The throne room of Princess Celestia was, to nearly every outsider, a sight to behold. A true achievement in beauty and glory. From the white marble columns to the stain glass windows, just about everything was a marvel.
However, once in a blue moon, there was a visitor who noticed not a single thing about the room. Rather, their eyes were typically glued to the ruler of Equestria.
As was the case with the current visitor: a tall man with peach-colored skin, neck-length black hair, and a black tuxedo outfit. His dark-brown eyes pierced Celestia's soul and bored their way out the wall behind her. Had it not been for his pistol, which he held to a guard's head and the numerous other unconscious and potentially dead bodies that lay behind him like a river, one could've been mistaken and thought that this man was here to have dinner with the princess.
“Now, now, John,” Celestia said softly, a hint of satisfaction hidden behind her motherly demeanor. “There's no need for this senseless chaos, even if it’s what I've brought you here for today.”
John remained silent for a few moments before he threw the guard to the side. He watched as the guard scrambled to his feet and took off running without looking back for a second. “I know, princess. There is no other reason that you would have brought me back here,” he said. “Though I see that your welcoming committee is still as… questionable as ever.”
“They’ll be fine—hopefully,” Celestia said, a forced smile on her face as she dreaded the potential duty of having to inform a family that their husband was killed. Alas, desperate times called for desperate measures.
And so, sacrifices had to be made.
“But we shall attend to that another time. For now, you made a deal that if I brought you back to your world years ago that you'd do me a favor should there ever be a time when I'd need a person of your… expertise,” Celestia said. “And as luck would have it, John, a situation has arisen which calls for just that.”
“And what would that be?”
“The ponies of the Crystal Empire have been under the tyrannical rule of their king, Sombra, and have been attempting to craft a weapon that will seal him away,” Celestia said. “However, they would need a… diversion in case they're caught. Sombra has become paranoid and has increased the security around the empire. Guards have been dragging entire families out of their homes. So I want you to, if possible, take Sombra out on your own. The fewer ponies injured or, heaven forbid, dead, at Sombra's hoof, the better.”
John raised an eyebrow. “So, the favor you ask of me after all this time is to go on a suicide mission?”
“To put it bluntly, yes,” Celestia replied. “However, I trust a human of your caliber and skill set will make quick work of Sombra’s guards. While they may be highly skilled, they've been overworked and are prone to… making reckless decisions.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” John said. “Now I must know: have you kept your promise to have something to assist me on my trip?”
“Why of course,” Celestia said with a smirk. “I am a pony of my word.” She stood up and walked over to John's side. “Follow me. I'll show you what we have made since you were last here.”
John nodded and walked alongside Celestia. “So, tell me, how's your sister been?” he asked as they entered the castle hallway. “Is she asleep?”
Celestia stopped mid-stride. “She's… going to be away for a bit,” she said with a facial expression that was alien to John.
An expression of sadness.
“Let's just go,” Celestia said, ushering John. “There's no time for small talk now.”
John followed the princess. Eventually, they reached a door that bore a keep out sign and had a guard beside it. Celestia nodded and the guard let her pass.
John walked towards the door, to which the guard stepped in front of it.
“Oh, don't worry, he-”
John threw a swift right hook which connected with the guard’s jaw and knocked him out.
“Now was that necessary?” Celestia asked, unamused and visibly frustrated.
“You said there was no time for small talk,” John retorted with a smirk. He stepped over the body and adjusted his sleeve.
Celestia rolled her eyes in response and shut the door before she continued down a hallway, the sound of her hooves echoing through the air. Eventually, she and John arrived in an armory the size of a small shopping mall.
“We made very good use of the firearm you left for us,” Celestia said as admired the various weapons that adorned the walls. “Equestria’s top minds work day and night to replicate and advance our army’s formability, and to make sure that we were up-to-date, so we wouldn't disappoint when we needed you.”
John nodded and walked towards one of the firearm-decorated walls. He grabbed a sawed-off shotgun and looked at it. “Feels like it does at home,” he said with a satisfied smile. He grabbed a second handgun and examined it. “Full metal jacket rounds I take it?”
“Why of course,” Celestia replied. “Sombra has a thing for making his guards wear enough armor to make a small hut. The shotgun also have slugs—though we learned that that pierces armor the hard way.”
John chuckled and grabbed a large hunting knife from the wall. He walked back over to Celestia's side and placed the shotgun and his regular handgun into a nearby duffle bag before he turned to the princess. “Alright, when do I leave?”
Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Is… that all you'll really need against an entire army?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you don't-”
“Yes. I'm sure.” John narrowed his eyes and glared at Celestia as he tucked his handgun into his waistband. “I’m certain that I'll come back with enough spare ammo for you to decorate a wedding cake with.”
Celestia remained silent for a few moments before nodding, unwilling to fight the assassin, lest she be killed verbally. “Right, well, we have a carriage outside that will bring you to the train station. We’ve paid for your ticket to the Crystal Empire. Just go to the castle and do what you do best.”
“Is there anything I should know about the guards there? Are they well armed?”
“Just watch out for their magic. They may try to take your guns,” Celestia said. “Though I'm doubtful they'll know how to use them.”
“Just like your guards?”
Celestia chuckled. “I'm doubtful they’ll look down the barrel as they try to figure out how to fire it,” she said. “Though do be careful. With how paranoid Sombra has gotten, only the most loyal of his guards remain. So whoever is inside his castle, they won't stop to talk anything over.”
John smirked. “I'm not there to make friends, Celestia,” he said as he grabbed the duffel bag.
“I know, but you asked,” Celestia replied before she walked back to the room’s entrance.
John followed and the two made their way to the outside of the castle where a handful of guards waited for them—most of which had various bruises and other visible injuries.
“Think they'll ever forgive me?” John asked Celestia as they approached the carriage.
“Maybe,” Celestia said. “Even if they don't, I think they're eternally grateful that you didn't kill them.”
“I'll try harder next time then,” John said before he stepped onto the carriage. He sat back in his seat as it took off. Before he knew it though, the carriage landed outside a train station and the carriage door opened.
“We’ve arrived, Mister Wick,” a chauffeur with a coat as white as snow said. “Do enjoy your time at the Crystal Empire.”
John exited the carriage with his bag and smiled. “I will.” He walked onto the train and took a seat by a window. A short while later, the train departed from the station, at which point he sat back in his seat and shut his eyes.
“Excuse me, but are you the one who helped the princesses defeat Discord?”
John opened his eyes. An earth pony mare with a sapphire-blue coat and eyes like emeralds stood across from him with a curious look on her face.
“I-I’m sorry, I was just curious. I didn't mean to disrupt your rest,” she said meekly. “I had just heard stories and-”
“Yes, I am,” John replied. “Though I did so since your princesses couldn't use their magic to help me get home thanks to his disruption of harmony.”
“I see.” The mare sat across from John and smiled. “Oh, where are my manners? My name is Cheryl Bloom. I'm from up north, but I moved to Canterlot a few years back. Anyways, what brings you back to Equestria?”
“Business,” John deadpanned.
“In the Crystal Empire?” Cheryl asked quizzically. “What sort of business do you have up there?”
“The sort that I conduct on a regular basis and hope to retire from one day,” John replied.
“I see,” Cheryl replied, uncertain. “This… ‘business’ of yours. What exactly is it?”
“The kind that isn't of your concern,” John replied coldly. “And the kind you should be grateful doesn't affect you.” He sat up and leaned forward. “Though since you asked me: why are you headed up the Crystal Empire?”
“I'm headed there to see my cousin. She's been having a hard time what with Sombra being the way he is.” Cheryl sighed and looked at the ground. “She's been suffering under his reign so long… I'm honestly surprised she hasn't fled into the frozen tundra to just get away from him and his army of sycophants.”
“Why hasn't she just taken a train to live with you?” John asked.
Cheryl looked back up at John with tears in her eyes. She wiped them away and spoke with a weak voice. “There's been so much violence in the empire lately. She's afraid if she tries to leave, the guards at the station will accuse her of being a spy and will drag her off to be killed.”
John felt a twinge of sadness inside of him—a feeling that caught him off guard. Slowly, he reached out and patted the mare on her back softly. “I'm sure it'll be fine, Cheryl,” he said in an uncharacteristically warm voice.
I'll make sure of it.
Some time later, the train arrived at the Crystal Empire. John grabbed his luggage and stood up before exiting the train alongside Cheryl. The frigid air instantly made both of them shiver as they stepped onto the platform, which had several stoic guards on it, each of them sporting slick, black armor and swords.
“I take it those are the king's men?” John whispered to Cheryl, who looked terrified to be within mere feet of them.
Cheryl nodded and hastily made her way past the guards. She turned to face John and beckoned for him to follow her.
John glanced over at the guards, each of whom were staring daggers at him. He placed a hand near his waist and slowly walked towards Cheryl, who had an anxious look on her face.
After several grueling seconds of walking, John reached Cheryl, only to feel a hoof touch one of his arms.
“Halt,” a guard said in monotone from behind him. “What sort of business does an individual such as yourself have here in King Sombra's empire?”
John turned around and glared at the guard. “Casual business,” he replied as his hand slowly moved under his jacket. “Why do you ask?”
The guard gestured for his partners. “We’re going to have to check your bag, for security purposes. We won't have the likes of you walking around the Crystal Empire without knowing what you're doing here.”
“I see my reputation is larger than I thought.” John drew his handgun and shot the guard point-blank in the head. He shifted his attention over to the other guards and fired off a single shot at each of them, with each of the shots piercing the armor and their flesh.
“You may want to run, Cheryl,” John said before he made his way towards his destination: the large, morbid looking castle that towered above the once prestigious Crystal Empire.
From behind him, John could hear the panicked screams and cries of the ponies who had just witnessed the start of his mission. It was a sound that John was used to and one that he wished he could tune out as he knew at any second, he’d be getting a visit from more of Sombra's friends.
“Halt, John!”
John spun around and held his gun out towards several guards, each of whom had their weapons drawn and looked far more than ready to turn the assassin into an example of what happens to rebels.
“On behalf of his royal highness, King Sombra of the Crystal Empire, you are under arrest for the murder of-”
Before the guard could finish his sentence, several rocks struck the guards. John turned his head and saw a large group of ponies. Some with pitchforks, others with what looked like shattered beer bottles. Before he knew it, the mob charged towards the guards and they clashed.
“Well, glad to see I can incite a rebellion,” John mused to himself before he resumed making his way to the castle, a trek that proved to be grueling not in length, but with the sights John saw. Partially destroyed buildings; some still burning. Starving ponies, begging for a meal.
John did his best to ignore the sights, but eventually found himself face to face with one that he couldn't simply block out.
Dozens of ponies huddled together in an alleyway that was the last thing that separated him from King Sombra's abode. Each of the ponies looked up at John with varying expressions.
“It's him! It's Baba Yaga! He's here to save us!” cried a few ponies; smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity to them.
“No, you fool! He's an agent of Sombra! Do you not see his attire?” cried others angrily.
“You're both wrong! He is Death given a physical form! Do you not see the blood on him?”
John chuckled at that and continued on his way, still listening to the banter of the ponies.
“You're all wrong! He is a manifesto of our collective insanity and desperation! We have mentally conjured up what we perceive to be the old mares hero that is Baba Yaga! He is not real!”
John paused and turned to face the pony who'd just spoken. Calmly, he walked over and patted him on the head. “In about two hours, you'll see that I'm every bit as real as the ground you walk on,” he said softly. “Just don't be surprised if that ground has been bathed with the blood of every one of Sombra's guards.”
“HALT!”
John looked up and fired off two shots at the guard. Before looking back at the pony. “Like that.”
The pony promptly fainted, a sight which elicited a genuine laugh from the assassin, who walked away and arrived at the outside of the castle a few moments later.
“Alright. Time to begin.” He cracked his neck and pushed open the front doors to the castle. The interior reminded John of an old Victorian era castle, with a cobblestone floor and the only lighting coming from a handful of candles. However, what caught his attention was what adorned the walls.
Several paintings, masterfully done, but which depicted the most sickening and depraved acts of torture and sex the assassin had ever lay eyes on; to the point he winced with disgust and horror—and barely managed to not vomit.
“I see you've met our king's art exhibit, Mister Wick!” A guard said as he and another guard approached John, their weapons drawn and pointed directly at the assassin. “Tell me, what really brings someone like you to the king's castle?”
John regained his composure and looked up at the guards. He took a deep breath and dropped his duffel bag. “I'm going to kill your stupid king and burn his fucking art.” In one quick motion, John took out his gun and fired off two shots at one of the guards, each of them ringing throughout the room. Both bullets pierced his armor and struck the guards head; his blood painting the wall behind him and the floor beneath him a slick shade of crimson. He turned his attention to the other guard, who charged head first into him and knocked the gun out of his hand.
The guard took a step back and raised his sword up. John dove out of the way, barely dodging the sword, which sliced one of the pieces of so-called “art” in twine.
“No! Sombra will have my head for that!” The guard faced John; fire in his eyes. “Though maybe he’ll make my death swift if I bring him your head on a silver platter!” he growled through grit teeth.
John stood back up and took out his hunting knife; awaiting the guards next move and slowly inching his way back over to his gun. Before he could reach it, the guard hurled his sword at John, narrowly missing him and embedding itself into the wall behind him.
And subsequently firing off a barrage of magical bolts at John, who ducked to his gun and shot the guards horn clean off.
The guard let put a scream of agony and fell to his haunches. Before he could speak though, John walked over and embedded his knife into what little remained of the guard’s horn—and gave his wrist a fresh coat of paint with the guard’s blood.
The lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud. John bent down and retrieved his knife from the guard’s head and put it back into its sheathe. He walked over to his duffel bag and put it around his shoulder before he approached the stairway and ascended. I should've asked Celestia for a damn flashlight, he thought as he struggled to see more than a few feet in front of him. Eventually, he reached the next floor, which had a handful of candles that illuminated the long, dreary hallway, with a handful of doors that all seemed to be closed.
John took out his handgun and inched his way down; keeping his eyes peeled for the slightest bit of movement and awaiting the faintest bit of sound that wasn't his own footsteps.
“Hello…?”
John aimed his gun at a nearby wooden door, which was slightly open. He inched his way over to it and hugged the wall, remaining as silent as he could.
“Is… is somepony outside?”
John watched as the door slowly creaked open and a colt with a maroon-colored coat cautiously exited the room. He grabbed the colt by his mane and pulled him towards him, aiming his gun at his head.
“P-please, don't shoot me! I'm just a servant!” the colt screamed. An immense amount of terror filled his voice, something which don't go unnoticed by John, who loosened his grip on the colt and lowered his firearm. The colt turned around and looked up at John. He stumbled backward onto his haunches and fumbled his words repeatedly before he calmed down enough to form a coherent sentence.
“You're… him,” he said quietly, a look of fear still in his eyes. The colt stood back up and approached John, who still looked ready to shoot the colt should he so much as sneeze crooked. Despite that, the colt was ecstatic to see the assassin, despite having just come within an arm's length of death. “Are you here to rid us from King Sombra?”
John nodded. “Now, tell me, how do I get to him?”
“Just… go up to his throne room?” The colt rubbed the back of his neck. “Why do you ask?”
“I figured your king would have some sort of death trap set up,” John replied. He placed his duffel bag down and unzipped it. He placed his handgun into hospital belt and took his shotgun. “Discord had plenty of traps set up. Does your king not have any?”
“No, Sombra believes traps are for cowards and those who are too weak to face others head-on,” the colt said. “So, are you really going to take him out? If so, can I come?”
“Yes, I am,” John said. He cocked the shotgun and glared at the colt. “And no, you can't. I don't want to be responsible for an innocent ending up dead on my watch.”
“But I can-”
“Kid, you look like you're malnourished and would get tired from lifting a candy bar,” John said. “I’m not going to carry you like horses in my world carry humans. Now, if I was you, I'd either get the hell out of this castle or find a really good hiding spot, because I'm going to kill every single equine who doesn't beg for mercy.”
The colt turned a ghastly white. “Y-yes, mister,” he squeaked before running past John—a sight which made the assassin chuckle.
John walked to the end of the hallway and turned the corner. Shotgun in hand, he ascended a rickety stairway—something that he hadn't expected.
Why in the world would a king keep something so… fragile? He pondered as the stairs creaked with each step he took. Oh, who am I kidding? This is the same king who apparently kills his guards for doing the world a favor and ridding it of his art. John reached the top of the stairway and slowly opened the door that lay at the top of it.
The room on the other side was a mess hall—and by the looks of it, hadn't been used in an incredibly long time. There was no interior light. Rather, all of it came from the outside, which amounted to what little light came from the various fires. The wooden tables had spoiled food on them, along with the carcasses of rats unlucky enough to have tried to eat whatever food wasn't buried beneath the dust that now covered nearly every inch of the room.
John carefully made his way through the room, the floor beneath him still creaking. A feeling of desolation filled the assassin, and it was a feeling that didn't sit well with him. It made him feel like he was being watched; and that he was no longer the predator, but rather the prey.
He scanned his surroundings. Repeatedly. Over and over, he looked over his shoulder, to his sides, and even beneath the disgusting tables, which were somehow worse under—sporting moldy pieces of gum and other indescribable foods that were stuck to it. However, within every visible nook and cranny, John was reassured with what his eyes told him: he was alone.
Eventually, and after trudging through the dust and trash, John reached a counter. He peered over it and saw what he’d seen everywhere else in the room: dust, trash, and other stomach churning things.
Clink… clink…
The sound of pots and pans hitting each other filled the otherwise dead-silent air. John raised his shotgun and looked ahead. To his amazement, he could make out a shadow in the room behind it—and it was a shadow that moved. Slightly.
John cocked his shotgun, which instantly got the attention of the pony within the other room. It walked towards the door in a jittery manner. It forced the door open and made its way to the counter, revealing it to be an earth pony with a ragged grey coat, though it had splotches of red. A chefs hat that looked like it'd been a timber wolf's chew toy adorned the pony’s head, hanging off the side of it and partially covering an eye.
“Oh, a visitor for little old me!” the pony said with a large smile. “I'm the chef for King Sombra! He never visits anymore and neither do his guards. Nobody ever visits me anymore.”
John cautiously lowered his shotgun. “Why does nobody come here anymore?”
“Because Sombra decided that my cooking wasn't ‘good enough’,” the chef said somberly. He kicked some of the dust on the floor and sighed before suddenly shooting John an unnervingly large smile. “But it's okay, because Sombra told me that if I ever make him a recipe he loves, he'd reopen the mess hall! So, I've been using his less desirable guards as ingredients. He doesn't know, but that's okay, because I'm sure he loves my cooking! He must just be shy, right?”
“You… you cook his guards?”
“Yup!” The chef eyeballed John before letting out an unnerving laugh. “And you appear to be a human! I've always wanted to cook one of you!” The chef leaped over the counter and threw a ruthlessly strong punch, which struck John's face and caused him to fall to the ground; sending dust into the air and impeding his vision.
“Oh wow! You humans are a lot softer than I imagined!” The chef bounced up onto one of the tables and looked down at the assassin, who frantically looked around for his target. “I must say, I'm surprised. I always imagined I'd have to deep fry your kind to make you edible. Or broil, like I was making steak!” With another manic laugh, the chef jumped off the table and onto John, who fired off a shot in panic, which struck the ceiling.
“Oh my, what a loud piece of technology!” The chef grabbed the shotgun. “That will not be permitted in my kitchen!” In the blink of an eye, he yanked the shotgun out of the assassin's hands and threw it to the side before throwing punch after punch.
John attempted to block the incoming blows, but with little success due to the fact he could still barely see the cannibalistic equine. Out of desperation, he threw a wild punch, which connected with the side of the chef's head, and knocked him off of the assassin.
“Oh, you barbarian!” the chef whined. Before he could attempt to strike back, John stood up and threw a handful of wild punches, with the majority of them landing and causing the chef to recoil in pain. He reached out to where he could see the vague outline of the chef, grabbed him by the neck, and hurled him across the room, crashing onto the table and nearly breaking the decrepit piece of garbage.
John walked over and towards him. Without a word, he placed a hand over the chef's mouth and slammed his knife down into the pony's chest, all the while he stared deep into the chef's eyes as the life faded from them.
John took the knife out and placed it back in its holster. He walked back over to where the shotgun lay and picked it up; dusting it off and cocking it. He walked over to the only other door that was in the room and opened it. A long, gloomy hallway lay before him, a sight that the assassin was now all too familiar with.
“Halt, Johnny boy!”
“Well, that's… new.”
From the other end of the hallway, a colt arrogantly strutted his way up to John and stopped a few feet from him. “Well, well, if it isn't the man, the myth, and the legend himself,” he sneered. “Baba Y-”
John fired off a shot from his shotgun, which blew the colt's face clean off and created a grisly display of facial parts and brain matter that repainted the adjacent walls and the floor surrounding the corpse of the guard. He carefully stepped over the guard and continued on down the hall until he reached the end, at which point he ascended a spiraling staircase—which felt like it never ended.
Thankfully, it was just a feeling, and after nearly a minute of walking, he reached the top. A foreboding steel door that was decorated with the skulls of ponies stood before John. Cautiously, he opened it. On the other side was an archive room, and a lone unicorn mare with a lavish white coat stood near one of the numerous shelves. As John stepped foot into the room however, she turned her attention from her job and glowered at the assassin.
“John Wick…” She flipped through some various files before stopping on an exceptionally large one. “Ah, here we go.” She opened it and read over it. “You arrived at Canterlot some time ago and caused quite the panic at the castle as they thought that dormant mirror had come to power again—and someone on the other side had discovered it.” The mare shut the file and placed it on the shelf. “Tell me, what was it like becoming the first human to be knighted by Princess Celestia?”
“Well, I'd say it was quite the honor,” John said as he watched the mare’s every move. “Though I can't say that I feel I deserved it after I turned the majority of her guardsmen into vegetables.”
The mare chuckled. “Well, let's see if you have what it takes to defeat me!” She levitated a variety of files of the shelves and hurled them at John, who raised his hands as he was pelted by them for a few seconds. Once the barrage ceased, he looked over at the mare, who had vanished.
WHAM!
John felt a ridiculously heavy object crash into the side of his head. He looked at the ground next to him, his head feeling like it was spinning at a speed thought to be impossible. However, through his blurred vision, he could make out what had hit him.
His file.
As John went to stand up, a hoof slammed down onto his hand. He let out a pained groan and looked up.
“You didn't actually think you could beat someone who was trained by Sombra himself, did you?” The mare gave a devilish smirk. “Come now, even the great John Wick must have his limits!”
“No, I'm afraid I don't.” John reached for his shotgun, which had fallen beside him, and grabbed it. He raised it and slammed it over the mare’s head, causing her to let out an agony-filled scream. John stood up and raised his shotgun again and brought it down onto the mare’s head.
Repeatedly.
Before the assassin knew it, the mare’s head was little more than splattered blood, brain matter, and skull fragments; all of which covered the wall and floor. John wiped some of the blood off of his face and suit and took a deep breath; visibly exhausted from the work it took to turn the head of his attacker into a sloppy joe. He inspected his shotgun and smiled. “Well, this thing's almost certainly broken.” He looked down at the mare. “Thick-headed bitch.” He dropped his shotgun next to her before he walked across the room and over to the next door. He opened it and walked through with brazen disregard for any potential threat as the loss of the shotgun was too much for him to handle.
A dining room fit for a king was the next room John entered. A hardwood floor, a chandelier made from diamond, and a table as long as a school bus. A cushioned chair, a table full of mouth-watering food, and a aroma that was strangely romantic.
It was idyllic and a stark contrast to every other room John had seen prior to this.
He approached the table and inspected the food. To his amazement, it was cooked the same as he'd seen it on Earth. The turkey was actually turkey and not a hay or vegetarian variant. Same went for the hamburgers and other meat-related foods.
“So, I see you like the food!” A bulky guard said from a nearby rotating door. “It's quite exquisite, no?” The guard entered and approached John. “Our king had it made on account of the fact that his date was one for meat. Then again, she was a sea serpent.”
“So, when's the date?* John asked.
“That's the thing.” The guard rubbed the back of his neck. “Sombra wasn't aware that sea serpents aren't compatible with the frozen tundra. So, she froze on her way here.”
“So why keep the food out?”
“The king loves to keep memorabilia,” the guard replied. “So, he’s kept this food out here for the past six years. Though, there's room at the table for one more.” The guard took a swing at John and struck his cheek.
John stumbled back and didn't have time to regain his composure. Before he knew it, the guard grabbed his tie and threw another swift punch, which connected with his cheek again and opened a small cut. He threw John up against the table and turned around before bucking him; his hooves connecting with John's stomach and sending him crashing through the spoiled food and dishes.
John landed on the floor with a pained grunt. He coughed up a small amount of blood and wiped it away. He watched at the guard teleported over next to him and let out a mocking laugh. “What's wrong, Baba Yaga? Has time not been kind to you? Too old to handle a younger and more fit killing machine than yourself?”
John glowered at the guard. “No.” He lunged at the guard and threw a vicious right hook, knocking a tooth out and splattering blood onto the nearby wall. He followed up with a kick that struck the guard’s side and caused him to collide with the table.
The guard lay on the ground, moaning in pain, attempting to register what had happened. However, as he did so, he felt a hand grip his tail tightly and yank him back. He turned his head to see John tower over him; a cold stare boring into his soul. Before he could so much as beg for mercy, John took out at his handgun, aimed it at the guard’s head, and pulled the trigger; coating the floor with the guard’s blood and brain matter. He stepped over the body and continued onward towards the door that lay ahead. He pushed it open and looked around.
A lounge room—and a surprisingly colorful one, not unlike something one would see in an office building. A small fountain rested in the middle of the room and the walls were covered in paintings.
Thankfully, paintings that didn't depict gratuitous acts.
John walked forward, his shoes leaving behind bloody shoe prints on the hardwood floor
Clop, clop, clop
John spun around and aimed his gun.
Two guards stood behind him. Where they were hiding, he didn't know, nor did he really care as they wasted no time in beginning their assault on the assassin. One of them fired off several magic bolts, which John dodged by ducking out of the way.
The second guard ran into an adjacent room, much to John's dismay before he leaned over the sofa, firing off a shot at the guard, who hissed as it struck his shoulder.
The guard hissed; a look of pain on his face. He tossed it aside and feebly fired off a few magic bolts towards the assassin; each of them hitting anything and everything except for him.
John rolled his eyes at the guard's pitiful attempt to kill him. He rolled out from cover and aimed it at the guard. He fired off a single shot which struck his leg and caused him to fall limp and let out a horrific scream of agony.
John stood up and walked over to the guard, who stared up at him with a mixture of sorrow and anger. He muttered something unintelligible before lowering his head and succumbing to his injuries—a sight that John couldn't help but pity. He turned his attention to the door that the other guard had run through—which was made of gold and was the first thing that resembled something one would expect to find in a castle. He slowly approached the door and, upon reaching it, peered through the keyhole.
The other room looked like an extension of the room he was currently in—but with an enormous marble statue of Sombra in the center. However, the room was empty.
Now where could that bastard have gone? He wondered to himself. He stood back up, opened the door and cautiously entered the room, letting the door close behind him as he did so.
John's footsteps echoed throughout the room; a sound that made him uncharacteristically uneasy. Although he didn't want to admit it to himself, he was worried. He knew that there was more to this job than merely money and a code of honor.
An entire city's future rested on his shoulders, and if some sycophantic guard heard him before he heard them, it was more than likely over.
Why did I not ask Celestia to give me a damn horn? Then I could've at least teleported around. John sighed and slowly moved around the room, which proved to be far bigger inside than from the keyhole. There was a marble statue, an organ, another fountain (of Sombra, naturally), and a king-sized bed that filled the room, although the bed John opted to steer clear of as it emitted a scent that made him gag.
Creak…
John turned his attention to a wooden door and raised his gun.
“D-don’t shoot!” a mare cried from the doorway weakly. “I'm not with Sombra!”
“If you're telling the truth, then come out from there,” John replied.
The mare poked her head out. “You… you won't shoot me, right?” she asked with a nervous look on her pale face.
“I won't if you do what I told you to do.”
The mare gulped and stepped out from the doorway and approached John, her legs shaking with each step she took. “So… you're the one I heard those guards talking about,” she said softly. “Are you here for Sombra?”
“You know where the guards went?” John inquired.
The mare nodded. “They went up the stairway I came down. One of them was screaming about you. I think he's rounding up Sombra's closest guards to make a stand against you.”
“And why exactly did you come down here?” John asked, trying to contain his excitement about what he just heard.
“I didn't want to be caught in the crossfire,” the mare said. “So I snuck away.”
“Well, smart move,” John said as he walked towards the creaky door. “You may wanna get out of here.”
“Oh, yes. Just be sure you don't shoot my assistant up there!” the mare yelled. “She was too afraid to come with me.”
John turned around. “I’ll try not to,” he said before he continued on his way. He ascended the stairs, each one creaking and groaning as he stepped on it, and a handful of them threatening to break under the assassin's weight. Eventually, he arrived up at a wooden door. He slowly opened it and peeked inside.
“Hello, John!” a guard yelled.
John opened the door and ducked behind a couch, which didn't go over terribly well with one of the other guards.
“You fool! We were supposed to catch him off guard!”
John listened as the guard who said hello to him was viciously beaten, his cries and pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. After a bit, his voice became but a whimper, at which point John rolled out from cover and fired upon the guards, killing one with a clean bullet to the head and missing the other.
Before he could attempt to fire again, another guard bucked him in the back, sending him stumbling forward and falling down. He turned to face the guards who loomed over him. He grabbed the knife from his waistband, but felt it get yanked away via magic.
“No cheating!” one of the nameless meatheads snapped.
“Fine.” John grabbed his handgun and blew the same guard’s brains out. “I'll cheat in a different way, asshat.”
The guard's corpse fell onto John, much to his frustration. He pushed it off, only to feel the full force of the other guard’s hoof slam into his side. He let out a pained grunt and rolled over in time to see the guard’s hoof come towards him. He raised his arms and felt it strike them.
“John, I'll give you one last chance to surrender,” the guard said in monotone. “If not, I'll be forced to become the one who took down a national hero. And while I'd feel like a true bad ass, it'd be very disappointing.”
“I've got a better idea.” John struggled to stand up. He wiped away a bit of blood from his mouth and shot a glare which would paralyze a lesser man. “You can either get out of here before I break your neck,” he growled. “Or you capitulate like every other bitch your king calls a guard and let me get it over and done with before I string what remains of Sombra up from a noose.”
The guard glared angrily at John, who remained undeterred.
In fact, a smirk slowly formed on his face.
“You're afraid,” John whispered. “Just like all of the others.”
The guard lunged at John and collided with him, which sent both of them into the nearby wall. “I am not afraid!” the guard yelled, wildly punching the assassin.
John remained silent as the flurry of strikes hit anything and everything. His face, his torso…
His hair.
As the guard’s blind fury maintained control over him, John reached for his knife. Eventually, he got a hold of it and immediately slammed it into the guard’s side, which made him let out a cry of agony. John pushed him off and grabbed a hold of his horn. He turned his head and stared him dead in the eyes as he slowly snapped the horn clean off; the sound being music to John's ears.
“S-stop it! I surrender!” the guard cried as tears welled up in his eyes has he feebly attempted to crawl away.
“I don't care,” John replied coldly. He turned the horn upside-down and he slammed it down into the guard’s head, which coated his suit in blood.
“Is… is it over?” A mare poked her head out from over a desk on the other side of the room.
“Yes, it is. Now, tell me: is this the way to the king's chambers?” John gestured to an enormous door that lay near the deal the mare was behind.
“Y-yes, it is,” the mare behind the desk said as she shook. “W-why do you ask?”
John rolled his eyes at the question and cocked his pistol. “Please, be kind and don't complain about any noise you hear.” With that, he walked towards the black, steely door. He pushed it open and slowly entered. The room itself though was surprisingly small; being not much larger than a child’s bedroom—sporting a single bed that one would expect to find in a third-rate hotel. The room itself looked and felt less like the room of a king and more like a cross between a torture chamber and an art gallery as put together by a psychopath. Wherever there wasn't a device meant to inflict unimaginable pain, there was masterfully done piece of art that depicted a crystal pony going through some sort of cruel and inhumane punishment or having an act of sex that even the kinkiest of ponies would deem repulsive.
And sights that never ceased to make John cringe.
“Ah, if it isn't Baba Yaga,” Sombra said from the behind a painting canvas and palette. A paintbrush floated in front of him, which he set down in a cup of water. He stepped out from behind the canvas and eyed the assassin with a twisted smile. “I knew that Celestia would send you after me, and I must say: I feel honored to have earned the wrath of the one who assisted in the dethroning of Discord.”
John reached for his gun, but felt it get ripped out of hands before he could so much as aim it at the king.
“No, no, no.” Sombra approached the assassin and rested a hoof on his shoulder. “If you're going to fight me.” He threw a punch, which connected with John's jaw and sent him to the ground with a thud. “Fight me like a man and not with your fancy weapons.”
John turned his head to the king, who looked down with pity. He coughed up blood and struggled to stand up. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Sombra's strength was something he would've never anticipated.
Sombra threw another punch, which John dodged with as much grace as he could muster. He threw a punch, which struck the king's left eye; immediately following up with another blow that struck Sombra's jaw.
Sombra staggered back; surprised that John still had much strength as he did despite looking like he'd been through hell. “Well, you humans are nothing if not durable.” His horn lit up and a dark aura surrounded John's tie.
John felt himself float towards the king. Frantically, he scrambled to unclip the tie, but before he could, he was hurled across the room. He crashed into a handful of paintings; shattering them into dozens of pieces and creating hundreds of splinters which littered the floor and embedded themselves into the assassin and his suit.
John lifted his head. “I figured you'd fight me like a real king and not cheat with your pathetic magic.” He stood up, his legs shaking and his movements now graceless. “Or does a king such as yourself rely on being a bitch and cheating?”
“Strong words coming from someone who shot my men with no remorse.”
“You're one to talk about remorse?”
“Fair point.” Sombra's horn lit up again. He fired off a large ball of black magic at the assassin, who narrowly dodged it. The paintings, along with the wall behind them, exploded into thousands of splinters, chunks of rubble, and created a hole large enough to fit a small house.
John scrambled to his feet as soon as he saw Sombra's horn light up again. He drew his knife and, after another black ball of magic was fired, he ducked out of the way; a loud of explosion coming not too far from where he lay. He slowly stood up and turned in time to see Sombra morph into a large black cloud of darkness, which enveloped half of the room.
“Enough games you pathetic being of flesh!” Sombra growled, his voice echoing inside John’s head. “I am a god! You are but a mere mortal! If you truly think you can stop me, then do your worst!” Sombra’s eyes glowed a vibrant red before he lunged at John, who narrowly avoided his attack. He turned to face the assassin in time to see him bring the knife; embedding it into the king's shoulder as deep as he possibly could.
Sombra let out a cry of agony. He reverted to his normal form and recklessly tore the knife out of his shoulder with his magic. “You son of a bitch!” he roared. He cast the knife out the hole in the wall and lunged at John, tackling him to the floor. His eyes softened slightly, despite the gash in his shoulder. A wicked smile formed on his face as his horn lit up and a dark aura surrounded John. “Tell me: does the Boogeyman fear anything?”
John’s vision blurred. Soon, the world around him turned black—save for one area that was illuminated by an unseen source of light. Within that light, he saw a woman with fair skin and brown hair appear before him a beige dress.
“Helen?” he said to himself. He slowly approached the woman. Upon reaching her, he tapped her shoulder
Helen turned around and immediately hugged the assassin. “John! What are you doing here? I thought you were going away on business.”
John hugged Helen back and smiled. “My trip ended early,” he said softly. “So I figured I'd come visit you early.”
Helen broke away from the hug and looked at John. “Why are you covered in blood though?”
John looked down at his suit, which was spotless. “What blood?”
A horn suddenly pierced Helen's chest, which coated John in blood—and brought him back to reality.
“So, I see the great Baba Yaga fears his beloved Helen dying,” Sombra said. “How cute. Perhaps I should make it a priority to bring her here before your public execution.”
John glared angrily at Sombra. He felt something inside him snap in two—and a sensation he’s seldom felt filled him.
It was a sensation that those close the assassin knew only came when a fool did one single, solitary thing.
Set. Him. Off.
John slammed his head against Sombra's muzzle, which sent the king reeling back in pain. He stood up and walked towards the king and threw a savage punch, which struck his jaw and resulted in an audible crack, causing him to fall to the ground with a thud.
Before Sombra could register what had just happened, John slammed a foot down onto his chest and threw another brutal punch that struck the king's right ear and ruptured the eardrum.
Sombra let out a pained scream. He grit his teeth and sloppily levitated over a piece of rubble which he slammed into John's side before he could throw another punch. He stood up, his legs shaking and an insurmountable amount of pain in his ear. He turned himself into a cloud of darkness and rammed John, which sent him stumbling back into a sealed iron maiden.
“If that wasn't made for ponies, I'd throw your bipedal ass into there and feast upon you when you were dead,” Sombra growled. He levitated a branding iron and slammed it against the assassin's head, causing it to snap in two. “Guess I underestimated my own strength. A shame, I was going to brand you.” Sombra's horn glowed a vibrant red as he prepared to fire off a spell. “Fine. I'll settle for second best.” The tyrannical leader fired off a beam of magic, which struck John in the arm. He burned away the fabric of his suit and a considerable amount of his skin.
John let out a cry of pain. He grit his teeth and staggered back slightly, only to see Sombra's horn light up again.
“Go to Hell, John!” Sombra said weakly.
John ducked out of the way of the blast. He looked over and saw his gun not too far from him. With what little strength remained inside of him, he dragged himself forwards, doing his best to not get anything embedded into his wound.
BOOM
Not far from him, he heard the ball of magic strike the nearby wall. A rain of debris fell upon the assassin as he continued to drag himself towards his gun; finally reaching it after being pelted by chunks of concrete and stone for a few agonizing seconds. Not far behind, he could hear the faltering clopping of Sombra's hooves slowly draw closer.
John slowly stood up and wiped away some blood from his mouth before he aimed his gun towards the smoke and debris that was once a part of the king's room. He narrowed his eyes as a shadow appeared through the dust. Slowly, he put pressure on the trigger, and a shot rang out, followed by a pained scream, which itself was followed by a second shot.
John staggered towards the shadow, which was now on the ground, writhing in agony. Upon reaching the king, he slammed a foot down onto his chest.
“You're quite the fighter, John,” Sombra said weakly. “I admire that. Even if you're a good-for-nothing cheater.”
“Thanks. Now, before I kill you, I just want you to know: your art sucks and I'm going to make sure it's all burned.” John raised his gun and pulled the trigger twice, each shot creating a hole in the king's once smug face.
“That second one was for… well, I'm pretty sure you don't care now.” With that, he turned around and stumbled towards the doors, which he struggled to open.
“Oh, thank Celestia!” The mare behind the desk bounced excitedly briefly. “Wait, he's dead, right?”
John faltered his way towards the mare and rested himself against her desk. “Yes… he's dead.”
“Oh, sweet Celestia! You-”
“Nevermind me,” John said. “I’ll live. Just make sure that the station knows I'm on my way.”
“Are you sure? You're bleeding and-”
“Yes, I'm sure.”
“No! You aren't!” In a huff, the mare walked to her desk and pulled out a first-aid kit. She rummaged through it and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, which she applied to John's wound, eliciting a pained hiss from him.
“Was… that necessary?” John asked. “I can always go to a hospital you know.”
The mare stared at John like he was the dumbest stallion she’d ever seen. “You were branded by Sombra! Most ponies I know who received that punishment die from infection because they don't let me care for them.” She took out a bandage roll and wrapped it around the burn wound on John's arm. “There! Now, would you like me to help you outside?”
“I don't really have a choice, do I?”
“Nope.”
John sighed and walked with the mare through the castle, with the mare doing her best not to faint at every sight (not to mention the foul stench). Eventually though, they arrived at the entrance to the castle.
“Now, make sure that you don't pick another looney like him,” John said. “Please.”
“Even if we do, you'll come back to help us, right?” The mare looked up at John with an innocent look.
“No. You're on your own if it comes to that.” John walked out of the castle. Outside, hundreds of ponies cheered as their savior walked along the streets. Some ran up and hugged him. Others threw roses.
A handful asked him to do acts which, had it not been for the knowledge that Celestia would turn him to ash, would've made him put a bullet in their head.
So, he settled for second best.
“I’m…” He paused for a moment and clutched his arm; doing his best to give the impression that he was in unimaginable pain. “I'm currently seeing someone you idiot!”
John ignored the disappointed looks on the equines faces, something that he couldn't quite comprehend, nor did he have any desire to for fear that he'd vomit at the knowledge of why a horse wanted to do things with him.
“John! John!”
A familiar voice made John pause. He turned around and saw Cheryl running up towards him with an enormous smile on her face. “John! Did… did you actually do it?”
“Yes.” John kneeled down and patted Cheryl's mane with his good arm. “He's dead.”
“I… guess I should've expected that you were going to do it when I first saw you.” She hugged the assassin, ignoring the fact that she'd now have to wash blood off of her coat. “Thank you… wait, John. Your arm! What happened?”
“Your king was a filthy cheater.” John gave Cheryl a hug back, a feeling that filled him with genuine happiness. “But please, don't ask. I'll… be fine.”
Cheryl nodded. She looked at John with a smile until she noticed something. “John, are… are you crying?”
“Huh?” John wiped his face. Sure enough, he was crying, a fact that made him momentarily oblivious to his pain. “No, I... just had some gunpowder near my eye. It was irritated.”
Cheryl giggled. “Sure you did, Mister Boogeyman.”
John stood up and ruffled Cheryl's mane. “Well…” He let out a sigh. “Take care, little pony.”
“Bye!” Cheryl said as a tear of her own rolled down her face.
John eventually arrived back at the train station. He approached the ticket stallion who smiled.
“Ah, if it isn't Baba Yaga,” he said. “I see you were successful in your mission. Excellent. I was going to lose out on a hundred bits if you arrived back in a casket.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Who bet you that I'd die?”
“Some jackass who caught wind that you were coming,” the ticket stallion said. “The good news is that you shot him on your way to Sombra, so he can't try to extort me for my bits.”
“Figures the idiot who bet against you also tried to kill me,” John said. “How'd he catch wind though?”
“Eh, Sombra liked to send spies to Canterlot. He probably had an agent or two snooping around Celestia's castle,” the ticket stallion said. “Speaking of her, you might wanna get on that train. It leaves in about two minutes.”
John nodded and made his way onto the train. He took a seat and did something he wasn't terribly accustomed to.
He fell asleep.
“So, I heard that your mission in the Crystal Empire was a success.” Celestia rested a tea cup on the arm of her throne. “And I've heard that you wish to burn Sombra's art?”
John nodded. “You'll know why when you see it.”
“Oh, no, I'm very much aware as to why you want to do so,” Celestia replied; a shiver running down her spine. “I'll tell my guards to do so when they go there to assist with repairing the empire. For now, I guess it's time you get back to your world.”
“Well, there's something I'd like for you to do,” John said. “Is there anything you can do about my arm?”
Celestia nodded. Her horn glowed a heavenly white and a soft beam of magic flowed to John's arm, which swiftly healed—and his suit was fixed.
“Thank you.”
Celestia smiled. “You're welcome, John,” she said. “Though you owe me—again.”
John rolled his eyes. “I figured…”
Celestia chuckled. “See you soon, Mister Wick.” With a smile, she fired off a beam of magic which sent John back home. After a few moments, her smile faded and she sighed; her smile now replaced with a look of worry. She glanced out the window and closed her eyes.
Very soon...
