Night Lord in Equestria part 3

>Do these ponies ever be quiet?

>Since your “discovery”, Twilight and the other ponies have bombarded you with questions as fast as they can.

>Twilight HAS been asking the lion’s share of the questions, though.

>”Where are you from?”

>”What job do you have?”

>”What was your dad’s name?”

>”Why are your eyes black?”

>”Why do you have a winged skull on your shoulder pad?”

>They do not even wait for your answers. Their voices grate on your nerves.

>You’re out of your element. Slaves aboard the ship cowered in respectful terror with your merest presence. These ponies, on the other hand, show no fear of you. Only curiosity. And wordless disdain from the cyan one, Rainbow Dash.

>They continue their ceaseless questioning all the way to their town.

>You patience runs its course

>”ENOUGH.” Your voice booms from the speakers with more force than intended. Several of the townsfolk flee from your presence.

>The yellow pony, Fluttershy, eeps and hides behind her comrades. The others are shaken from their curiosity.

>The smallest amount of agitation edges on your voice as you speak, “I will be more than happy to answer all of your questions later. BUT. You must answer me a few questions first.”

>The ponies nod their heads. Fluttershy peers from behind Applejack, nodding nervously. Rainbow Dash rolls her eyes, but nods.

>”First. Which planet am I on? Which system is it in?”

>Confused, Twilight responds nervously, “This is Equestria. The planet is just in a solar system.”

>Ignorant, stupid beasts.

>”In that case, have any of you seen anyone like me before? Similar armor, talk the same, carry the same wepons?”

>They all shake their heads.

>Applejack pipes up, “Nope! Yer the first, uh, whatchacallit... Uh-start-ees we’ve ever met.”

>Applejack’s accent seems to butcher Low Gothic more than even those Diamond Dogs did.

>”Are there any other wrecks near here like the one you found me at?”

>”Oh yes darling! Something nasty fell from the sky a few months ago. The royal guards were called in to investigate. They wouldn’t let anyone within four miles or so of it, which was truly strange. But they don’t care about it now.”

>Your onyx black eyes alight with this news. You physically grab Rarity. “WHERE IS IT?! SHOW ME NOW!”

>Her hair is blown straight by the force of your verbal assault. The other ponies also look far more windswept than a few moments ago.

>Perhaps you got a little carried away with that. You set Rarity back on the ground.

>”Forgive me Rarity. Where is that ship that crashed?”

>Now, Fluttershy quietly stutters, “I-it came down a l-little ways from m-my cottage. I can sh-show you, if you want?”

>”Yes. Show me now!”

>With that, the ponies lead the way, the Pegasi taking flight while the others try their hardest to keep up with your brutal pace.

>Purpose gives you speed. You outstrip Fluttershy and the others, but Rainbow Dash steps up her pace, flying just ahead of you.

>She turns her head lazily toward you smiling smugly, “What’s the matter, Chosen? Can’t go any faster?”

>You ignore the rainbow haired braggart’s challenge and drive on.

>Rainbow snorts and flies faster, easily pulling ahead.

>You’re concerned that Rainbow will simply leave you behind, but your fears are quashed by the sight of an ungainly-looking, faintly hawkish craft, painted a deep, blood red.

>A THUNDERHAWK

>Despite being in a state of catastrophic disrepair, you can still make out the name painted on the hull of the craft in Baalian glyphs, right beneath the white winged blood drop symbol of the 9th legion.

>Blood Angels.

>You polar opposite.

>Where you and your brothers hide in the dark, striking your foe when he is most vulnerable, utilizing every possible underhanded technique when you wage war, the Blood Angels, the sons of Sangunious, stand proud, strong, and honourable to a fault.

> “Loyalist dogs...” you mutter under your breath.

>Rainbow Dash hovers above the crashed thunderhawk’s prow, gives it a few knocks with her hoof as if to say, “Here it is.”

> It looks burned out and thoroughly gutted.

>The attack craft sits in its now eroded crater at a 45 degree angle. The main cannon is bent and unusable, the right wing shorn off from the impact with the ground. Heavy bolter turrets still sit on its left wing, but look damaged possibly inoperable.

>But it is something you know. 

>Perhaps there’s still something of worth inside.

>You storm up to the main hatch, which lays open to all.

>You hear panting behind you. The rest of the ponies must have caught up with you.

>”*pant* *pant* Yeah... that’s... That’s the thing...” Fluttershy manages to get out before degenerating into more panting.

>”Wait outside. I will be just a few moments.”

>”No complaints here... *pant* *pant*,” wheezes Twilight.

>You step inside the charred flyer, the darkness inside hiding nothing from your senses.

>The inside roughly matches the outside. Ruined, scorched, and partially destroyed.

>The supply room, usually stocked with bolters, ammo and jump packs has been stripped clean.

>Perhaps the Royal Guard stripped the craft bare when the flames subsided.

>No. The supply rooms on your own legion’s Thunderhawks required genetic identity verification for access. There’s no signs of forced entry and the interior of the room is clean and untouched by the fire that scorched the craft.

>Either the xenos psykers found a way around such mundane defences or...

>Blood Angels. Here. Alive.

>Either Twilight and her friends lied to you, or they were simply ignorant of another Astartes’ presence. Whatever monarch controlled the Royal Guard, however, must have either dealt with the Loyalist and stolen Astartes grade weaponry, or they have joined forces...

>You honestly can’t decide which is worse. Psyker ponies reverse engineering Space Marine technology or a Blood Angel allied with the rulers of this backwater.

>You check the remainder of the Thunderhawk, not finding anything of worth, save for a servo-skull spared from the flames by the partially collapsed cockpit ceiling. It chirped noisily when it noticed your presence, its primitive consciousness detecting Astartes life.

>It didn’t act hostile, so it must be incapable of differentiating between space marines.

>After you pulled back the heavy ceiling plates that had spared it from the flames, the servo-skull flew up to your face, chirped gleefully and scanned you down. To what end you do not know, but it simply floated to your shoulder, its lone manipulator grasping the chain of your pauldron.

>You were never one for pets, but it was good to meet something from your former life, even if it was a floating robotic skull with the intelligence of a dog.

>”Good boy.”

>The servo skull lets out a short burst of code, almost like a bark.

>Charming.

>You exit the Thunderhawk, your new friend close behind.