Fated


                                            >The ground rumbles as a team of ponies desperately try to load and bear their cannon across the street.

                                            >Rubble surrounds their building in all sides, and they coop themselves into the husk of what was once a clothing store.

                                            >The remains of the team's unicorn is splattered on the ground nearby.

                                            >The first position was immediately swallowed up in flames, with their unicorn barely teleporting all of them, the cannon, and a bit of ammunition out in time.

                                            >Luckily, their new position was aptly supplied with ammunition so they could continue the fight, but once again it was up in flames.

                                            >In all their retreats, they increasingly came closer and closer to death.

                                            >The unicorn had relocated them to their fourth fallback point, but the stress and hurriedness of the final teleport caused him to appear in one of the few last standing clothing racks.

                                            >This particular one was displaced to the center of the store, and had some clothing still hanging, slicing up the tired unicorn into a heap of meat.

                                            >Some of the clothes bulged at their sudden newcomer, terribly stained and ruined by the fluids.

                                            >The others were more lucky, although it took them a while to ready themselves and the upturned cannon.

                                            >Funeral rites would have to wait. If there could be any.

                                            >Of the remaining three ponies, only one wore a helmet.

                                            >Regulation doesn't matter on death's door.

                                            >Their armor is covered in dust, grime, and scratches, yet they had to spar. They had only ran and waited in the past few hours, but the rumble and tumble did a number on the once pristine armor.

                                            >A growing whine echoing down the street works up their anxiety, causing one of them to drop a cannon ball.

                                            >"Tartarus, Swirl! You're going to get us all killed!"

                                            >They all know it's inevitable deep down.

                                            >"Sorry! Sorry!"

                                            >An attempt at some semblance of normality.

                                            >"Just hurry up!"

                                            >Normal doesn't exist anymore.

                                            >The loader, Swirl, quickly rolls the dropped cannon ball along the cracked ground with his nose, and whenever it gets caught in the cracks on the ground, he uses his hooves to knock it free.

                                            >Meanwhile, another pony quickly shoves the gunpowder down the barrel of the cannon, using a stick to push the charge to the back of the cannon.

                                            >Eventually, Swirl gets the ball up to the muzzle of the 36 pounder, and with a little bit of maneuvering, manages to slot it snug.

                                            >It still sticks out a bit, however the other pony quickly begins to shove it down with the rammer.

                                            >The whine's level stops growing, a sign that whatever is approaching has stopped.

                                            >For now.

                                            >The world is subsequently filled with a terrible thunder, the skies roaring in spiteful anger.

                                            >As the cannon ball sinks deeper, the rammer is stable enough for the pony to begin to shove it down with both her hooves, helped by Swirl and the convenient padding, giving it enough oomph to set the ball nicely against its propellant.

                                            >The two ponies clear the muzzle of the cannon, and together, the team aims it across the street, to the right slighty, towards the charred husk of Fruity Fair.

                                            >Once a unique location for those who wanted a smoothie to wash their tastebuds with the natural sweetness of fruit, it stood out against the usual stone structures of Haycart Street.

                                            >It now serves nopony.

                                            >Luckily for its patrons, the unicorn owner managed to hold back the flames and smoke long enough for everypony to escape relatively unscathed.

                                            >Unfortunately for those ponies, they will never return to Haycart Street and its dizzying array of commerical stores that offered everything one could ever think, and wish, for.

                                            >Suddenly, a loud explosion sends smoke running down the street, past the cannon team's position.

                                            >It had to travel some distance, so it doesn't kick up much and quickly clears away, but it still sends chills up the spine of each and every one of them.

                                            >The whine pitches higher, causing the ground to shake almost imperceptibly.

                                            >Swirl closes his eyes, reminding himself of the breathing excercises his mother taught him.

                                            >It does little to calm his fast-beating heart.

                                            >The other gunner simply looks at the sky, closing her eyes and praying to Celestia to save her.

                                            >Gray smoke chokes out the blue sky, emanating from the various fires that dot the city.

                                            >The sun barely manages to beat through some of the particles in the sky, illuminating the place with a dull, gray light.

                                            >Celestia can't hear her.

                                            >The leader of the isolated band simply keeps her eyes on the street, ears on the whine, and mouth on the linstock, ready to set off the cannon at a moment's notice.

                                            >She knows they only have one chance at pulling this off.

                                            >Loading the cannon will simply take too much time: they'd be rushed before they can ever get another shot off at that distance.

                                            >There were simply too many of them, and too little of them.

                                            >Her thoughts turn to the events that led up to this very moment.

                                            >The Royal Guard is a husk of its former self.

                                            >Once a proud, swelling military of over 40,000 ponies. The strongest force of this land, capable of putting down a hoof on any who dare threaten the sovereignty of Equestria. Strong enough to rule the entire continent.

                                            >All used for peace.

                                            >Now forced to fight in the shadows, like a cornered animal. Picked off one by one, thrown into battles where favor was stacked against them.

                                            >All left to die.

                                            >Nopony was there to save them, a curse of being the top of the pyramid. They had no backup - they were supposed to be the backup.

                                            >The Crystal Kingdom had sent no reply to their pleas for help. The Guard suspected they had fallen.

                                            >They should have seen the signs from earlier.

                                            >Their rulers suddenly disappeared, the Elements were gone, even Tartarus itself vanished.

                                            >Complete chaos was what the Guard had to deal with, and they managed to keep things under control.

                                            >Life mostly returned to its usual routine after a few years of hardship under an iron hoof.

                                            >Until a few hours ago.

                                            >Indications were there: training became rigorous, drills occured almost every day, keeping everypony in top notch shape, commanding officers were thrown against each other in mock battles, even other species were being initiated into the guard, which was completely unheard of before.

                                            >An additional ring of walls was propped up, more cannons were being forged, more gunpowder produced.

                                            >They upped the amount of equipment stockpiled around the capital in several new forts to prevent a single strike from crippling them.

                                            >Everything fell apart within minutes.

                                            >A good amount of the equipment was moved out a week prior to the attack based on a hunch until reports of the sky screaming, along with what can only be described as shadows, came in.

                                            >The reports arrived several minutes after flames erupted in the center of each fort, exploding the gunpowder stored within.

                                            >Attempts at rallying the Guard into battle formations immediately fell apart from the reslting chaos, forcing the Guard to spread out more: the resulting communications breakdown meant that nopony knew what was going on. Yet, many kept to their posts. Admirable, but foolish.

                                            >Disunity means weakness.

                                            >Thousands became hundreds. Hundreds, tens. Tens, ones.

                                            >Still, the head of the trio wears her helmet, for what it represents.

                                            >The dream of Equestria. The dream of unity and peace.

                                            >For now, she'll hold onto it, mind set on fighting for every inch for the arrival of realization, even if it's fruitless in the end.

                                            >The ground tembles even more so, the small debris around them hopping about in excitement.

                                            >The whine has now reached a terrible pitch, bleeding out all other noises for the ponies, whose ears lay flat against their skulls to protect themselves against the noise.

                                            >The terrible stench that is seemingly omnipresent feels amplified to the three, thickening, mixing with the air they breathe into a viscous soup to choke out their lungs.

                                            >A dark green hue appears at the corner of the ruins.

                                            >The gunner waits.

                                            >It quickly grows into a huge size, three times the height of the ponies, the whine pouring out from it in every direction.

                                            >It's painted in various hues of darkened green, broken a few times by brown.

                                            >Once it is fully in view, and in front of the cannon, does she touch it off.

                                            >The cannon bellows, coughing up a large dust cloud and sending the round flying out at great speed towards the war machine.

                                            >The ponies only see a spark as it hits its mark, before a nearby piece of rubble collapses from the richocheting ball, burying their enemy in heavy stone.

                                            >They don't move, they don't breathe.

                                            >Each of them wonder: is it over?

                                            >It's only one of the machines. It's been crushed by stone.

                                            >Their bated breath is broken as the beast lumbers its way through its entrapment with ease.

                                            >The thought of fighting is lost to them.

                                            >Realization that they are facing something much, much bigger than what they knew freezes them in place.

                                            >The head turns to face them, its protruding muzzle looking down on their small forms.

                                            >Eyes wide, flashes of good times, tears on two of their faces.

                                            >The dead call out for the three of them to join their fellows, their whispers carried gently in the air, weaving through the armor into their coats to send chills up their spines.

                                            >Four beings, one inanimate. All watching one another.

                                            >Broken from their spell by a creature, followed by several of its kind, walking from around the rubble.

                                            >The ponies' gazes move from the monster staring them down to the new arrivals.

                                            >Bipeds. Each holding a piece of metal in their hands, pointing at the ponies. More machines unnoticed in the daze, smaller than the first, although still larger than the living beings.

                                            >One of the bipeds separates itself from the rest, slowly approaching.

                                            >Two of the ponies back down, one stands strong.

                                            >This biped isn't pointing a piece of metal at them.

                                            >"You can stop fighting now. Your liberators are here."

                                            >One breaks apart, laughing at the absurdity of the claim. The others are only shock still.

                                            >Insanity and chaos is the new king.