Branches snapped under Dean’s boots, the thick canopy above casting shadows that danced like phantoms at the edge of his vision. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one tearing at his chest as he pushed himself harder, faster. Sweat dripped down his brow, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t slow. The forest was a blur of green and brown, the scent of damp earth filling his lungs, but none of it registered. His mind was elsewhere-- trapped in the memories he couldn’t outrun.

Crack!

The ground trembled beneath him, and for a split second, his body tensed, expecting the familiar impact of an explosion, or the flash of a hard-light projectile. But there was no explosion. No battlefield. No shrapnel flying through the air. Just the quiet, suffocating calm of the forest passing by in a blur, and the moon illuminating the sky far above.

Dean stumbled, catching himself on a nearby tree, his breath hitching as the flashbacks tried to claw their way to the surface. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the bark as if it could anchor him to the present. But the faces, the voices--they were relentless. His chest tightened as something tried to claw its way out, but he wouldn't let it. He felt tears growing in his eyes, but forced them down with tremendous effort.

“I could have saved them… I... I can still save them,” he whispered to no one, the weight of guilt pressing down on his shoulders like a boulder.

The leaves rustled overhead, but Dean didn’t notice. His world had shrunk to the pounding of his heart, the roaring in his ears, and the ghosts of a war that wouldn’t leave him be. His breathing came in laboured gasps, and his vision swam.

'I need to get home.'

'I need to make sure they are alright.'

'I can not trust the ponies. I must end the war.'

He had repeated those phrases in various orders throughout the night. They were all he focused on, because when he did, the face of Twilight was pushed back.

'Twilight...'

Her name reverberated in his mind like a gong, and that familiar ache grew sharper. His fingers tightened around his chest-plate as though he could crush the feeling away. She had been there, a beacon in his storm, pulling him back from the edge when the nightmares became too much. But now... she had crossed a line.

'She may have betrayed my trust, but it is for her own safety.' Dean reasoned with himself.

His scowl deepened as he glared at the bushes, but it wasn’t the shrubbery he saw—it was her, and the memory of her face as she had pleaded with him, tears in her eyes. He saw the love, the caring nature, and the desperation to be with him. What she showed, he felt, yet he could not reciprocate it.

She had no right...

Gritting his teeth, Dean slammed a fist into the bark of a nearby tree, the force splintering the wood beneath his armor. His jaw clenched. She had betrayed his trust, and yet, as much as he wanted to cast her aside, as much as he wanted to focus on the war, her image wouldn’t leave him. It gnawed at him, pulling him back to that moment where she had reached out, desperate to have him by her side. She loved him, and he loved her... but he could not return the feeling.

Why did she care so much?

A bitter laugh escaped him. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t. How could anyone, least of all her, truly grasp what it meant to carry the burden of so many lives? He had a family to save, a people to protect, and a world-wide war to put to an end. The weight of the world literally sat upon his shoulders!

Shaking his head, Dean pushed himself off from his current position and took up a light jog. His HUD showed he had been traveling for the better part of a day and again into the night. He barely remembered any of it, for all he was able to think about was his family and his need to get home. It was as though an entire twenty-four hours had disappeared from his memory.

The forest was silent around him, oddly so. He heard no critters, crickets, or animals. It was so sudden that it almost instantly snapped the man from his melancholic reverie. The silence lasted for a mere few seconds, and once Dean tilted his head slightly, he heard the faint sound of singing.

"What the..." he whispered to himself before activating his foot dampeners. A slight breeze blew through, and he heard the voice waver slightly. He could not discern the language, for it was foreign, but this did not deter him. While he was protected from magic in the places his armour touched, chinks still existed. He felt something... ancient. It tried to grab onto him, but it could not keep hold. Dean felt himself slowly walking towards the singing and the strange feeling, more out of curiosity than anything. His troubles and thoughts were put on the backburners as he approached. No Twilight, no war, and no family. Just the voice, and the feeling.

Dean reached forward and pushed some brush out of the way, but upon doing so, his eyes widened. Laid out before him was a gorge, and beyond this gorge, was a monstrous ruin. It appeared to be some sort of castle, and its structure left a decrepit shadow against the night sky. Mist and fog surrounded its turrets, and had Dean not known he was in another world, he would have assumed he had entered into medieval Scotland.

The singing seemed to shift. Its tone became forceful, desperate. It caused the hairs on Dean's neck to stand on end, and his hand to ball into a fist. His senses screamed at him, that he was being watched. He twisted around and turned on his thermal imaging, but upon scanning the forest around him, he found nothing. The whispers began in his head once again.

'It is luring you in.'

'It wants to keep you from the mission.'

'Don't trust it!'

'It holds answers...'

Against his better judgement, the man began to walk forward. The singing was coming from the gorge itself, and so he moved towards the ledge. His legs were tense, and his eyes scanned everything. His paranoia tried to coax him out of this foolish endeavor, but he forced himself to ignore it. He needed to know who was singing. Something inside him was screaming that he needed to go here. The air was comforting, even with the ruinous backdrop.

The edge approached, and Dean sighed upon seeing the mist hiding the bottom of the gorge. Vines decorated the sides, and a faint blue glow could be seen through the haze. A warm and tingly feeling washed over the man, but he stayed resolute. Something wanted to see him. He immediately ruled out the monster, for its presence was cold and meticulous. He ruled out the Emperor; there was no way he would be out here. The Guardian was apparently to weak to appear, and the Destroyer was trapped in an orb.

That meant that another party was involved.

Dean steadied himself, eyes fixed on the mist-filled chasm below. The blue glow pulsated softly, beckoning him like a heartbeat, filling the space with an otherworldly hum that vibrated through his armor. His HUD flickered for a moment, displaying static—a glitch?

He felt that strange, ancient pull grow stronger, as if a thousand comforting hands were reaching out from the depths, grasping for him. He took a deep breath, his fingers tensing around the ledge while his right hand twitched at his holster. Slowly, he leaned forward, his gaze searching the mist below for any hint of the singing figure.

Then, a shadow stirred within the blue glow. The mist parted briefly, and Dean caught a glimpse—a flash of a figure, cloaked, ethereal, a face like a thousand shining crystals, and with eyes like twin stars that pierced the fog, locking onto him. The singing stopped abruptly, leaving only silence.

Dean’s breath hitched, and he instinctively shrunk back. The figure, though still partially obscured by the mist, raised a slender, elongated hand, beckoning to him in a strangely friendly manner. Her voice returned, softer now, almost a whisper that seemed to bypass his ears and settle directly in his mind.

“Warrior… so far from home,” the voice murmured, laced with a melancholy that made Dean’s chest tighten. “Why do you run, when all you seek is within reach?”

The words echoed in his head, and for a moment, Dean’s vision blurred, images flashing before him—his family, the fires of battle, Twilight’s face pleading with him. He clenched his fists, fighting against the vision, forcing himself to stay rooted in the present.

"Who are you?" he called down, his voice barely steady. His mask caused his voice to distort ever so slightly, though the figure showed no sign of caring.

Their gaze didn’t waver, its form shifting slightly as the blue light intensified. “One who has seen many like you… broken, lost, struggling beneath burdens not meant to be carried alone.”

Dean grit his teeth, his patience already starting to run thin. “I don’t have time for riddles. What do you want?”

The figure tilted her head, the faintest hint of a smile curving her lips. “It is not what I want, Warrior, but what you need.” Her hand extended further, and the mist parted beneath her. Dean caught a glimpse of symbols carved into the stone walls of the gorge—ancient runes that glowed with the same ethereal light. They seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

“If you seek the end of your suffering, then enter,” she whispered, the words a caress that sent a chill down his spine. “Beyond lies a truth you must face. However, if you are to continue on your path of death and destruction, then you will fall alongside this world... and yours." Each of her words carried a faint whisper that seemed to pierce his very being. He couldn't look away as the being--who sounded very familiar--slowly began to turn away.

"Who are you!" Dean called, scrambling to his feet and causing pebbles to fall. Their clatter along with his words gave the being pause, and she slowly turned once again to stare up at him. Slowly, a warm smile shone up at him, and Dean felt a power unlike anything he had witnessed. It was ancient... powerful, and well beyond the confines of time itself.

"I have many names, Human, for I am born of time itself. Ying, Yang, balance, light, and dark. However, those are not my true self." Her head tilted slightly to the side, and Dean caught a glance of dark, shoulder length hair cascading from inside the hood. His eyes narrowed; it's hair was not like that before.

"And what is your true name? What should I call you?"

The figure slowly began to back away, her body being enshrouded in the mist once more. However, not once did she break eye contact. What looked like remorse, or pity could be seen in those orbs. It left an unsettling feeling in the man's stomach.

"That is for you to figure out, Dean Edward Forrester. Remember what I have told you."

And with that, she was gone. Dean's ears caught the tail end of jingling and singing, but it soon faded along with the mystical blue light. Soon, the gorge was once again enshrouded in darkness, leaving the bottom covered in fog and mystery. Slowly looking up, Dean watched as an Elven Skiff patrolled overhead, far in the distance. He was getting close.

Quickly marking the position on his HUD, the man turned and began to walk once again to the East. His little pit-stop had taken too much of his time, and so he could afford no more distractions. It was time to end this, mystical beings or not.

However, as he broke into a jog, and then again into a sprint, the man couldn't get the nagging feeling in his mind to depart. Something important had been missed, and his subconscious told him he should have heeded that beings words. However, it was too late now.

As Dean approached the edge of the forest, caught sight of the small city before him, and then noticed the castle on the mountain's side, his fate was sealed. One way or another, this war was about to end. With the beings' words lingering in his mind, and the image of his wife and child fueling him forward, Dean moved to take on the Emperor. Once and for all.

*****

"Sarith."

"Vaeloren."

The two elven guards passed each other as the change took place. Sarith was one of the unlucky few to have the night shift, which usually entailed a rather boring four hours. He walked past pillars, trinkets, and tapestries, until finally, his post was in sight

Reaching his destination, Sarith leaned against the cold stone wall as he reached his post, letting out a quiet breath. The night watch wasn’t his preferred assignment, but at least it offered some peace. The corridors were dim and mostly deserted, the occasional Equestrian slave slipping by with their heads bowed, silent as shadows. Guards were posted far apart tonight, leaving him with stretches of solitude and only faint torchlight flickering against the stone.

Footsteps approached, and he looked up, recognizing the steady stride. Nyra, her silver hair tucked neatly behind her ear and her armor in pristine condition, gave him a nod as she joined him.

“Sarith,” she greeted, a faint smile in her voice. “Another grand night in the Empire’s service.”

“Nyra,” he replied with a smirk, “just the usual silent halls and dim torches. At least your timing’s good.”

She chuckled lightly. “It’s quiet, I’ll give you that. Not many guards around, either. Odd, don’t you think?”

Sarith shrugged. “Perhaps, but it beats being surrounded by those arrogant nobles. At least they’re all off at some feast, where they can demand whatever they please.”

Nyra scoffed, crossing her arms. “If I have to see another of those highborns ordering an Equestrian to polish their boots or fetch them wine like they’re nothing but dirt, I may just stick 'em where the sun doesn't shine. I saw one berating a young colt earlier as if he were some… thing to be used and tossed aside. He got quite a beating.”

Sarith’s expression tightened. “They do seem to forget that these ponies are creatures with their own lives. The Empire conquered them, but that doesn’t mean they’re… expendable.” He paused, weighing his words. “Power doesn’t need to mean cruelty. There’s no honor in it. We've come to save them and reclaim what's ours. We've done that, so what's the point in this behavior?”

Nyra nodded slowly. “You are right, but to the nobles, that kind of thinking seems weak. We’ve conquered this land—they think that entitles them to more than just rulership. It’s about flaunting their power. Why the Emperor hasn't dealt with them is beyond me.”

Sarith sighed. “Be careful what you say, even if it’s true. The Empire’s superiority isn’t in question, but treating others like they’re less than animals doesn’t make us stronger. If anything, it’s a stain on the Empire’s honor. Once this world is free of its magical stain, they will live amongst us anyway.”

Nyra glanced at him, a touch of understanding in her gaze. “At least we know the difference between strength and arrogance. We serve the Empire, but we’re not here to humiliate its subjects.” She paused, glancing at a pair of Equestrians hurrying down the hall. “I think they deserve at least that much from us.”

Sarith nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, they do. Loyalty to the Empire doesn’t mean abandoning decency.”

They fell silent, both staring down the corridor as they let their thoughts settle. A faint sound echoed down the hall, signaling the start of Nyra’s next patrol shift. She glanced back at him, offering a brief smile.

“Duty calls,” she said. “Don’t fall asleep on your watch, Sarith.”

He returned her smile with a nod. “Not a chance.”

With a final nod, she turned and strode down the hallway, her figure disappearing into the shadows, leaving Sarith to the quiet halls once more.

Placing his armoured head against the wall, Sarith let out a frustrated breath. Nyra was a keeper, that was for certain. She was strong, loyal, and had her head on straight. Unlike most girls in the current generation, she didn't seem affected by the constant propaganda and indecency that seems to plague them all. When the war with the Gryphons was over, and his term as a guard was up, he would ask her to make away into a secluded town somewhere. He had heard the eastern coast was nice this time of year, with many nobles making beachfront homes and vacation spots. With the money he had been saving up, the two of them would move there, and he would take her as his own. They would have children... though how many was up in the air. Sarith wanted two, hopefully a brother and a sister, but he could settle for more. the idea made his heart feel lighter, almost free from the darkness of his duty."

Then--something shifted.

A figure darted through the shadows at the end of the hall. He barely saw it, and would have missed it entirely had he not tilted his head ever so slightly. It was only a flicker in the corner of his vision--so quick and nimble. But as he straightened, an instinctive chill ran down his spine. Whatever he had seen was large, swift… and uncomfortably familiar in shape.

Sarith held his breath, straining his ears in the quiet corridor. He blinked, focusing down the hall where the figure had flitted through the shadows, trying to convince himself he’d imagined it. But the prickle at the back of his neck wouldn’t fade.

He straightened, his hand instinctively brushing over the hilt of his blade. “Come on, Sarith,” he muttered under his breath, “you’re seeing things. Nothing here but shadows and quiet halls.” The words echoed slightly, swallowed by the heavy silence.

He took a step forward, his armored boots pressing softly on the stone floor, each footfall feeling too loud in the quiet. The torchlight cast long, flickering shadows on the walls, making the edges of his vision seem to dance. The hairs on his neck still stood on end, and every instinct told him to stay on guard. Something was wrong.

As he moved cautiously down the hallway, his thoughts wandered to Nyra. He felt a pang of reassurance thinking of her--how she’d been here just moments ago, offering him a brief respite from the monotony of his watch. If she were still around, she’d tease him for jumping at shadows.

But when he reached the next corner, the hall was empty, the quiet stretching even deeper. The shadows seemed thicker here, cloaking the corners in darkness. Sarith hesitated, a vague unease settling in his gut. He swallowed, peering down the length of the corridor. The guards that should've been on watch were missing. Where were they? Wasn't Nyra's post just up ahead?

A soft sound caught his attention--a faint scraping, like metal on stone, somewhere ahead. He stilled, his ears twitching, listening. The noise stopped as abruptly as it had started, leaving only his own shallow breathing in the stillness. His snooping suddenly didn't seem like a wise idea.

“Nyra?” he called, his voice low, cautious. Silence answered him, thick and foreboding. His heartbeat quickened, and he forced himself to move forward, his grip tightening on his spear. He told himself it was ridiculous to feel this on edge, but the silence felt unnatural, almost suffocating.

Rounding another corner, he froze. His blood ran cold, and his eyes grew impossibly wide.

Lying sprawled on the floor a few steps ahead, her armor glinting faintly in the torchlight, was Nyra. She was motionless, her silver hair splayed around her head, her eyes half-open, staring into nothingness. Sarith’s heart dropped to his stomach, and for a brief moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

“No…” he whispered, forcing himself forward, his footsteps echoing. He dropped to his knees beside her, his spear clattering to the stone floor. His fingers reached for her neck, searching for a pulse. The skin was still warm under his hand, but her chest was still. He drew back, a lump forming in his throat, his gaze fixed on her lifeless face. His eyes trailed downwards, and he finally noticed the large knife sticking out from her abdomen.

Sarith’s hand hovered over Nyra’s still form, his mind reeling. His fingers shook as he reached for the knife, gripping its hilt. The blade was large, blackened steel, and cold to the touch, its metal blank and its hilt seeming to writhe under the torchlight. He pulled his hand back, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Who…?

A sudden prickle of awareness crawled up his spine, and an instinctive dread filled him. The hall had grown colder, the shadows deeper, pressing in around him. He swallowed, feeling the presence of something—or someone—standing directly behind him.

Slowly, every nerve screaming in protest, he turned his head, his gaze lifting to meet the darkness. At first, he saw only shadow. But then, like something materializing from a nightmare, a figure emerged.

It was clad in dark, symmetrical armor, the metal imposing and brutal, as if forged from raw violence itself. Pale blue lights glowed from the sides of the helmet, piercing through the darkness and pinning Sarith with an unrelenting gaze. The armor was unfamiliar, something alien and far beyond what he’d ever seen, and the towering figure exuded a presence that was both foreign and overpowering.

Before he could react, a hand shot out, gripping the front of his armor with impossible strength and speed. Sarith gasped, feeling his feet leave the ground as he was lifted effortlessly, his body held in place by the iron grip. He struggled, his hands clawing at the arm holding him, but it was like fighting against stone. He did not cry out, for the fear held in the blank face and blue lights petrified him.

“Where is the Emperor?” The voice that came from the figure was low, distorted, and alien, yet unmistakably filled with a deadly intent. The sound alone felt like a cattle-prod in his mind, its resonance hollow and soulless.

Sarith’s mouth opened, but words failed him. He could barely breathe, let alone answer. The figure’s grip tightened, forcing him to look directly into the soulless face before him.

“I said… where is the Emperor?” the figure demanded, each word colder than the last. This time, the voice sounded closer, angrier, as if it had scraped itself up from some forgotten depth within him. It took Sarith a moment to realize the weight of what he was looking at.

"D-D-D-Demon..." he whimpered pitifully. He did not feel the trickle of liquid that had begun streaming down his left leg. The Demon stared into his very being--no emotion, no remorse... nothing. The Elf stood suspended in the air, breathing heavily, and the Demon slowly brought him closer.

"I will ask you this... one. More. Time." Its words were the growl of a monster, and tears began to stream from Sarith's eyes. "Where... is the Emperor."

Shaking like a leaf, Sarith glanced down at his dead friend and would-be lover. He wondered what she would do in this situation. Would she try to preserve herself? Or would she refuse to give the information away?

As Sarith opened his mouth to speak, courage flickering like a flame in the darkness, his gaze fell on Nyra’s lifeless form one last time. For her, he could face this Demon—

Sarith saw a blur, felt the crushing impact reverberate through his skull, and then… nothing. His body went limp, and the monster the Dark Elves had come to fear let out a breath of frustration. Turning, he dropped the body unceremoniously atop Nyra’s, the two fallen guards lying lifeless in the dim torchlight.

With a final, contemptuous glance at the two bodies on the cold stone floor, the Demon in Metal turned away, retrieving his knife before continuing down the hall. One way or another, he would find the Emperor… and end him.

*****

Reality was detaching itself from within his mind. No longer was the kind-hearted Sergeant Forrester present, and in its place was a warrior bred for a single purpose: death. From the moment he left the tree-line, his regard for stealth was put to the side. Anyone who saw him, died. Anyone who got in his way was executed on the spot.

Dean shook his head, gritting his teeth. Memories--They kept coming in sporadic bursts. Each one infuriated him more and more. Each lie that was told, and each truth he discovered. He could not, and would not accept that Captain Mason's letter held the truth. He would not accept that for seven years, his humanity was slowly stripped away as a foreign piece of technology was embedded in his skull.

Finally, he would not accept that should he stop now, Twilight would forgive him. Her trust in his skills, abilities, and person led his mind in one direction. Her willingness to try and pry into his issues and take him for herself was inexcusable. His feelings for her were blobbed together, and he could not make sense of what she meant to him. What he did know was that when the war was finished, he would be put back home where everything made sense. Surely the spirit of Chaos alongside the Guardian could bring him back? That is what he wanted? Right?

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"Dean... stop..." The voices were persistent as well, the screaming was all but gone, and not once did he feel the presence of that cursed monster. It gave him an uneasy feeling, as though another piece of the puzzle was missing. Within his head was a dam, and cracks were forming at a rapid pace. He needed to finish the mission before it broke, otherwise, he was doomed to fail.

Getting into the castle had been easy enough, and getting past the guards was even simpler still. His HUD told him it was almost five-o'clock in the morning, and the man could barely see the tinges of light creeping over the hills in the distance. Now that he thought about it, his surroundings were quite spectacular. The castle on the side of the mountain was downright beautiful, and the architecture reminded him of ancient Rome.

Blinking, Dean gained a moment of clarity. For five long hours, he had been on autopilot. He snuck aboard a train, crept through the empty streets of the city, and then slipped through a doorway after hiding the bodies of the guards he had dispatched. Only now was he taking in the sheer splendor around him.

'All the more reason to finish the mission.' He thought as a sense of resolve overcame him. 'All I have to do is find the throne room.'

As Dean walked, he silently thought of how he would confront the Emperor. The Elf was likely magically powerful, but after so many experiences against magic users, he was confident he could avoid any issues. Dean's armour and speed would pose a great advantage, and his guns would likely need to be used as a last resort. Unless...

Dean stopped, a chill running up his spine, something dark and insidious settling in his gut. The hallway stretched in eerie silence—no guards, no flicker of torchlight. Only darkness.

A charge crackled through the air, pressing down on him, and he found himself searching the shadows, pulse quickening. His HUD remained silent, devoid of any motion or heat signatures, yet every fiber of his being screamed that he was not alone.

“Dean… please… stop and… listen…”

The words sliced through his thoughts like ice, chilling and clear. His blood ran hot, and his fists clenched, a low, guttural growl escaping his lips. He twisted around, eyes scouring every corner, every shadow, desperate to root out the source. But there was nothing. Just the dark, yawning corridor stretching before him.

“There isn’t much… time… come back to the… gorge…”

Dean’s breath hitched. The voice—he knew that voice. His heart stammered in his chest, recognition breaking through the fury. For a moment, his rigid stance faltered.

“Dad… please… you need to let… go…”

“Jaxon…” The name was barely a whisper. A single tear slipped down his cheek, unnoticed as he scanned the empty hall. “Jaxon! Marie! W-Where are you?”

His cry echoed back to him, hollow and warped, but he hardly noticed, his mind a storm of desperation and fractured hope. His feet began to move, the hallway blurring as he staggered forward, a twisted smile curling on his lips. His mind conjured wild explanations, each more fantastical than the last. Perhaps the military had finally reached him, patched through his family to bring him back. Perhaps he’d unlocked some strange power in this world, one that allowed him to hear them.

“Dad… you are making a… mistake…” The voice wavered, a ghostly echo that pulled at the frayed edges of his sanity.

He forced a laugh, defiant. “I’m coming to save you! I know you’re alright. I’m going to keep you safe!” His voice was a strained whisper, his mind grasping for answers.

As he stumbled forward, his focus fixed solely on the sound of his own ragged breathing, the hallway stretched on, long and endless. He needed to make sure they were alright. He had to be certain. After all, they were just talking to him! Surely they were okay...

It was only when he stopped, the voices fading, that he became aware of his surroundings. He slowly turned in place, his eyes traveling up and up as he took in more and more. There was no more distance to the hall; he had reached the end.

The vast, cold doors of the throne room loomed before him, their presence unsettling, like he’d reached this place on borrowed time. His breath hitched, and for a moment, the cracks in his mind briefly solidified, reality snapping back into place. But it was too late--he’d already come this far.

With a low, ominous groan, the doors swung open of their own accord, revealing a massive room bathed in the dim light of dawn. A table stood at its center, and around it sat five ponies, their gazes hollow and deadened. Their manes were in tatters, and their coats were filthy. He did not recognize them but something familiar tugged at his gut. However, just as fast as he noticed the Equestrians, his eyes snapped to the sole reason he was here.

At the far end, seated in silent command, was the Emperor. He wore a simple red cloak over an intricate shirt, but the rest of him was hidden from view. His hair was the purest silver, and his face was youthful and clean. However, the human could only stare into the piercing black eyes like a deer in headlights. Something... insidious hid behind them.

Dean’s stomach twisted, his mind too muddled to process the sight. His legs froze beneath him as the Emperor’s voice cut through the silence, smooth, cold, and unyielding.

“Welcome, First Sergeant Dean Forrester. You’ve come a long way... I think it's time you and I had a little chat?”

Like he was in a trance, the Sergeant carefully moved forward. His feet were placed meticulously, one in front of the other, as his senses reached their maximum. He was ready to jump into action, ready for any ambush or trick the Emperor might have in store. His skin crawled as the Elf just sat there, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

The man came within a meter of the table, not knowing why he had not drawn his pistol and shot the Elf by now. Something held his hands in place, and once again Dean realized how unnerving the silence in his head has become. He had grown used to the sixth sense telling him of danger, but at this very moment... it was gone. For the first time in years, Dean did not know what to do, and he did not know the right course of action.

The Emperor’s gaze never wavered, his dark eyes gleaming as he studied Dean. “I see you’ve come a long way to get here,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and measured, as if they were discussing nothing more than the weather. “I imagine the journey was… trying.”

Dean’s hands curled into fists, his body tense and taut. The Elf's words were like sheet metal on stone, even if his voice was like silk and honey. The man felt a response escaping him before he even had time to think. “You have no idea what I’ve been through,” he ground out, his voice low and edged with barely restrained fury. The Emperor didn't even blink.

“Oh, I think I do.” The Emperor’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, his voice carrying easily in the large room. “Those voices you’ve been hearing… it must be painful, thinking your family is just within reach, only to realize they’re nowhere at all.”

A chill ran up Dean's spine, and he was momentarily at a loss. 'How could he possibly know? Has he been behind Twilight and Midnight's manipulation this whole time!?'

Deciding not to speak, Dean stared with enough hatred to melt through steel. The ponies seated at the table flinched, obviously sensing something from the man, but the Emperor just smiled a long, thin smile. Leaning forward slightly, his black eyes bore into Dean’s. “A loving wife, a son who looked up to you, even after you abandoned them for a war you barely understood. You left them behind, First Sergeant, all for this--” he gestured around the room with a casual wave, “this pointless crusade.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, Dean felt his resolve waver. His mind scrambled to process the onslaught of emotions, his fingers itching toward his weapon as if it could shield him from the Emperor’s words. Whispers worked their way into his mind once again, and he saw pasts he could not accept were true.

"At oh-nine hundred hours, your wife, Marie, and your son, Jaxon..." He squeezed his eyes shut. He squeezed them so hard his head began to ache. Dean's teeth grit, and when he looked upon the Elf once more, his whole body silently trembled.

'Kill him.'

'Show him the monster you've become.'

'He is messing with your mind, run...'

"Your kind has brought ruin to this world, and as a consequence, I was brought here to stop it. To stop you." Dean's words came forth as a growl, but his tone slowly raised with every syllable. "I've watched the deplorable acts of your kind, and I know what you've been planning. I will not sit here and be mocked by some upstart ruler. I have come to kill you."

Quick as a flash, Dean's pistol found its way into his hand, aimed at the Emperor's head... but he did not shoot. Something within him was warring with itself, and the man scowled as a smug grin came over the Emperor's face.

Dommick's eyes glittered with dark amusement as he watched Dean, his gaze sharp and penetrating. “Kill me?” The Emperor leaned back, his voice filled with a mix of pity and amusement. “And then what, First Sergeant? Do you honestly believe your journey will end here? Killing me would be but a pebble tossed in an ocean. My death would mean nothing. What you’re facing… what you’re fighting against… it’s bigger than either of us. You know this; I don't have to see under your metal mask to read your mental war.”

Dean’s hand trembled, the pistol feeling heavy in his grip. His gaze hardened, but something in the Emperor’s words wormed its way into his mind, making his fingers falter. “Spare me the philosophy,” he growled. “Your kind has enslaved, destroyed--”

"Who are you to decide the fate of this world? One that you were brought to against your will!" the Emperor interrupted, his tone laced with a cold authority. “You, a stranger, dragged into a conflict that has brewed for decades before you even set foot here? Do you truly understand what this world needs? What balance is required?”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “I know enough,” he replied, but his voice lacked the bite it had before. A whisper of doubt crept in. This world wasn’t his. Did he have the right to play judge, jury, and executioner? The Guardian had warned him about that, but he had ignored the demigod. Dean's eyes furrowed in anger upon thinking of the trench-coated menace. Not once since the voices started had he helped. Not once did he give direction or thanks. Dean began to realize that he was a pawn in the battle between the Guardian and the Destroyer's war, another mortal stuck doing the dirty work. A comic book character stuck in a land of fantasy, and instead of finding a way to resolve the problem, they drag him in, a man with problems of his own; who's world was beginning to crumble, both figuratively and literally.

“Enough to take lives, certainly,” the Emperor continued, as if reading Dean’s mind. “How many have you killed so far? Dozens? Hundreds? Each one had a life with family, dreams, purpose.” The Emperor leaned forward, his expression almost compassionate while his words retained authority. “And each one, Sergeant, just as sure of their purpose as you are of yours. You wiped out the last of the Changeling's with your little firework show, all for a damsel in distress. You and I are not so different it would seem."

Dean's mind flashed, and he saw himself sitting in the chariot as they flew back to Maritime Bay. He saw the smoldering ruins, and the lack of any movement, Changeling or otherwise. Had they truly been the last of their kind? Did he cause the extinction of a species? His thoughts twisted, and he was back on Earth. He was mixed in with SWAT, and he had just shot a woman who had gotten too close to the line. The protesters, believers that the war was set up by the world governments, began to disperse. A young boy stared at him from afar, hatred in his tear stained eyes. It was a war, he reminded himself. But the faces, nor the acts wouldn’t leave him, and for a moment, he wondered if he had left his humanity behind long ago.

“I was brought here to stop you,” Dean muttered, but his voice held uncertainty. His pistol was slowly lowering as his stance shifted with his emotions. The Emperor’s influence was seeping in, stirring old, buried doubts.

The Emperor tilted his head. “Who brought you here? Who decided that you were meant to ‘save’ this world?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Do you really believe it was fate? That you are the chosen one of some sort? Or perhaps,” his eyes glinted, “someone far more powerful is playing you like a pawn, pushing you forward on this ‘mission’ for reasons you’ll never understand. They have convinced you that your cause is righteous. Has it always been so? Your war back home, the innocents you let die because you were following orders. Maybe the Guardian summoned you here, someone so old that mortals like you and I are but ants to him.”

Dean's grip on the pistol wavered. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, each beat echoing with memories he’d tried to bury. Had he been manipulated from the start? He’d wanted to believe he had a purpose, that his actions meant something. But in the silence, that purpose felt small and hollow. At every turn, it seemed that someone wanted to use him for their own personal goals. The generals, the Guardian, Discord, Twilight...

“Don’t you see?” the Emperor continued, his voice softening, almost coaxing. “I am not your enemy, Sergeant. You and I… we share a common burden: Responsibility. A duty to protect the ones we love. Do you not want that chance, to return to your family, to protect them as you’ve always dreamed?” His voice dropped to a murmur, rich with promise. “Help me bring order to this world, and you may yet go home. The spell matrix can be altered, and once the ritual is cast, I can use the power bestowed to my kind to send you back... to see your family.”

The words hit him hard, like a punch to the gut. A way home… back to Jaxon, to Marie. It was everything he’d wanted, the one thought that had kept him moving forward, and now it dangled before him, within reach.

The Emperor’s voice softened to a whisper. “There is no shame in seeking peace, Dean. You’ve done your duty. Let it end here, for the sake of those you love.”

Dean’s heart ached, a longing blooming in his chest. He could see it--the familiar warmth of home, the faces of his wife and son, smiling at him after the war. It would be so easy to say yes, to surrender, to let the conflict end here. He could lay down his weapon, stop the endless bloodshed, and finally rest...

But then, his gaze shifted to the ponies seated at the table. He saw their rib cages, their plucked wings and bruising. He saw the torment bestowed upon the people of this world. He saw Trignar, who had realized the wrongs of his people and vowed to help the Resistance. He saw Twilight, whom he had saved time and time again. They were all suffering, and while Dean was guilty of many sins, something inside him shone. It was his duty--his responsibility to protect the innocent, and destroy the evildoers. The hollow eyes of the ponies met his, filled with a silent plea, and something within him stirred—a faint, flickering resolve.

'This isn't peace. This is control. I will not see them suffer any longer.

He gripped the pistol tighter, the weight of his purpose pressing against the haze of the Emperor’s words. His voice came out as a whisper, laced with defiance. “You may promise order, but you’ve delivered only chains and suffering.”

The Emperor’s smile faltered, just slightly, his gaze sharpening. “Sergeant, be reasonable. Don’t let a childish and flawed sense of morality cloud your judgment.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, the haze of manipulation beginning to clear. “A childish, flawed sense of morality?” His voice grew stronger, steadier. “I may be flawed, and my morals may be different, but that is what makes me Human. I will not go back on my belief's… not when others need help.”

The Emperor’s gaze darkened, his voice losing its silky tone. “So you choose to defy me? To turn down peace for yourself and your family?”

Dean slowly raised his pistol, his arm steady. His gaze locked on to the Emperor's cold, dark gaze, resolve burning within him. "I choose to do what's right."

His finger squeezed, the pistol retorted, and the bullet flew. Its shape traced through the air in slow motion on its path across the table. The shot echoed through the vast room, sharp and final, and the Emperor’s expression flickered, his head snapping back. For a brief moment, he staggered, a thin trickle of blood slipping down his cheek. The Emperor’s gaze met Dean’s faceless mask, surprised, almost… impressed.

Then, slowly, he slumped forward, his body collapsing into the throne with a heavy, hollow thud. Silence filled the room, settling thickly over the twisted remnants of the ponies still seated at the table.

Dean felt his chest heave, a sense of grim satisfaction mingling with exhaustion. It was over--he had done it. The weight of his mission began to lift, the haze of adrenaline receding. He lowered his weapon, glancing around the dim room, noting the eerie stillness that had fallen over everything. This was it. He had expected… more. It didn't matter. He just needed to find the trinkets needed to free the Guardian, and the Discord would snap him back home. The mission was finally done.

But the silence persisted, settling over him like a shroud, chilling in its finality. Something twisted in his gut, a nagging sense that he couldn't quite place. Why had the Emperor fallen so easily? It didn’t make sense--this was a man who had twisted entire nations under his rule, whose forces were relentless. And yet, here he was, slumped in defeat, the faintest of smiles still lingering on his lips. No guards, no protection... nothing.

Dean took a breath, his mind racing with thoughts of the mission finally complete. But the silence weighed heavily, pressing in around him. Too still, too final. He glanced around, unease prickling at the edge of his awareness. Something was wrong.

Then, faint but unmistakable, a soft, mocking laugh echoed through the room.

Dean's blood ran cold as he slowly turned back to the table, watching in horrified disbelief as the Emperor’s body stirred, a low groan escaping him. Slowly, with an eerie grace, the Elf lifted his head, his black eyes gleaming with dark amusement. The hole in his head was gone; his skin as untouched as before.

"For all your resolve, you still know nothing." The Emperor straightened. He adjusted his red cloak, the faintest smile playing at his lips as he regarded Dean with something akin to pity. “Did you really think it would be so simple?”

Dean took a step back, his heart pounding, the weight of his earlier confidence evaporating in an instant. “You… you should be dead. H-How are you still alive?” His voice wavered.

The Emperor chuckled, the sound a rich, velvet whisper that filled the vast chamber. “Death? Oh, no, First Sergeant. I merely allowed you to see what you wanted to see. I tried to show you reason; to offer you a chance. You could have been on the winning side."

With a wave of his hand, the room seemed to shift, the walls warping, growing taller and darker, as though responding to the Emperor’s will. The ponies at the table levitated, suspended in the air like marionettes, their eyes wide with fear and pain. Deans tried to take another step back, his baser instincts screaming at him to run, but he found himself unable to move. Glancing down, his eyes widened upon discovering the floor beneath him was now ice.

“This is my realm, my world,” the Emperor continued, his voice a chilling calm. “I have bent nations to my will, Sergeant. Do you truly believe I would fall to a single bullet from a desperate, misguided soldier? Did you really take me for some run-of-the-mill villain?” He scoffed.

Dean's mind scrambled for options, his grip on his pistol slackening and then tightening as he tried to think. This is what the voices were trying to warn him about. The Emperor had planned this from the beginning. The Destroyer had warned him that he would face betrayal, and only now did he realize it was to be his own. The monster that had infiltrated his mind... it was meant to destroy him from the inside and turn him against his friends. All to bring him here, where he faced down what had appeared to be a regular Elf. Now, Dean recognized his mistake, but it was too late. He had been outplayed.

'I can still win this.' He thought, glancing up at the ponies. 'For them... and for Twilight.'

Dean swallowed, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I… I won’t let you win.”

The Emperor’s smile widened, cold and triumphant. The air grew still, and the only thing Dean heard in that instant were the next five words. "You never had a choice.”

Before Dean could react, a wave of crushing force enveloped him, forcing him to his knees. His vision blurred, his limbs felt heavy, as though something was sapping the very strength from his bones. His armour's servos whined and creaked in protest from the monstrous weight of the pure magic. The floor splintered beneath him, and Dean yelled as he tried to stay standing.

It was for naught, and Dean found himself launched backwards and out of the throne room. His body smashed through a pillar, and he lay embedded in the marble and stone. He heard a scream, and his eyes quickly found a pony in a maid's outfit staring at him in horror. Dean tried to move, but his muscles were locked up for some reason. Whatever magic had bypassed his armour, it had caused his very body to seize up.

Dean’s body ached, every nerve raw with pain as he struggled to regain control. His armor’s servos stuttered, sparks flying from damaged joints. His vision blurred, then steadied, and he forced himself upright, his muscles screaming in protest. He was slowly regaining feeling, but it would be minute. The maid’s horrified gaze lingered for a heartbeat before she fled down the corridor, her hooves echoing in the silence that followed.

Gritting his teeth, Dean engaged his wrist blades with a metallic snap, the twin blades glinting in the faint morning light filtering through shattered windows. He raised his head, his eyes narrowing as he saw the Emperor emerging from the dust and rubble, his red cloak swaying with each measured step. In his hand, a shimmering saber glowed with a pale blue energy, the blade as sinister as it was beautiful.

The Emperor’s voice was a calm murmur, dripping with amusement. “Is this what humanity has come to? Clinging to sharp bits of metal, flailing in desperation?”

Dean didn’t respond. Summoning every ounce of strength left, he surged forward, his blades flashing as he struck with precision and ruthless power. The Emperor sidestepped easily, his movements fluid and almost mocking.

Dean pivoted, driving a blade toward the Emperor’s side, but the Elf parried effortlessly, the impact sending a shiver through Dean’s arm. The Emperor moved with practiced grace, his saber gliding through the air, intercepting each of Dean’s strikes with ease. They clashed again and again, sparks flying, the sound of metal on metal filling the vast hall. Each strike seemed to sap more of Dean’s energy, but he kept pushing forward, desperation fueling his every move.

“Tell me, Sergeant,” the Emperor mused, deflecting another blow with a flick of his wrist. Dean backed away as the Emperor stalked forwards, “do you think your stubbornness endears you to anyone? The suffering of your loved ones, your friends--do you really think this foolishness will bring them peace?”

Dean ignored the taunts, focusing instead on his breathing, his rhythm. His muscles burned, but he forced his body to respond, lunging forward with a sudden burst of energy. He swung his right blade in a wide arc, only to have it caught by the Emperor’s saber. Before he could react, Emperor Dommick twisted his wrist, shattering the blade in a flash of blue light.

Dean staggered, staring at the broken weapon in shock, the jagged edge sparking as it failed. The metal was supposed to be nearly unbreakable by Human standards. Dommick smirked, his saber humming as he raised it for another strike. Dean barely dodged, feeling the heat of the magical blade slice through the air inches from his face as he rolled under the strike. He countered with his remaining blade, attempting a quick thrust toward the Emperor’s throat, but the Elf merely leaned back, his dark eyes gleaming with sadistic enjoyment. Dommick's leg suddenly flew forward, faster than Dean could track, and collided with his side. His armour took the brunt of the impact, but the super-soldier still gave a grunt as he was launched further down the hall. They were approaching a large balcony of some sort, and spectators watched from the adjoining halls--both Elf and Equestrian.

“Do you see now, Dean?” The Emperor’s voice was a sinister whisper, echoing across the walls as the man slowly stood. “Resistance is futile. Your body, your spirit--they are frail things, barely worth the trouble to break.”

With a roar, Dean lunged again, his last blade slashing in a desperate arc, but the Emperor sidestepped, pivoting smoothly before delivering a vicious slice with his saber. The impact sent Dean sprawling, his armor cracking as he slid across the marble floor. A large gash ran up the faceplate of his helmet, sparks and broken glass taking up most of his vision. Blood trickled down his forehead, blurring his sight, but he forced himself to rise, bracing himself against the wall. Reaching up, he slowly peeled his helmet off before letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

“Still standing?” The Emperor sounded almost impressed, though a hint of irritation colored his tone. “You are such a tenacious creature. But you are no match for my power.”

Dean’s breath came in ragged gasps, each one feeling like fire in his chest. His left wrist blade lay shattered on the ground, and his remaining weapon hung uselessly at his side, too damaged to retract properly. But even as his body betrayed him, his resolve hardened. He locked eyes with the Emperor, defiance blazing within him.

“I will kill you,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, "I will not kneel, and I will not submit."

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed, his expression losing its amusement. With a single, fluid movement, he raised his saber, the blade glowing brighter, pulsating with lethal energy. “Very well,” he said, his tone cold and final. “If you won’t kneel, then you will burn.”

With a swift, graceful motion, the Emperor swung his saber downward. Dean raised his forearm in a futile attempt to block, his armor sparking and cracking under the pressure of the blow. His entire body was forced to the ground as the Emperor’s saber pressed against him, the blade’s glow intensifying as it burned through his armor. Agony seared through Dean, his vision fading in and out as the room filled with the scent of scorched metal and flesh.

Desperate, Dean lashed out, swinging his free arm in a weak attempt to shove the Emperor back. The Elf didn’t budge, his cold gaze unyielding, as though savoring Dean’s final moments. For Dean, something inside him had been damaged, and in this moment, his memories returned.

He fought three of his fellow operatives as they tried to hold him down. They sedated him, shipped him to a lab, and implanted a device in his skull. His memories, and the loss of his wife and child were suppressed, buried in the depths of his mind. Now, he saw the truth. Now he saw how much of a fool he had been.

As the Emperor slashed his blade across Dean's chest, sending him through the air and out onto the balcony, he saw her face. Not his wife, nor his child... but Twilight. He saw her, and he felt the love returned tenfold. He felt her pain as he pushed her away, and felt her terror as he loomed over her in his anger.

The Emperor's blade pierced through Dean's chest, the blade bypassing his armour with ease before sticking out through his back. The man felt blood spurt from his mouth, and his eyes met the Emperor's one last time. A look of pity seemed to be in those black orbs, but it was quickly washed away. A blast of magic smashed into Dean, and he felt himself falling. Everything seemed slow as the balcony disappeared, and he flew past the castle itself. He saw the pony slaves with their gazes full of fear, and he saw the Elves as they beamed in triumph. He then saw Twilight. She was sitting on his lap as they listened to music. The vision faded, but he saw her smile, and how she looked like the happiest person in the world. He fell and he fell, and Canterlot slowly shrunk from view.

The last emotion Dean felt was regret. He had failed, and he had been fooled. He had let down the one he had come to love, and who he had blindly pushed away. Now, the Resistance would fall, Twilight would be murdered, and the world would be fully under the control of Emperor Dommick Blueblade.

As Dean’s world faded to black, a faint whisper filled the darkness, slipping past the haze of regret and pain, gentle but undeniable. It was neither the voice of the Guardian nor the Destroyer; it was something warm, something he’d tried to forget, but knew all too well. It wasn’t just sound--it was a pull, a promise, as if something he couldn’t see was reaching into the darkness, refusing to let him go.

The voice, tender and close, echoed in the recesses of his fading consciousness.

“Dean… I need you…”

Then, as he hit the water far below, there was nothing.

*****

The night air was still, cloaking the forest in an unsettling silence as Princess Mya advanced through the dense underbrush, her movements fluid and precise. Her dark, layered cloak concealed her silver hair and glinted faintly in the moonlight filtering through the trees. Beside her, her elite entourage moved with the same eerie grace, every step a calculated whisper against the forest floor. The walls of Maritime Bay loomed just beyond the tree line, obscured from view but within reach, the last barrier standing between them and a decisive blow against the Resistance.

Mya’s gaze hardened as she paused, her eyes narrowing as she took in the faint shimmer from the invisibility generator that cloaked the fort. She knew the defenses would be tight, but their approach had gone undetected thus far, a testament to her team’s skill and the tactical advantage of the shadows.

She watched as a series of hand signals from Kioti kickstarted the operation. Three of her soldiers moved like wraiths to the base of the wall before signaling to the rest of the group. As she made her way forward, a sudden cough from above forced her to freeze. She dared not raise her head as the guard on the wall peered over the ramparts, and she made nary a sound as a special arrow pierced the pony's skull before pulling his corpse over the rampart and to the ground below.

Letting out a breath, she quickly moved to the nearest Elf alongside two others. The three at the base of the wall crouched, and Mya and her two soldiers jumped. The Elves below used wind magic, pushing her and the other two into the air where they landed gracefully on the Rampart. They made nary a sound as Mya scanned for more guards.

No alarm had been raised, and the nearest guard was facing the other direction. Moving swiftly, she approached the guard from behind. His ear flicked, but that was the only reaction he would be able to make before Mya's blade slid across his throat. The guard died silently in Mya's grasp, and once the deed was done, she gently tossed him over the side for the rear guard to handle.

By this point, the rest of the strike force was ready, so she joined them as they leapt down to the courtyard below. Upon landing, Kioti quickly made his way to her.

"My Princess, the Generators are likely somewhere in the city. We will need to find a hiding spot so that we can find them in the night. We have two hours before the rest of the base awakens, though any missing guards should be ignored with their general incapacitated."

Mya considered what she had been told before nodding.

"Alright, let's move into the city. Cast a sleep spell on the gate guards at the entrance to the fort. We will take up residence in the closest house after disposing off the residents. Move out."

Letting out a slow breath, Mya signaled her team forward. Her satisfaction grew with every silent step closer to Maritime Bay’s heart, where the generators lay hidden among unsuspecting civilians. These Equestrians and their foolish resistance had delayed the inevitable for far too long, hiding behind their precious shield like frightened children.

Her lips curved into a dark smile as her entourage followed her into the city, blending seamlessly into the night. She imagined the expressions of terror that would paint the faces of the Equestrians as they realized their defenses had fallen, their last hope shattered under the Empire’s might. This was the moment she had dreamed of, a victory not only for her people but for herself--a step closer to power and recognition within the Empire’s ranks.

As they neared the first house by the gate, Mya watched Kioti cast a sleep spell, the guards slumping against the walls, oblivious to their silent approach. She moved ahead, slipping into the shadows, ready to enter the residence. The faint glow of a lantern spilled from the window, casting thin beams onto the courtyard, the only sign of life.

With a quick glance at her team, she gave the silent command. Eliminate them all.