The Wolf and the Unicorn

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.” ― Plato

The man stalked slowly through the dense brush, slowly creeping towards the crest of the hill.  Every branch, twig, and blade of grass accounted for in his movements, knowing the slightest creak or crack would give himself away.  Carbine in hand and a large pack on his back, he moved with silent purpose, pausing every few steps to listen to the sounds of the forest.  Making sure the small noises remained, the squirrel chirping happily as it chewed on an acorn, the birds fluttering and tweeting sweetly, these are the sounds of a happy forest.  A few feet at a time, the man moved on.

Ahead in the distance, there was movement, the sounds of fallen branches cracking as they were stepped on, soft whispering, the sounds of people.  Dropping to a crouch, the figure reached up on his carbine to check its lethal purpose.  A soft tug on the suppressor to show it was locked in place on the muzzle.  A light scraping noise as he drew back the bolt to press check the rifle, brass glinting softly in the dim light, loaded with deadly purpose.  He was ready.

Ever so slowly, he slid the bulky pack off his shoulders, making sure to set it gently into the underbrush.  The forest would hide the bag until he returned to it, covering his dark secrets. Knees bent, the man stalked off into the gloom, getting closer to the voices and the the blood ahead.

In a few yards, the brush began to thin, and the outlines of two ponies emerged from the shadows.  The carbine began to rise, the figure comforted by its presence on his shoulder.  The circle dot of the scope appearing in his vision as he readied for his purpose.  Placing the dot on the shoulder of the nearest pony, the yellow reticule contrasting against the silver armor the pony wore.  The figure crouched in the undergrowth silently wishing the ponies would wander off, but knowing what had to be done.

Taking no pleasure in the act, the figure creeped out of the brush.  The moment the muzzle of the rifle was clear, a small crack was heard.  The first guard falling over limp as red sprayed across its chest.  The man twisted at the hips and settled the dot on the other pony as it spun, trying in vain to find where the shot had emerged.  Eyes widening in fear just before the rifle barked a second time and the final pony joined its compatriot on the forest floor, crimson dripping down the side of its helmet, slowly coloring his hide the color of death.

The figure turning back into the forest quickly, muttering under his breath, "Damn ponies, why did it have to be this way?"  The steps to his pack were quick, but not hurried, the man's eyes watching every branch and bit of movement.  Throwing the pack on, the figure turned and began to jog back towards the fallen guards.

As he burst through the brush and into the light, anypony would have immediately known who this man was.  There was only one human in all of Equestria.  He was somewhat a curiosity, towering over most ponies by nearly a foot.  In reality he was short for a human, only being 5'10" but with nothing to compare, he was huge in their opinion.  Nothing more could be seen of the human as every available inch of skin or hair was covered in mud or clay to blend in.

Knowing time was short, the man unzipped this pack and pulled a large bolt action rifle out of its recesses.  Its very form glowing with malice, as it was only built for one purpose, and that was drawing blood.  Lots of it.  Picking a tree near the crest of the hill as cover, he slowly lay prone, unfolding the rifles bipod and gently setting them between the roots of his cover.  Looking through a small object, he whispered to himself, "Eight hundred seventy two yards... This is going to be interesting."  Pausing to consult a small paper taped to the side of the bulky rifle, he did math in his head.  "34 clicks up and 16 left.  Stupid wind has to make this difficult."

A series of small clicks echoed in the small clearing around his tree as he adjusted the scope for the conditions of his shot.  A few small, deft movements later, the man was settled in behind the beast, ready to dispense its deadly payload.  The scope showed most of Canterlot as he twisted the magnification knob, the city swimming in his vision as it appeared closer and closer, his target almost where he needed.  A white figure began to fill his vision, multi colored mane drifting and flowing in a breeze that nopony could feel.

Princess Celestia moved onto her balcony, preparing to give a speech to the best of her Royal Guard, while a man watched her from a distance.  The moment her lips began to move, he knew it was time.  Settling the crosshairs on the joint where her shoulder and body met, he began to exhale.  Squeezing the trigger steadily rearward as the movement of his crosshairs ceased, the pressure broke and the rifle roared its fury.  The fury of a forgotten and missing people, the fury and rage of the last of a fallen people.

The bullets deadly flight was short but visible, a wavering vapor trail following it as it curved down to earth.  In the second it took the object to cross the vast distance, the man swore he saw Celestia smile just before a crimson stain erupted across her chest.  Knowing his work was done, the man still could not break himself away from the rifle, watching as the Princess slowly toppled over.  Even at his distance, he could hear the screams of shock turn into wrath and rage.  His time was short.

Stuffing the rifle back into its bulky pack and slinging it across his back, he couldn't help but feel cold knowing what he had just done.  Two fallen guards and a goddess.  Not how he wanted to be remembered, but it was a necessity.  Just as necessary was that he run.  Run fast, and run far, as all of Equestria would be following.

Sprinting into the forest, carbine cradled in his arms, pack bouncing on his shoulders, he ran.  Pushing himself harder and faster then most people thought was possible, his form started to shimmer, small flickering trails of green flame on his limbs.  The faster he went, the quicker his form was surrounded by green flames until only a furred lupine shape remained.  His gold eyes flashing around his forest, watching his steps, the trail, and all things around.  And yet he ran...