Equestria was a nation unlike any other.

Since time immemorial it stood as a bastion of peace in a violent world, a shelter for the pony race from world all too happy to end their existence. For those lucky enough to live within its borders, it was paradise, a land of prosperity and happiness. For those too far separated to make the journey, it was something to emulate.

An example of what ponies could achieve if they their minds to it.

Generations of living over the greatest concentration of leylines had turned its inhabitants into the greatest, most powerful spellcasters on the planet. With their skills, Equestrians had command over the very forces of nature.

The seasons turned on their schedule. The weather changed according to their wishes. The Sun and Moon rose and fell at their whims.

Magic flowed through the very veins of Equestria’s people, and with it they had in turn built the greatest nation the world had ever seen. With it, Equestria had ensured it had no challengers. With it, Equestria had ensured it invincibility.

But this very strength turned out to also be Equestria’s greatest weakness. What good, after all, is a mastery of magic if you have none?

Enter Lord Tirek.

A villain, some say demon, from Equestria’s ancient past, Tirek had languished in Tartarus, Equestria’s most secure prison, since before written history. More mythological figure than historical fact, the centaur was the greatest threat to the world in existence, for one devastatingly simple reason.

Tirek didn’t merely command magic, he consumed it.

Discord. Sombra. Nightmare Moon. All little more than snacks to him.

Like the changelings, he saw Equestria as not only a location to conquer but as a buffet, stuffed with the most delicious morsels imaginable.

This was why he had originally come to Equestria. This was why he had been sealed away.

This was why he won.

---

It had been a year since Little Red had last been in his homeland. It had been a year since Twilight Sparkle failed to stop Tirek. He didn’t blame her, not in the slightest. Not when he’d barely escaped, himself; not when he had only a fraction of her magical power. That last day in Fillydelphia would be forever burned into his memory.

Like everyone else, he’d seen the battle. With the size of the explosions, it had been hard not to. Like others, when he’d realized they were coming from the direction of Ponyville, he’d dismissed it as yet another monster of the week. The town was Equestria’s nexus of weirdness; there was always something happening.

And like others, when it all stopped, he’d assumed that whatever had showed up had been dealt with, like always.

How wrong he’d been.

Golems, perverse dolls crafted an animated by magic, had marched on the city the next day. Unnaturally quiet, absolutely featureless abominations, the only warning he and others had gotten was the clomp of their hooves on the pavement. Before anyone could react, they had been marching down Mane Street, rounding up ponies left and right.

And right in the middle of them, standing as tall as the buildings beside him, stood Triek, a smug grin on his arrogant, apish face. Red had known more ancient mythology than most. He’d recognized the centaur immediately.

He’d run. A stampede had followed.

He could remember boarding a schooner docked in the harbor. He could remember the press and crush of bodies as more crowded in with him.

He could remember the horrible sucking sensation as his magic drained, leaving him weak and lethargic. He could remember his relief at being allowed to escape.

Everywhere they landed in Equestria, the story was the same. Dead cities filled with lifeless constructs watching over bound and enslaved ponies. Some few ships managed to join them, but it was apparent that Equestria was lost.

Her time had run out.

So the motley fleet had turned its hopes outward and crossed the ocean, bringing news of Equestria’s fall to the Occident.

A collection of pony nations to Equestria’s east, Occidental ponies lived in a vastly different world to their Equestrian counterparts. Where Equestria had enjoyed thousands of years of peace, broken only by the occasional supervillain, Occidental history was a never-ending litany of struggle, warfare, and sorrow. Bereft of the magical bounty that had graced their cousins, Occidental ponies had turned to technology to solve their problems, carving out civilizations from the hostile environs the original migration from Dream Valley had led them to, sometimes fighting tooth and hoof for the chance.

Red had expected many things from them, in light of this.

Condescension.

Pity.

Indifference, even.

What he hadn’t expected, as the Germane warship escorted the schooner into Flankfurt harbor, was the outpouring of sympathy he and the other refugees received when the news spread.

He hadn’t expected the offer of military training.

And he hadn’t expected the answer when he asked why.

“Equestria’s just the beginning,” the military mare had said. “Tirek’s crimes won’t stay there. We have to stop him now, and we’re going to need every able-bodied pony we can get.”

The training had been brutal, clearly intended for the dog-eat-dog world the Occidentals lived in, but Red had passed in the end. His shoulder patches declared him a Royal Guard in exile. The flag on his steel-grey sleeve was Equestrian.

But the barrel he drove was Germane.



“Time to target?”

“One-twenty.”

Sigmund, the barrel’s commander, grunted an affirmative, though the sound was barely audible over the growl of the vehicle’s engine. Even with his viewing slit open, the stink of diesel filled Red’s nose.

Two minutes was a long time in the battlefield, Red knew that now. It was more than long enough for practically anything to happen.

The barrel company trundled through a cratered wasteland on Ponyville’s outskirts. The battered and scarred terrain attested to colossal battle, likely the very same one Red had witnessed all those months ago.

Red carefully avoided the largest holes; even though the tracked vehicle could easily handle the rough terrain, giving the gunner the most stable firing platform possible was an instinct the drill sergeants had hammered into him

“So, you three, ready to take back your homeland?” The Germane officer spoke Equish for the benefit of his all-Equestrian crew.

“Since I left Fillydelphia, sir.”

“That horseapple’s plot is mine.” Lemon Jubilee’s reply was vehement.

“I’ve got a bullet with his name on it.” Onyx maintained his trademark stoicism, but was no less passionate.

“Just what I want to hear. Hold on to that fire, boys and girls; it will carry you this day.” Sigmund almost sounded proud of them.

The radio crackled to life. “ Panzerkompanie Maelstrom, this is your commander.” That wasn’t standard radio protocol.

“As you know, we are approaching our objective. In a few minutes, we will meet the centaur’s forces on the field of battle one final time. Beyond them is the demon himself. We must win this day; the fate of our world depends on it.

“No matter the outcome, remember this. You have done what was necessary to the best of your abilities, and you did it with honor. That is all that can be asked of you.

“It has been an honor to fight with you. This bastard enjoys the taste of magic; let us see how he likes the taste of steel and lead. As of now, you are weapons free. Engage and destroy with all due prejudice.”

“You heard her, comrades. Button up.” Red could hear the commander’s hatch slam shut a moment later. He reached forward and pulled the viewing slit closed. The closed hatch restricted his field of view, but afforded him greater protection. It was a tradeoff Red was happy to make.

A castle of black stone loomed in the distance, standing over what remained of Ponyville. Even from the barrel’s distance, Red could see it was in a sorry state.

The dust cloud in the distance worried him; there were only a few things it could be.

“High explosive loaded. Gunner, get ready.” Onyx muttered an affirmative.

“Maelstrom Two-One; contact made. Identify golems, Class-Three, unknown class.”

Red’s heart began to gallop in his chest. It wasn’t unexpected. They were right on Tirek’s doorstep. Of course he would throw everything at them.

But to have unknowns show up?

The Threes were dangerous enough. Pony-shaped automatons, born of stolen and distilled earth pony magic, they possessed preternatural speed and strength, with their bucks capable of shattering a barrel’s armor if they could land a good hit.

The one good thing about them was their very ordinary durability; a few bursts from a repeater was more than enough to put one down. ‘Glass Cannons’, as the Occidentals called them.

Why weren’t the unicorn-based Twos being fielded?

“Maelstrom, Actual. Leave the Threes for Checkmate; form up with Hurricane and crush the unknowns before they have a chance to become a problem.”

“Solid copy, Actual. Moving to comply.”

The rumble of the golems’ hooves could be heard over the engine now, and Red could begin to make out individual silhouettes. Like that day in Fillydelphia, like every day since the invasion began, faceless abominations stared back at him.

The goal was simple. Kill everything not pony, and then send Tirek back to Tartarus, one piece at a time. They did it before; they would do it here and now.

“Gunner,” Sigmund called out, “fire.”

The forty-eight barrels of the Allied Expeditionary Force, First Armored Battalion opened fire as one, roaring out their defiance in a torrent of deafening sound and lethal lead.

Shells and bullets raced out to their targets, striking with devastating effect. Golems shattered under the hail of gunfire while new craters were gouged out of the wasteland’s landscape.

But still the golems kept coming.

In the distance, Red could hear the fire of the supporting units; the artillery batteries and other battalions of barrels, the chatter of repeaters was distinct from the deep WHUMP of cannons.

Still the golems kept coming. It was a pattern that had repeated every battle since the landing. Tirek’s dolls simply wouldn’t stop. As long as one was operational, it would continue to fight.

They were terrifyingly effective weapons.

“Sixty to target!” Lemon called out between firing bursts from the hull-mounted repeater. Like Equestria before him, Tirek was running out of time.

One of the Threes charged Red’s barrel. There was no time avoid it. “Brace for impact!”

The vehicle bucked a moment later as it collided with, and then ran over, the arcane construct, before finally sliding to a stop as Red slammed on the brake.

“Driver, are we mobile?”

Red twisted the barrel in place experimentally; it turned just fine. “Yeah,” he replied.

“Then get us moving again!” Red gunned the throttle, bringing the barrel back up to its top speed.

The cannon fired again, catching one of the unknown golems in the high explosive shell’s detonation. The golem’s comrade fired off a magical bolt that slagged the barrel’s front armor before slamming the vehicle with a telekinetic slap that sent it skittering sideways.

“What in Hel’s name was that?”

“That was magic. Celestia-damned things have magic!” Red frantically replied. It certainly explained where the Twos had gone; replaced by these... things.

The top of the turret caved in under the force of a physical blow, crimping the commander’s hatch closed. Red popped open the driver’s hatch to get a better look.

What he saw terrified him.

The golem that had slammed them had come up and proceeded to whale on the stricken barrel.

As the construct brought its fists up again, the earth pony stallion was stricken with a sense of déjà vu. The golem was a perfect replica of Tirek himself. Right before him was the very face that had chased him out of Equestria.

Rage welling up in him, Red drew his ‘pistol’ and aimed it the golem’s head.

He didn’t stop firing until the magazine was empty.

The golem staggered away blindly into the path of a Hooviet barrel. The barrel’s cannon roared, catching a third Tirek copy before the B-34’s commander’s hatch opened.

“You folks okay in there?” The Equish was thickly accented, but understandable. Sigmund forced himself into the cockpit with Red.

“What’s he saying?” Sigmund’s question filtered up through the hatch.

“He wants to know if we’re alright, sir.”

“Are we mobile?”

Red positioned himself to tap the throttle with a back hoof. The barrel leapt forward. “Yes, sir.”

“Then we’re fine.” Sigmund withdrew into the cabin.

“Just a little banged up,” Red reassured the Hooviet barreler. “We’re fine!” The Occidental pony nodded and tossed a salute his way before climbing back into their vehicle.

Red observed the battle a moment more before doing the same. In spite of the new golems, and the smoking wrecks that dotted the battlefield because of them, the battalion had nearly broken through.

The ground shook, noticeable even with the barrel’s suspension. It shook again. A third time. A fourth.

Red popped his head out of the hatch one more time.

Striding onto the battlefield, magic streaming into his mouth, was Tirek. The centaur’s massive bulk towered above the barrels.

Golems all around crumbled as the magic animating them was reabsorbed by their creator. That his size hadn’t changed at all in the process was indicator of just how little effort Tirek had expended fighting them.

Then the monster did something unexpected.

He clapped.

A slow, methodical sound, metronomic in its precision, it dominated the air.

“Well done, little ponies. Well done indeed. You’ve done well to get this far. And you’ve been such excellent test subjects.

“But this ends now. Know that your lord-“

“Onyx?” Sigmund’s query grabbed Red’s attention, dragging it from the monologueing centaur.

“Sir.”

“We can still aim the cannon, right?”

A moment passed while the turret clanked. “Yes sir.”

“Put one right between the dummkopf’s eyes.”

“With pleasure.”

Sigmund loaded a shell while Onyx aimed the cannon. Red, anticipating an order to move, grabbed the throttle and waited.

“Ready.”

“Give the bastard a taste of lead.”

The cannon roared. Red could see the shell streaking out to its target.

Tirek never knew what hit him.

“GAH!” The centaur’s scream of pain was like music to Red’s ears. Tirek turned to face the defiant crew. “Insolent fools. If this is how you repay my mercy, then death is all you will get.” A spell gathered at his horns as he prepared to wipe the vehicle from existence.

Another shell hit him.

And another.

Within moments, the entire Allied force was emptying their weapons into him.

“ENOUGH! I AM LORD TIREK! I WILL NOT-!” Whatever the centaur had been about to say was cut off as artillery slammed into him.

While there was still ammunition to fire, no one stopped. It was several long minutes before the gunfire tapered off.

The dust, driven up by the explosions and impacts, began to settle, revealing Tirek.

What was left of him.

Red could barely believe his eyes as he clambered out of the barrel. “That’s it? It’s really over?” After spending months hating Tirek with every fiber of his being, having it all end so abruptly left the stallion off kilter. He didn’t know what to think.

“Even the alicorns weren’t immortal.” Red turned to see the others following suit, Sigmund hanging out of the driver’s hatch while Onyx and Lemon crawled out the side. “Everything has a point it just can’t take any more. Do enough damage and even a god will die.”

“What do we do now?” Red felt stupid and clichéd for asking, but it was a question worth asking. Equestria was in ruins. There was no guarantee that Tirek’s death would bring back their magic.

Celestia and Luna were locked up only the Occidental gods knew where, and without their protection, Equestria was bound to be preyed on by the less savory characters of the world.

“Well, first off, we cart that mess off to the nearest volcano and toss it in.” Sigmund’s manure-munching grin practically reached his ears. “And, to give your stupid question an equally stupid answer, you rebuild.

“Your friends in the Occident will be happy to help.”