as snow, and their eyes… he didn’t dare look at those dark intelligent cold orbs which blazed with purple fire at him.

Around him he could hear the dull sound of beleaguered fighting, and the solid crunch and slice of flesh being rent by blade and mace. The metal creatures butchered the mortally injured and broken, cleaving heads and bodies with bloody efficiency. Besides him a fountain of blood sprayed out from Dusty as he attempted to breathe, like some macabre mutilated beached whale. 

A heavily armoured figure suddenly loomed over Dusty, its features hidden between a shroud like black hood and its body covered in heavy silver plate; it peered out at them with the same horrible eyes as the others though, there would be no mercy given.

It was a mare, or at least it seemed to be, much like the others her purple and yellow colours were patchy and faded, fading away into pure white, giving her an edge of anonymity and a revenant presence. In stark contrast to this almost wraith like appearance however, a ragged and angry looking death scar crossed her throat, and a portion of her horn had been broken off at some point and then fitted with a metallic replacement. She looked like she’d had portions of her body ripped apart and then stitched back together again; indeed as he looked he noticed her legs had been replaced with intricate machinery, the flesh ending in web of wiring and metal plates just below the shoulder or haunch.

Unlike the others who gave off a sense of dull but brutal efficiency, Battlewing could tell this one was different, her eyes suggested a vast and expansive intelligence, and her face sneered up in uncharacteristic malice at the dying pony. 

These were not Laughing Dead.

[i]What in Tartarus’s gates are these things?[/i]

Lifting one metal clad forehoof, she pressed Dusty’s face into the mud as she inspected the bolt in his neck. Obviously displeased, she spat to the side, raising the hoof and gave Dusty one last look as he gurgled in terror at her.

“Qullulum.” she wheezed, before she buried a steel hatchet in the officers skull with an audible crunch of bone.

Turning to him she eyed him up as the remaining monstrosities returned from their bloody business, terrifying him within an inch of his life.  With the same rough inspection she gave his wound a look, but unlike Dusty’s, this one seemed to satisfy her. 

Signalling to the others she wheezed out a command in a tongue unknown to him, “Eṭēru baal abu!”

Suddenly two of the machine creatures seized him and dragged him towards a motley group of dishevelled survivors. He cried out in protest but was silenced as a limb covered in plate and chain smashed across his face. 

Out of the original twenty, only three of them were left, him included. As he watched, one of them attempted to fly away only to be seized by a unicorn’s grasp and to have his wings broken with an audible snap. The soldier let out a howling screech until one of the machines backhoofed him over the face with a metal clad limb and beat him to a whimpering silence. The rest of them were forced into line and marched into the forested marshland, the machine ponies watching them under unblinking stares. 

In one last backwards look he saw the remaining portion of the force begin to disassemble and hide the bodies of his comrades, along with the bodies of the tribe in the marshland waters. However, the female leader paused before the grisly shrine, and bowing in supplication and beginning a low chant.

Behind him a low murmur was heard, and he struggled to understand it until it was repeated by the monstrosities surround him.

“Nâdu baal antalû.”

[i]What in Celestia’s name awaits us…[/i] Battlewing thought, before they marched into the darkness, towards a fate they would never return from…