We are Legion!

Chapter 12: The Forest Lesson The throne room of Haifisch was immersed in silence. The only sound was the quiet hum of ventilation crystals, drawing excess heat from the depths of the rock. Legion sat motionless on the obsidian throne, but inside him, a systemic deficit raged. Not the ancient, gnawing hunger of awakening, but a quiet, methodical depletion. Seven days of geomancy. Seven days of forced metabolic restructuring for twenty-three Diamond Dogs. Seven days where his energy flowed into stone like water into a dried riverbed. — Metabolic energy at 34%, — the Scholar stated, projecting data directly into his visual cortex. — Critical threshold. Below 20%, regenerative tissue degradation begins. Armor will switch to emergency power mode. — We need meat, — the Warlord added. — Not for a feast. For recovery. The dogs are at their limit too. Their bodies aren't used to this strain. — We are not beasts, — the Philosopher objected quietly. — But neither are we spirits fed solely by memory. The body needs flesh. The earth demands exchange. — Then let's find something worthy, — the Creator yawned. — I'm tired of staring at gray walls and ventilation schematics. I want to see movement. Blood. Life. Legion slowly rose. Armor clinked softly. Deep scratches on the throne's armrests had already healed, but heaviness remained in his limbs. He descended the steps and headed for the exit. — Rico, — he called as the Diamond Dog entered the hall, holding a scroll with guard duty schedules. — Emperor? — Gather a squad. Five. Only those who keep quiet and don't crunch branches under their paws. Today we go into the forest. Rico blinked, setting aside the scroll: — Hunting? — Resupply, — Legion corrected. — We've built a fortress. Now we must learn to live in it. And life requires food. Dry rations, smoked meat, broth bones. Everything that will let us hold formation if the Princesses decide to knock on our gates. — Understood, — Rico straightened, an old, familiar spark of excitement flashing in his eyes, but this time it was disciplined. — What to bring? Weapons? — Nothing but knives and coarse cloth sacks. We're not an army on the march. We're a pack. And a pack leaves no tracks until it strikes. --- Everfree Forest. Edge. The air here was different. Thick. Saturated with wild, uncivilized magic. Legion walked ahead, his claws not touching the ground directly—he stepped so his weight distributed over roots and moss, leaving no impressions. Behind him, in perfect formation, five dogs moved. Rico, Spark, three others—those who had already learned to feel stone. Now they had to learn to feel the forest. — Wind from the north, — the Scholar whispered in his mind. — Carries the scent of pine, decaying leaves, and... something large. Herbivore. Magical imprint weak but stable. Not a predator. — Tracks, — Legion nodded, pointing a claw at the ground. — Deep. But not heavy. It moves cautiously. Means it knows it might be followed. — Predator nearby? — the Warlord tensed. — Yes, — Legion answered. — A manticore. But not a standard one... Magical resonance with the soil. Local variant. — Perfect proportions, — the Creator breathed in admiration. — Ash and moss-colored fur. Eyes like two shards of moonstone. This... is a work of nature. — This is lunch, — the Philosopher reminded, but without cruelty. — The only question is how we take it. Legion halted. Raised a paw. Dogs froze, blending into tree shadows. Their breathing evened out. The loud barking of the mines was replaced by the quiet, rhythmic whisper of the pack. — Listen to me, — he whispered, his voice sounding less like an order and more like guidance. — The forest is not an enemy. It is a mirror. If you enter with rage—it meets you with fangs. With greed—with poison. With respect... it gives you what you need. We take only one animal. No more. No less. Kill cleanly. Without suffering. Without unnecessary blood. And we give thanks. Understood? Dogs nodded. The greed of past Diamond Dogs was gone. Replaced by focus. Discipline. Pack. — Then forward, — Legion said. — Quietly. Like shadows. --- Heart of the Forest. They found it by a stream. The manticore drank water. Its wings, indeed, were covered with a thin layer of transparent crystal, reflecting sky glimpses through the canopy. It was majestic. And lethally dangerous. Legion halted thirty paces away. Muscles tensed. Breathing slowed. The four voices in his mind fell silent, yielding to one instinct, honed by millennia of war and survival. — Wind favorable, — the Scholar whispered. — Distance—twenty-eight paces, — the Warlord added. — It doesn't sense us, — the Creator murmured. — What beauty... — Life will take life, — the Philosopher sighed. — But let it be a worthy exchange. Legion took a step. Another. Claws glided over moss, leaving no traces. In this moment, he was not a warrior. He was part of the forest. Part of the chain. The manticore raised its head. Ears twitched. Nostrils flared. Too late. Legion lunged forward. Not with a roar. Not with rage. With lightning precision. His left paw intercepted the neck, locking it. The right—clamped the throat, compressing the carotid artery and vagus nerve. The apex predator didn't even understand what happened... Thrashed, but was already paralyzed by pressure and speed. Eyes widened. Then... went dark. Body went limp. Silence. Legion released it. Dropped to one knee. Placed his palm in the bluish alloy on the sleek fur. — Gratias tibi ago, — he whispered in the ancient wolf tongue. — Sanguis tuus erit robur nostrum. Caro tua, vita nostra. Mors tua non erit frustra. Dogs emerged from cover. Silently. Bowed their heads. Even Rico, who had been through mines, awakening, and construction, felt the weight of the moment. This was not killing for sport or trophies. It was accepting a gift. — Butchering, — Legion commanded quietly, rising. — Fast. Clean. Leave nothing for scavengers. The forest dislikes garbage. And does not forgive arrogance. --- Lesson of Blood. They worked at the base of a cliff, under a stone overhang. Legion showed how to separate tendons from muscle, how to skin without damaging it, how to cut the best pieces for drying. — Here, — he pointed a claw at the hindquarter. — Endurance muscles. Cut along the fibers. Dry in the sun, then smoke with juniper and pine resin. Stores for months. Doesn't spoil. — And this? — Spark asked, pointing at ribs and spine. — For broth. Boil bones for six hours. We drink the broth ourselves. The thick remainder goes to wound treatment. Calcium. Collagen. Glue for armor cracks if no blacksmith is at hand. Rico watched as Legion skillfully tied meat onto cords made of dried tendons, creating compact, dense bundles. — You... you've done this before? — I have, — Legion answered without looking up. — Before armor. Before Legion. When I was just a whelp with no name and no home. Hunger teaches fast. And the teacher... — he smirked, — ...taught me to eat cheap noodles and read books. Now I teach you to survive. Without it, the fortress is just a stone tomb with good ventilation. Rico nodded. Understanding flickered in his eyes. They weren't just digging or fighting. They were living. And life wasn't just war, geomancy, and discipline. It was also food. Fire. Quiet after a successful hunt. — Emperor, — he said quietly. — Thank you. Not for the meat. For... for showing us how to be more than just dogs. Wolves, I mean. Legion froze. Then slowly nodded. — We are not dogs. And not just wolves. We are those who remember why they breathe. And now—we carry it back. Sunset is near. At night, those who don't understand the word "gratitude" awaken in the forest. And I don't want to test how strong your new armor is against shadows. --- Return to Haifisch. The fortress greeted them with the warm light of crystals. Meat was hung in drying chambers, laid out according to the Scholar's blueprints. Bones went into massive cauldrons. The hide—to storage, for future cloaks or gear. Legion stood at the throne room window. Hunger receded. Energy returned, slowly but surely. Systems stabilized. Saturation reached 61%. — Data collected, — the Scholar reported. — Forest is safe if rules are followed. Magical background stable. Manticore was part of the ecosystem. Its death won't disrupt balance. On the contrary, predators won't starve at our walls now. — Good, — the Philosopher said. — Means we're not thieves. We're part of the cycle. — And the hide... — the Creator mused. — If treated with tannins and crystalline dust, it'll make a cloak. Warm. Light. Ideal. — Then handle it, — Legion smirked. — But without fanaticism. We're not saddlers. We're warriors. The Warlord was silent. Then quietly said: — They will be ready. For meeting. For battle. For peace. — Yes, — Legion agreed. — Because a hungry warrior is a danger. A fed warrior is a choice. He turned from the window. The hall was warm. Smelled of smoke, juniper, and dried meat. Smelled of life. Somewhere deep in his mind, among thousands of souls, a quiet voice sounded. That same old librarian. “Eat. Growth is needed for the body. And tomorrow... tomorrow we start with the alphabet.” Legion smiled beneath his visor. For the first time in a long while, it wasn't a sneer, not a survivor's smirk. It was a simple, genuine smile. — Tomorrow, — he whispered, watching the fire in the hearth. — They will come to us. Not with weapons. With peace. And perhaps, with a dinner invitation. — You plan to feed ambassadors meat? They're herbivores... — the Scholar was surprised. — No, — Legion answered mentally. — I plan to show them we're not monsters. But those who know how to value what the earth gives. And remember those who taught us to. Wind struck Haifisch's walls. But this time, it held no cold. It carried the breath of a new day. Chapter 13: Morning Secrets The sun slowly rose above the horizon, painting the sky in soft pink and orange hues. Ponyville was waking up. The first birds began to sing, and somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed, heralding the start of a new day. Three small figures walked along the road leading to town. They looked exhausted: manes tangled, eyes heavy with sleep, but a fire burned within them that not even a lack of rest could extinguish. The Cutie Mark Crusaders had returned. --- Ponyville Outskirts — I still can't believe we actually did it, — Sweetie Belle whispered, glancing back. There, in the distance, the grim silhouette of Haifisch loomed, swallowed by the morning mist. — We did, — Apple Bloom said confidently, adjusting her cowboy hat, which had slipped slightly over her eyes. — And we're alive. And we didn't get eaten. — Scootaloo trotted alongside, her small wings fluttering uselessly as she tried to keep pace: — Did you see his eyes? When he knelt down? It was... it was like something out of a Princess Luna comic! Only cooler! — Quiet! — Apple Bloom hissed, looking toward the town. — We need to split up. If anyone sees us together at this hour... the questions will be too serious. They stopped at a crossroads. One path led to the Carousel Boutique, the other to Sweet Apple Acres. — Meet at the clubhouse after lunch? — Sweetie Belle suggested. — We need to write everything down. Before we forget. — Deal, — Scootaloo nodded. — And not a word to the adults. Not until we figure out what's going on. — Especially Rainbow Dash, — Apple Bloom warned. — She'll fly straight there with a sonic rainboom. And he... he doesn't seem like a villain. — He's more like a teacher, — Sweetie Belle said thoughtfully. — Remember what he said? Purpose isn't found. It's created. They fell silent. The Emperor's words had struck deeper than they expected. — Alright, run along, — Apple Bloom said. — Or I'll be late for apple bucking, and I'm not even home yet. They shared a quick hug and parted ways. The secret of Haifisch was now split into three parts, hidden in different corners of town. --- Carousel Boutique Sweetie Belle opened the door as quietly as she could. Inside smelled of fabric, perfume, and breakfast that had clearly gone cold. — Sweetie? — A voice called from the stairs. Rarity stood at the top, wrapped in a robe and wearing curlers. Her eyes were wide with worry. She hurried down, her mane unstyled—a rare sight indeed. — Where have you been?! — Her voice trembled between anger and relief. — I searched the whole room! Twilight said you didn't stay at the library! Sweetie Belle swallowed. Lying to her sister was hard. But the promise made to the Emperor... and her own curiosity... — I... I stayed at Scootaloo's, — she said quietly. — We forgot to tell anyone. We fell asleep. Rarity narrowed her eyes. She stepped closer, examining her sister carefully. Her gaze lingered on a speck of dust on Sweetie Belle's flank. Dust that shimmered with a strange bluish tint. Haifisch dust. — At Scootaloo's? — Rarity raised an eyebrow. — Strange. I saw her walking toward Apple Bloom's this morning. Sweetie Belle froze. The lie was exposed. Rarity sighed and lowered herself to her sister's eye level. The anger faded, leaving only concern. — Sweetie... I'm not angry. I'm worried. The forest isn't... safe right now. That fortress... — she nodded toward the window, — ...appeared out of nowhere. We don't know who's inside. — I know, — Sweetie Belle said honestly. — But... they're not monsters, Rarity. They're... Wolves. But they're good. Rarity froze. — Wolves? How do you know that? — I saw them, — Sweetie Belle said, lifting her chin stubbornly. — And he... the Emperor... he let us go. Without harming us. Rarity was silent for a long moment. She ran a hoof through her sister's mane, brushing away the dust. — Promise me, — she said softly. — Don't go there without adults again. Please. If they're good... they'll understand. If they're not... I don't want to lose you. Sweetie Belle nodded: — I promise. But her eyes said otherwise: We'll be back. Rarity saw it. She knew that look. She'd worn it herself when it came to fashion or friends. — Go wash up, — Rarity said, stepping back. — Breakfast is on the table. And... thank you for coming back in one piece. Sweetie Belle ran upstairs. Rarity stood alone in the hall. She walked to the window, gazing at the horizon. — Wolves... — she whispered. — I need to write to Twilight. --- Sweet Apple Acres The smell of apple pie greeted Apple Bloom and Scootaloo at the doorstep. — Well, where have you two been wandering? — Applejack's voice came from the kitchen. She emerged, wiping her apron. Her gaze was sharp as a blade. — We stayed over together, — Apple Bloom said quickly. — Forgot to tell anyone. Applejack looked at Scootaloo: — Rainbow Dash sent an owl this morning. Asked where her protégé was. I told her you were here. But you didn't sleep in the house, did you? Scootaloo lowered her head: — We... were out. Stargazing. Applejack sighed and shook her head: — You're gonna give me gray hairs before my time. Alright. Sit down and eat. The pie's getting cold. They sat at the table. Apple Bloom stole a glance at Granny Smith. The old mare chewed her breakfast, but her weathered eyes held a knowing glint. — See the fortress? — Granny Smith suddenly asked quietly. Apple Bloom choked on a piece of pie. Scootaloo froze, fork in mid-air. — What fortress? — Applejack began, instantly on alert. — The one by the old mines, — Granny Smith said calmly. — The wind off it carries the scent of ages past. I can feel it. You went there, didn't you? Apple Bloom looked at Scootaloo. She nodded. — Yeah, — Apple Bloom said. — But everything's fine there. They... they're not evil. Applejack frowned: — How do you know? You don't even know them. — They would've fed us, — Scootaloo suddenly said. — If we'd stayed. They have food. And light. And they speak properly. Not like thugs. Applejack was silent. She studied them, weighing their sincerity. — Alright, — she finally said. — But if you go there again... you tell me. Or Twilight. Understood? — Understood, — the two fillies answered in unison. But they exchanged a glance. We'll tell. But not everything. --- Golden Oak Library Twilight Sparkle sat at the table, surrounded by parchments. Spike slept nearby, blowing smoke rings. The door opened. Rarity walked in, looking anxious. — Twilight, we need to talk, — she said without preamble. Twilight looked up: — What's wrong? — Sweetie's back. This morning. — Rarity sat down. — She was at the fortress. Twilight froze. The quill slipped from her telekinetic grip. — What?! — She says there are wolves. Not monsters. Wolves. And some Emperor. — Rarity lowered her voice. — She says they let her go unharmed. Twilight quickly began gathering papers: — This changes everything. If they made contact with children... it's not an invasion. It's... diplomacy? Or manipulation? — Or hope, — Rarity said softly. — Sweetie spoke of him like... he was a teacher. Twilight walked to the window. The sun had fully risen. — Princess Celestia needs to know. But... — she turned to Rarity, — ...maybe we should try ourselves first? If they didn't harm the children... maybe they're waiting for us. Rarity nodded: — I agree. But without weapons. And without panic. — And without tomatoes, — came Spike's voice, now awake. The ponies looked at him. Spike shrugged: — What? I was listening. Twilight smiled. Faint, but genuine. — Alright. We'll gather everyone. In an hour. At the clearing before the forest. — What if they attack? — Rarity asked. Twilight looked at distant Haifisch: — Then we'll find out who they really are. But I feel... — she placed a hoof to her chest, — ...that today isn't a day for war. --- Haifisch. Throne Room Legion stood at the same window. His sensors had detected movement in the town. Surges of magic. Discussions. — They're preparing, — said the Scholar. — Will they come? — asked the Warlord. — They will come, — Legion replied. — The Crusaders planted the seeds. Now we reap the harvest. Rico entered the hall: — Emperor. Scouting reports. A group of ponies is gathering at the forest's edge. Six individuals and one young dragon. High magic signatures. — The Elements of Harmony, — Legion noted. — The Princesses have sent their champions. — Shall we meet them with weapons? — asked the Warlord. Legion slowly shook his head. — No. We will meet them... with hospitality. He turned to the dogs: — Open the main gates. Remove weapons from sight. Prepare... that very noodle dish. — Instant noodles, sir? — Rico blinked. — Yes, — a hint of irony colored Legion's voice. — Let them taste the food of outcasts. We'll see if they understand the flavor. — You're taking a risk, — the Philosopher noted. — I'm trusting, — Legion replied. — I trusted the children. The adults... I'll give them a chance. He strode toward the exit. His cloak billowed behind him like a banner. — Let's go. History is being written today. And I intend to be the author, not the ink. Beyond the walls of Haifisch, the wind picked up. It carried the scent of apples, grass... and hot broth from the generator room. Ponyville approached the fortress. The fortress opened its gates. The meeting was inevitable. Chapter 14: Face to Face The inner quarters of Haifisch were bathed in dim light. Legion stood before a mirror of polished obsidian. His reflection stared back—a massive figure in bluish armor, wearing a skull-like helmet that struck fear into enemies. — You intend to remove the armor? — the Warlord asked. — Without it, you are vulnerable. — Armor is a barrier, — Legion replied mentally. — If I wish to understand them... I must be more accessible. But not too much. He raised his paws. A blue glow enveloped the armor. The metal didn't clatter off; it dissolved, retreating into the pocket dimension of the "Black Shroud." There, in the void between spaces, rested his weapons, his war. Beneath the armor lay his true form. Ash-gray fur, crisscrossed with scars—a map of three hundred thousand years of survival. His chest was broad, muscles rolling beneath the skin like steel cables. Around his eyes, faint blue patterns pulsed—the lingering marks of soul magic. Legion transformed, appearing as an old wolf. He draped his cloak over his shoulders. The fabric was dense, concealing the contours of his body. — Now you resemble that old one, — the Philosopher noted. — The Librarian. — I hope so, — Legion thought. — Because they've seen enough of the Emperor. He stepped out of the quarters. Without the heavy ring of steel. Only the soft tread of claws on stone. --- The Gates of Haifisch The main gates of the citadel were massive—ten meters high, carved from a single slab of rock. Usually sealed shut. Today, they slowly groaned apart on ancient mechanisms. Before them stood six ponies. Twilight Sparkle walked in the center, her horn glowing with readiness to defend. Beside her, Applejack, hat pulled low, gaze serious. Rarity studied the architecture with professional interest, masking her fear. Rainbow Dash hovered slightly above, poised to strike. Fluttershy hid behind Applejack, and Pinkie Pie... Pinkie Pie was uncharacteristically quiet. — They're opening, — Twilight whispered. — Be ready. But do not strike first. The gates opened fully. From the darkness of the passage stepped He. Without armor, he seemed less mechanical, but more... ancient. A black cloak concealed most of his body, but his height betrayed his power—he towered over them like a watchtower. The hood shadowed the upper half of his face, but below, a muzzle with fangs was visible. He stopped five paces away. Not threateningly. Simply... present. Silence hung in the air. Even the wind stilled. Twilight took a step forward: — Hello. I'm Twilight Sparkle. These are my friends. We... wanted to meet you. Legion remained silent for a few seconds. His eyes beneath the hood glowed with a dim red light. — I know, — he answered. His voice was deep, vibrating, but stripped of the metallic amplification of his armor. Applejack frowned: — Know? How? — I hear, — he replied briefly. — Too brief, — the Scholar noted. — They might think you're mute. — Let them, — Legion replied. — Words are cheap. Rainbow Dash descended lower, crossing her forelegs: — Hey, where's your armor? And the helmet? You look... well, smaller. Legion slowly turned his head toward her. — Steel is heavy, — he said. — Today is a day of lightness. Rarity placed a hoof to her chest: — What a noble phrase. But... tell me, sir... Are you the one they call the Emperor? — Call me what you wish, — Legion answered. — A name is merely a sound. Fluttershy squeaked quietly: — You... you won't eat us, will you? Legion looked at her. In his mind, the Philosopher chuckled. — No, — he said. — I do not eat guests. Pinkie Pie suddenly hopped: — Do you eat cakes? I have cupcakes! They have a surprise inside! But the surprise is inside, not on the outside! Legion froze. The four voices in his head sighed in unison. — Sweetness... is acceptable, — he said. — But later. He stepped aside, gesturing with a claw toward the open passage into the citadel. — Will you enter? Twilight exchanged glances with her friends. It was an invitation. A trap, or a chance? — Why? — Twilight asked cautiously. — Questions demand answers, — Legion said. — It is cold out here. Inside... it is warmer. He didn't wait for a reply. Turned and slowly walked inward, expecting them to follow. — Come, — he tossed over his shoulder. — The path is straight. --- Inside the Citadel The ponies entered a vast hall. The walls were carved from stone, but illuminated by strange white crystals. No torches. No fire. Only cold light. Legion stopped at a large table of black stone. Bowls sat upon it. Steam rose from them. — Instant noodles? — the Warlord marveled. — You're offering them fast food? — It's a symbol, — Legion replied. — Food of outcasts. Food of survivors. He approached the table and sat on a stone bench. Pointed a claw at the bowls. — Eat. It is not poison. Twilight stepped closer, sniffing the air. — Is that... noodles? — Food, — Legion confirmed. — The taste is simple. The sustenance is high. Applejack sniffed her bowl: — Smells like spices. And... something chemical. — Preservatives, — Legion said. — So it keeps. Like memory. He picked up his bowl. His claws deftly held chopsticks (carved by the dogs from his blueprints). He began to eat slowly, demonstrating its safety. The ponies exchanged glances. Pinkie Pie couldn't resist and tried first. — Whoa! Spicy! And delicious! The others followed. Legion watched, saying nothing. — You're silent, — the Scholar observed. — They expect explanations. — Let them wait, — Legion thought. — Silence makes them speak more. Twilight set down her chopsticks: — Thank you for the meal. But... we need to understand. Who are you? Where did this fortress come from? Why are you here? Legion placed his bowl down. Steam curled around his muzzle. — I am Legion, — he said quietly. — From where... the past. Why... because I can. — That's not an answer, — Twilight pressed. — It is a beginning, — he parried. Rarity surveyed the hall: — You built this in a week. That's incredible magic. Or technology? — Both, — Legion answered. — And neither. Rainbow Dash snorted: — Do you always answer in riddles? Legion finally raised his head. His eyes met hers. — An open mind is like a fortress, — he said. — With its gates thrown wide open and its guards lost to revelry. Silence fell over the hall. Fluttershy spoke softly: — Are you... in pain? Legion froze. The paw holding his chopsticks stopped mid-air. — She feels it, — the Philosopher whispered. — Empathy. A dangerous gift. — Pain is part of life, — Legion answered dryly. — As is hunger. He stood up. The meeting was over. — You have eaten. You have seen. Now, leave. Twilight rose: — But we haven't settled anything... — Agreements require time, — he interrupted. — I have plenty. You... do not. He pointed toward the exit. — Return tomorrow. If you wish. If not... the road is open. He turned his back to them, facing the wall, signaling the audience had ended. The ponies slowly began to leave. Twilight glanced back at the door: — We'll be back. — I know, — came the voice from the darkness. --- After the Meeting When the gates closed, Legion stood alone in the hall. — You were harsh, — the Creator remarked. — I was cautious, — Legion corrected. — They pleased me, — the Philosopher noted. — Especially the little yellow one. She feels pain. — A vulnerability, — the Warlord snapped. — Empaths see weaknesses. — Let them see, — Legion said, pulling back his hood. — If they accept us with our flaws... then they are worthy of an alliance. He approached the window, watching the departing ponies. — What next? — the Scholar asked. — Tomorrow, — Legion answered. — Tomorrow I will show them the library. If they value knowledge... they will stay. — And if they don't? Legion smirked. — Then they will simply eat another bowl of noodles. And leave. He folded his paws across his chest. — But I feel... they will return. The wind struck the walls of Haifisch. Below, in the valley, the lights of Ponyville flickered on. First contact concluded. Without blood. Without secrets. Only questions. And this was only the beginning. Chapter 15: Hidden Strength Night fell upon Haifisch like a heavy velvet curtain. Inside the citadel, crystals glowed, but Legion had ordered them extinguished in the upper towers. Let the fortress appear dead from the outside. He stood by the gates, once again clad in a black cloak. His armor slept in a pocket dimension. Rico stood beside him, holding a heavy staff topped with a crystal. — Leaving alone, Emperor? — the dog asked quietly. — It's risky. Ponies might see. — Ponies sleep, — Legion replied. — And I need to check something. Something that cannot be done with witnesses. He placed a paw on Rico's shoulder: — Guard the fortress. If guests arrive... feed them. But do not let them inside. Not while I'm gone. — Understood, sir. The gates opened silently. Legion stepped into the night and dissolved into the shadows of the trees. — Where are we going? — asked the Scholar. — To a graveyard, — Legion replied mentally. — Our graveyard. --- Deep Within the Everfree Forest The forest greeted him with a familiar chill. The trees here were older than those in Equestria. They remembered the tread of his boots three hundred thousand years ago. Legion moved without a sound. His paws broke no branches, rustled no leaves. He had become part of the shadow. — Coordinates? — asked the Warlord. — North. Where the cliffs resemble fangs, — Legion answered. He walked for a long time. The moon shone brightly, but his eyes saw in the dark better than any nocturnal predator. Finally, he reached the base of a mountain, hidden beneath thick ivy. There was no entrance here. Only smooth rock. Legion halted. He pulled back his hood. The wind tousled his fur. He raised a paw and drew a claw across his wrist. Blood—dark, almost black, saturated with soul magic—welled up on the fur. He pressed his paw to the stone. — Blood calls to blood, — he whispered. The rock trembled. Ancient runes flared with blue light, mirroring the patterns on his body. With a muffled grind, the cliff split open, revealing a passage downward. — The defenses are intact, — the Scholar noted with satisfaction. — No one has entered here. — Except time, — added the Philosopher. Legion stepped into the darkness. The entrance sealed behind him. --- The Crypt of Ancestors Inside, it was dry. The air was stale but unspoiled—the preservation magic worked flawlessly. Legion walked down a long corridor. The walls were covered in frescoes. They depicted wolves in armor, battles with shadows, rituals around campfires. The history of his people. A history the world had forgotten. — Look at them, — the Creator said with sorrow. — Such noble poses. Such tragedy in every line. — It is not art, — Legion said aloud. — It is a report. He reached the central chamber. In the center stood a sarcophagus of black stone. Not for a body. For knowledge. Legion approached it. On the lid rested a sphere of the same blue alloy as his armor. — The archive, — said the Scholar. — It holds data on the Ice Grave. On the Windigos. On the ritual. Legion placed his paws on the sphere. It glowed. Information flowed into his mind, merging with the thousands of voices within. Flashes of imagery: Ice locking cities in its grip. Wolves howling at a dying sun. Priests chanting forbidden spells. And himself—a whelp, absorbing the light of thousands of souls. — There is a record here on the weakness of the Windigos, — the Scholar reported. — They feed on discord. But there is a frequency... a sound that shatters their form. — A weapon? — asked the Warlord. — Knowledge, — Legion corrected. He took the sphere. It shrank in size, becoming apple-sized, and vanished into his pocket dimension alongside his armor. — Why not study it here? — asked the Philosopher. — It is too quiet, — Legion replied. — Knowledge must work. Not gather dust. He turned toward the exit. But for a moment, he paused, gazing at the sarcophagus. — Forgive me, — he whispered into the void. — That I survived. And you did not. Silence answered him. The dead do not forgive. They simply wait. --- On the Surface Legion emerged from the crypt. The rock sealed behind him, hiding the entrance once more beneath the ivy. He stood atop a hill, gazing at distant Ponyville. The city lights seemed so warm. So... fragile. — Now we have the advantage, — said the Warlord. — We know how to kill their winter spirits. — We will not use it, — Legion replied. — What? — all four voices exclaimed in unison. — Not yet, — he clarified. — Knowledge is power. But power revealed too soon... loses its value. He recalled the old librarian's words. "Outcasts are not born. They are made." And another piece of wisdom, surfacing from the depths of a foreign memory, from a world that did not exist in this universe. — Knowledge is power... learn to hide it, — he spoke aloud. — It is wise, — the Scholar agreed. — If ponies learn we know the Windigos' weakness... they will demand action. War. — And we are not ready, — added the Philosopher. — We are too few. — And Haifisch is not ready either, — Legion concluded. He strode back toward the fortress. His step was heavy, but steady. --- Return to Haifisch Rico waited at the gates. — All is quiet, Emperor. No ponies have come. — Good, — Legion said, stepping inside. — They will come again tomorrow. — What shall we tell them? Legion removed his cloak. Beneath it, his armor materialized once more—blue and cold. The helmet with bat wings snapped onto his head with a click. His physical form returned to its peak condition. He was Legion again. The Emperor. The Last Emperor. — Nothing new, — he said. — Let them guess. Let them search for weak points. — And the sphere? — asked the Scholar. — In a secure place, — Legion replied. — In the Council Hall. Under lock and key. He approached the window. Dawn was already beginning to paint the sky. — They think I am a mystery, — he said quietly. — Let them. Mysteries make them think. And a thinking enemy... is more dangerous than a foolish one. But a thinking ally... is worth more than gold. — Are you planning an alliance? — asked the Philosopher. — I plan survival, — Legion answered. — For us. For them. For this world. He turned to Rico: — Prepare the library. Tomorrow I will show them books. Not all of them. Only those safe to read. — And the ones that are not? Legion smirked. The red eyes of his helmet flared. — Those... will remain hidden. As they should be. Knowledge is power. But power demands responsibility. And patience. Legion sat upon the throne. The sphere containing his ancestor's knowledge pulsed quietly in the dimension near his heart. He knew the world's secrets. But the world was not ready to know them. Not yet. Chapter 16: Forbidden Pages The library of Haifisch was quiet. Too quiet. Only the rustle of pages and the faint hum of illumination crystals broke the silence. Legion sat at a massive desk. Before him lay ancient folios, recovered from the crypt. Data from the sphere had already been uploaded into his consciousness, but paper... paper held the authors' souls. He read quickly. His mind, amplified by thousands of voices, absorbed information like a sponge soaking up water. Schematics. Blueprints. Recipes. History. — Left page — ventilation schematic, — noted the Scholar. — Right page — poem about a falling star, — added the Creator. — Useless, — grumbled the Warlord. — We need weapons. — Everything is a weapon, — the Philosopher countered. — Even a word. Legion turned another page. The parchment was stiff, smelling of ozone and old blood. His eyes narrowed beneath his helmet's visor, which he had donned again for concentration. Document 404-A: "Cognitive Plate Type-7" The blueprint depicted a metal plate attached to the back of a subject's head. The neural connection schematic was flawless. — Enhances cognitive performance by 300%, — the Scholar read aloud. — For subjects with low intellectual potential. Legion ran a claw along the bottom line of the document: "PROHIBITED FOR ETHICAL REASONS. Interference with natural species evolution. Risk of personality loss." — Diamond Dogs, — Legion thought. — They could become engineers. Strategists. Not just diggers. — It would make them smarter, — the Scholar said. — Useful for the citadel. — It would make them machines, — the Philosopher objected. — They would cease to be themselves. Isn't that what we fought for? The right to be ourselves? Legion silently closed the folio. Set it aside. Into the "Dangerous" stack. --- Document 892-B: "Butcher's Neuro-Spikes" The next book was heavier. The pages were stuck together, as if from moisture. The schematic showed spikes implanted into the nervous system. — Pain stimulator, — the Warlord explained, approval ringing in his voice. — Pain accumulates. Release is only possible through an act of violence. Killing an enemy relieves the tension. Legion read the application description: "Used on gladiators of the Blood Arena. Condemned of the Legion. Combat efficiency increased by 500%. Control is absolute." Again, the stamp at the bottom: "PROHIBITED FOR ETHICAL REASONS. Turns a warrior into a beast. Destroys compassion. Unacceptable for a Sapient Wolf." — It would make them tireless, — the Warlord said. — No fear. No pain. Only battle. — It is hell, — the Philosopher whispered. — Eternal pain, cured only by another's death. Do you want to turn your allies into this? Legion felt anger boiling inside him. Not his own. Someone else's. Left over from the gladiators of the past. — Remove it, — he commanded mentally. The book slammed shut. --- Document 000-Ω: "Project NEPHILIM" The last folder was black. No title on the cover. Only a symbol—a wolf tearing a chain. Legion opened it. Instructions for genetic modification. Altering the DNA structure of Sapient Wolves. Increasing muscle mass. Blocking fear centers. Suppressing empathy. "Result: A warrior standing as a thousand ordinary individuals. Knows no fatigue. Knows no mercy. Knows no fear." Legion read further, comparing the stats to his own. "Strength: Critical. Endurance: Maximum. Intelligence: Reduced to tactical minimum. Loyalty: Absolute." And at the bottom, in red ink: "PROHIBITED FOR ETHICAL REASONS. Creating slaves from brothers. Defiling the blood. Project closed by the Council of Priests." — They are strong, — the Warlord assessed. — But... — But they are not us, — the Scholar finished. — Comparison with the Emperor... Legion saw the graphs. The Nephilim was a powerful machine. But compared to Legion... to the bearer of thousands of souls... it was a crawl to the moon. Legion was evolution. The Nephilim was mutation. — We could create an army, — the Warlord said, hunger in his voice. — One dog becomes equal to a squad. We would conquer this world in a month. — We would become what we fought against, — the Philosopher said. — Windigos fed on discord. And we? We would feed on the pain of our brothers. — The body design... aggressive, — the Creator noted. — But lacks elegance. Brute force. Legion closed the folder. His paw trembled. Not from fear. From temptation. In this world, there were threats. Windigos that could return. Tirek. Sombra. Discord. To protect Haifisch... to protect them... Power was needed. But at what cost? — Knowledge is power, — Legion whispered into the void. — But power without morality... is tyranny. He rose. Took all three documents. Approached the wall safe. An old mechanism, operated by a soul imprint. — You're locking them away? — the Scholar asked in surprise. — Yes. — But they're useful! — the Warlord insisted. — They are a path to the past, — Legion answered aloud. — A past where we perished. We did not survive thanks to these technologies. We survived thanks to spirit. He placed the folders in the safe. The door closed with a dull click. — The Diamond Dogs will grow stronger. But not like this. Not through pain. Not through slavery. — Through what? — the Philosopher asked. — Through knowledge, — Legion said. — Through study. Through choice. He turned to the desk. One book remained. Ordinary. A textbook on small-unit tactics. — This is what they will read tomorrow, — he said. — You're taking a risk, — the Scholar warned. — Without forbidden tech, we're weaker. — No, — Legion removed his helmet. His face was tired, but his eyes burned clear. — Without forbidden tech, we... remain ourselves. He walked to the window. Night was deepening. — I will not create monsters to fight monsters. For then, what sets us apart from them? — You're too soft, — the Warlord snorted. — I remember too much, — Legion replied. Behind him, the forbidden schematics hummed quietly in the safe. They whispered promises of easy victory. Quick power. Legion did not turn around. — Rico, — he called over the comm. — Yes, Emperor? — Tomorrow morning. Training room. Tactics only. History only. — And... experiments? — No experiments. Pause. — Understood, sir. Legion cut the connection. He was left alone with the silence and temptation. Knowledge is power. But wisdom is knowing when to say "no." He looked at his paws. They were not the paws of a butcher. They were the paws of a warrior. — We are not Nephilim, — he told himself. — We are Legion. And that had to be enough.