Warning: This story is a sequel to Harmony's Wrath. This is an Alternate Universe, many elements of the setting have changed drastically, and won't make sense if you haven't read it.

A stallion stumbled forth from the cavemouth, his legs uneasy, his throat burning. Around him was mere smoke and ash, loose rubble where once were the finest works of architecture in the land. Embers stung his eyes as he staggered through the remains of Canterlot. Everything around him was an affront to the senses. The irritant smoke, the chill wind on his near-naked body, the pain in his legs...

He dropped to the ground. The alien structures at the ends of his front limbs cut easily on the jagged stones. Fires roared in the distance. Occasionally, a body or a lump of masonry would return to earth with a loud thud. About a hundred lengths ahead, he could just about make out part of the palace - a crumbling archway, the entrance to a building no longer there. He tried to climb upright again to no avail. He cursed and spat, and crawled.

In his mind, those hundred lengths were a walk of shame. Yesterday he was an upstanding noble, the pinnacle of what it meant to be a pony; today, he struggled through the burning ruins of his home with the awkward gait of a newborn foal, the winter's wind biting at his exposed thighs, prints of dirty blood left in his wake. His pristine white coat was smeared with dirty black and brown, and his mane and tail were a tangled mess.

When he reached the arch, he put a shaky... what were these blasted things called again... hands? He put a shaky hand up to one pillar, and pulled himself upright again. The smoke was starting to clear by now, which brought some minor relief, but also tenfold heartbreak, revealing the full extent of the devastation. The palace was gone. The gardens were gone. All the shops, the houses, even some of the streets themselves lay broken. The foul stench of burning sewage was starting to fill the air. The pillar he clung to was the last thing he owned.

He sank to his knees, took a gulp of the fetid air, and cried to the heavens. He cried for anguish. He cried for loss. He cried for the life stolen from him. He cried for revenge. He cried for an undying hate.

He cried for the blood of the ones who took it from him.