Once Upon A Time In The West
In a lonely bar on the edge of civilization sat numerous creatures of varied, and disparate origin. Ponies of all shapes and sizes made up the bulk of the individuals patronizing the rotting carcass that was the hog’s head pub. Though there were others, like a dragon that sat in a corner, a minotaur couple next to the bar, and even a trio of yaks secluded in a booth.
Wherever they came from, and whatever their story, they were united by their shared desperation. Dirty, grimy, and usually packing a firearm or long-bladed weapon, these sad outcasts drank quietly. The dim ting of a half-functioning jukebox filled the mostly dead air punctuated by the occasional insult or brief conversation.
Unnoticed, and mostly unobserved in a distant corner sat a lone orange pony with a wild shock of yellow hair the color of wheat. Unrestrained, but cut short, her mane was held back only by the beaten brown stetson which sat comfortably atop her head. Save for that she wore only a rough, padded leather duster and a belt around her midsection which held a couple of bullets as well as an old revolver.
The antique weapon was too large and too heavy for most ponies to even use, but the mare seemed comfortable with the weight. She’d occasionally brush a hoof against the cold steel barrel between shots from a large, dark glass bottle sitting in the middle of the table. No one batted an eye at the old drunk, preferring to simply ignore the pony as they drank and swayed silently in their seat.
That was until the doors to the bar opened, allowing in a light scuff of snow that melted as soon as it hit the floor. Once the white powder had cleared, the pub’s occupants glanced over to find a tall, mean-looking minotaur glaring at them. Standing taller than most of his kind, and sporting horns that added a full foot to his already impressive height, he was an intimidating sight.
Like most, he wore a padded duster, though he also had on a thick, armored breastplate mostly hidden by a heavy brown shirt. A scar ran down his grizzled face all the way from the center of his forehead, over one eye, and ending at his left cheek. Though his fur might be graying in places, the aged creature was still incredibly well-muscled, and in peak physical condition.
Everyone in the bar recognized this fact in an instant, and most recalled his name, or at least his reputation. Prompting nearly all present to swiftly turn back to their drink, or in the case of the orange mare, not notice him from the start. The lone pony continued to hum some half-remembered tune while sipping her drink, oblivious to her surroundings.
Not even the thump, thump of hooves nor the distinctive thwip of a pistol being drawn from its holster stirred her. Only the press of cold steel against her forehead was enough to make the pony stop, and look up at the minotaur. Who towered over the pony with a sneer on his clearly angry face.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you don't have my money,” he growled, voice like a pair of large rocks grinding against one another to produce sound.
“Hmmm,” the pony hummed, scratching her chin. “Nope, don't think I do.”
The minotaur’s jaw clenched so hard a couple of onlookers swore they heard his muscles tighten.
“And I don't suppose your willing to work to make up for your considerable debt?” he continued.
“By the empress Brown, I told you not to start shit in my bar,” growled a large, surly earth pony mare from behind the counter.
The pistol flipped, and pointed at the owner, causing her to flinch.
“And I told you to mind your own damn business! Now unless you feel like joining this worthless drunk in hell, I suggest you shut your fucking mouth!” bellowed Brown.
The owner grunted, and moved back behind the counter, resigning herself to bitterly clean the inside of a dirty glass.
“Now then, where were we?” demanded the minotaur, weapon turning once more to the stetson-wearing pony.
“I was about to tell ya that I ain't about to work for you or your sun damned gang,” stated the orange mare before taking a swig of her drink. “You ain't nothin more than a couple of two-bit stooges looking to muscle honest folk outta what little bits they make in this twice damned hole of a town.”
Just about every muscle in the minotaur’s body bulged, as rage coursed through his body, and steam billowed from his nostrils. In an instant, he had grabbed the pony by the scruff of her neck and dragged her across the table. His weapon pressed against her forehead while his finger clenched, but did not pull back.
“What makes you think you can speak to me like that? You came into my town, borrowed my bits, and not once attempted to pay them back. Who the hell do you think you are?” he whispered in a tone so filled with venom that several curious gawkers shivered in disgust.
“I’m just an old farmer,” began the pony, plucking the bottle from the table and taking another swig without attempting to free herself. “Just a pony borrowing your bits and spending 'em back at the businesses you squeezed for ‘em in the first place. As for who I am, the name’s Appleja-”
A sudden explosion stopped the pony’s explanation dead, along with sending the mare flying back across the table. Where she landed in a bloody, crumpled heap, bright liquids leaking out of the new holes in the front and back of her skull. Bright pink brain matter painted the walls behind her and blood squirted onto the table as well as the floor.
There was a moment of silence before the minotaur put his gun away, and stood up. He then dusted himself, picking bits of bone that stuck onto his duster and flicking them onto the floor.
“What the fuck was that?” shouted the bar owner.
“You heard her, Spitshine. She wasn't about to pay me back, and didn't give me the respect I deserve,” declared the minotaur. “So she died like the gutless fool she was.”
“Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to clean up that mess? Or how badly this is going to hurt my business? Never mind the attention this will bring from the shadows,” complained the owner.
“I don't fucking care,” remarked the minotaur. “Just clean it up, and give the body to the nightguard. They always need new members of the deathguard and don't usually ask questions where the volunteers come from.”
“Still,” murmured the proprietor. “Appaloosa’s avoided the eye of the empress for a long time. This will change that.”
“Good,” remarked the killer coldly. “Perhaps now we’ll finally get some business and won't have to rely on trade with those filthy buffalo.”
“And a racist too. Well don't that track,” remarked a voice.
Everyone in the bar turned slowly back to the corpse, who was now sitting upright in her seat. The hole in her head was still visible, though her skull was knitting itself together before their very eyes. The pony seemed ready to continue speaking, only to pause just long enough to spit a twisted hunk of metal onto the floor.
“Sorry about that. Those slugs always seem to get lodged up there,” Applejack exclaimed.
“What the fuck are you?” blubbered the minotaur while stumbling to pull out his pistol.
“To most, a retired farmer, to you… you can call me death,” Applejack stated.
Quick as a flash, the earth pony pulled out her revolver and emptied six rounds into the minotaur. Each bullet sounded like a miniature cannon shot, deafening nearly everyone and leaving those close to her with ringing in their ears. With each hit, the minotaur stumbled back, his breastplate proving worthless when compared to the high caliber revolver.
Blood spat out of the half dozen new holes the minotaur now sported in his midsection. For a moment it seemed like all that damage wasn't enough, as he kept raising his own weapon. Then his body seemed to realize the damage done to it, and he collapsed to his knees before falling face-first onto the ground.
Where he lay, gurgling and sputtering for several more seconds before finally becoming still. With the minotaur dead, everyone turned and gawked at the earth pony as she trotted over to the corpse. Which she proceeded to loot, stuffing his pistol, and all available rounds into the pockets of her jacket.
“Here,” Applejack remarked, tossing a bag of coins onto the counter. “This oughta cover my tab.”
“Err yeah,” murmured the other mare.
“Ya mind if I grab one for the road?” Applejack asked.
“Go ahead,”
“Appreciated,” Applejack replied.
The earth pony’s head finished closing after she picked out a bottle of moonshine and tucked it into a pocket. Without skipping a beat, Applejack trotted out the door, leaving the stunned bar patrons behind. Emerging out into the moonlight, the earth pony paused and looked around while buckling her duster tight around her form.
Most of the old wooden structures that made up the town were either gone or had large metal additions. The majority of which were replaced by boxy gray structures devoid of the old town’s usual charms, these new buildings far outnumbered their older predecessors. They were also packed tight against one another, leaving no room for precious heat to escape out into the snowy landscape.
Where no sun shined, and few clouds could be seen, their gray forms weighed down by heavy snow. Everpresent, the white flecks fell from on high, melting upon hitting the mare’s warm clothes or hot flesh. The poignant cold stung the lone pony, removing more of her drunkenness than she would have normally liked.
The ever-present glow of the large, full moon overhead only made this worse, causing the pony to grimace. She then pulled the bottle out, popped off its cork, and took a long swig before wandering off in the direction of the next town. While she stumbled away, a small group of creatures began to shadow her at a distance too great for her to detect.
Cold, angry, and swiftly becoming drunk once again, Applejack didn't notice the street swiftly emptying of people. What few other travelers darkened the road at that hour retreated indoors, leaving Applejack and her pursuers alone. This was enough to spark a thought in the addled mind of the wanderer, prompting her to turn and find herself surrounded.
Almost all of the figures before her wore the heavy black combat barding of the nightguard, the many interlocking plates leaving not a single spot of flesh visible. Only their eyes could be seen from within the grilles of their helmets, the beady orbs glowing faintly in the moonlight. They were all armed, save for a single, scrawny weasel-faced pegasus in their midst who had no weapon, nor any clothes.
“Th-th-that's her,” she muttered, pointing a small hoof at Applejack. “She’s the one that killed the boss.”
“Your service to the empress will be remembered,” declared the nearest soldier in a flat, uninterested tone.
“So I’m free to go, I’m not in trouble for working for mister Steel?” asked the weasley young pegasus.
“The punishment for organized crime is death,” was the last thing the mare heard before a bullet scattered her brains across the white snow.
“Surrender,” he continued, pointing his rifle at Applejack. “You cannot kill us all, regenerative abilities or not.”
“I suppose it would be kinda stupid to try fightin’ y'all. You seem to know me, and have more than a few guns on your side,” Applejack remarked while placing her bottle of alcohol into a nearby snowbank.
“Quite. You may be able to take down one or two of us, but in the end, you will be put down, and clapped in irons,” he warned.
“See, that's the problem with us Apples,” Applejack began, moving to grab her bottle. “We don't know when to quit.”
Quick as a flash, the pony shifted, reaching into her jacket and producing both the pistol and her revolver. Though fast, the nightguard was just as dexterous and began firing at nearly the same time she did. Heavy, high-caliber revolver rounds flew alongside their smaller cousins, ultimately finding a home in the captain’s closest subordinate.
His armor managed to take the brunt of it, but a lucky hit struck him in the neck, causing a gout of green blood to shoot across the snow. Applejack had taken down her first opponent, but she had not made it out unscathed, nor had she even made an attempt to do so. Six rifles spat hot lead, riddling her body, and tearing a few dozen new holes which leaked crimson.
Be it luck, or simple incompetence on the account of her foes, Applejack had managed to avoid taking a bullet to the head. Leaving the pony with enough strength to fire off the rest of her rounds into another of the nightguard. This time the armored pony’s barding held up, though the large revolver round struck their helmet, knocking them out cold but otherwise leaving them alive.
Several rounds punching their way through her right leg made Applejack’s aim go wide, while a shot to the shoulder forced her to drop the pistol. She tried to correct the aim of her revolver, and continue firing, but the last of her bullets went wildly off course, leaving the cylinder empty. Unable to fight back, or even move due to how perforated she had become, Applejack toppled forward, blood oozing out of wounds too numerous to count.
The pony gurgled weakly, her liquid-filled lungs turning her insult to nothing more than a wet squelch. Still, the nightguard continued shooting her, sending spurts of red across the snow until their magazines clicked empty. As one, they reloaded, and with careful coordination, half of them walked forward while the others remained back, weapons raised.
“I told you this was going to happen,” stated the night guard captain coldly. “You have accomplished nothing but making this harder on yourself.”
Applejack wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but her lungs were sporting several new holes, and the majority of her jaw was missing. The most she could do was glare at the male defiantly with her singular remaining eyeball.
“Do not fret, your body will be better served in our laboratories. Your harvested organs will save hundreds of lives, as will your blood, in addition to the many scientific advancements you will assist in creating,” he continued, tone still completely emotionless.
“D-don't ‘spose I get a say in any of this, do I?” Applejack gurgled, her voice strained due to her vocal cords only being half regenerated.
“No,” he replied coldly.
The nightguard raised his revolver and was about to pull the trigger when a shard of crystal shot from the earth. The spike pierced the bottom of his jaw, and kept going, emerging from the top of his head a half-second later. The soldier barely had a chance to blink before he died, body hanging limply from the lavender spear.
Immediately the rest of his squad turned and attempted to locate the source of the attack but they were too late. A half dozen of the crystalline spines had already shot from the ground, impaling one, injuring another, and forcing the rest to change tactics. With a wave of dark blue magic, their forms twisted, and metal wings shot from the nightguard’s side.
They used these short, stealy appendages to rocket into the air at surprising speed with little build-up. Small jets of greenish-blue energy shot from these new body parts, pushing them through the air without the need to flap. Only one of their number had been too slow to get into the air, the soldiers receiving a shard of crystal to the belly for his tardiness.
A second flighted nightguard met his end when he attempted to level a shot on Applejack and was swiftly cut in half. The jagged hunk of crystal had emerged not from the ground, but the wall of a nearby structure, its thin body quickly snapping. Their number which had been at an even twelve less than a minute earlier had been cut in half just like the unfortunate soldier.
“Come out, mage! We know you're there. We can sense your hatred from here,” bellowed the slightly static-like voice of one of the nightguard soldiers.
A figure stepped from the shadows, emerging out from one of the few alleyways in the small town. Hooded, and shrouded in thick black cloth, none of their features were visible save for their glowing lavender eyes. Guns turned, and fired, spitting lead at the target before they had a chance to raise a shield or make an attempt to dodge.
The figure went down a moment later, riddled with several dozen bullets fired from all remaining nightguard. Crumpling to the ground, the newcomer remained motionless, their eyes no longer visible to the outside observer. Cautiously, one of the nightguard approached, landing a few feet away and trotting up to the stranger in shadow.
With a flick of their long rifle, they revealed that beneath the cowl was not a pony but a crystal statue made to look like one. Smooth purple crystal sporting numerous holes and gauges lay inert on the ground, confusing the already baffled nightguard. Who turned, and was about to voice what he found when the statue exploded with enough force to send him flying across the street.
Though he was dead before he even hit the opposite wall, his companions remained alert, gliding through the air in search of their attacker. Who found them only seconds later, the dark shape leaping from a nearby rooftop and landing on the back of a nightguard soldier. A crystalline blade severed the limb holding his weapon before swinging down across a wing, cutting it off and causing him to tumble forward, spiraling uncontrollably towards the ground.
Just before they were about to meet the snowy street, the equine figure on his back leaped into a backflip. Unlike the nightguard who was at that point a red smear on the ground, the strange figure landed with remarkable grace. Upon landing, the pony continued to move, dodging a burst of rifle fire aimed at her head.
Through speed and luck, she was able to keep in front of the gunfire, sprinting across the street with her cloak billowing behind her. Upon reaching Applejack’s downed form, she skidded to a halt and conjured a tall barrier of thick crystal. Bullets slammed into the wall to little effect, taking small sections off but never managing to pierce deeper.
“What the hay?” Applejack murmured.
She looked up to find herself gazing into the eyes of someone she recognized, someone she knew was dead. Only those eyes weren't quite like Twilight Sparkle’s, as they were far too old, too wizened, and weren't an even number. One was a flat expanse of crystal, while the other sported the signs of age only seen on ponies much older than herself.
Then they turned away, leaving Applejack to stumble into a stand, her muscles just barely regenerated enough to support her weight. Her odd savior was already in motion, a mass of crystal forming in her cocked right hoof. The reason for this became apparent a moment later when a nightguard soldier flew around one side of the barrier.
They received a shard of remarkably sharp stone directly into their eye for their trouble, dropping them from the sky. The strangely old Twilight turned, producing another long spear of crystal from her hoof, but it wasn't fast enough. Two more of the nightguard had come around the other side and were raising their weapons toward her.
Applejack snapped her revolver shut, and fired twice in rapid succession, killing one of them outright. The other receiving only a glancing blow to the wing, sending their burst of gunfire into the road rather than Twilight's head. This was all the grizzled mare seemed to need, and with a sharp throw, she threw her spear into the nightguard’s throat.
He dropped instantly, clawing at his neck while blood gurgled through the grille of his helmet. While he died, his final ally jetted away, the burn of his magical engine piercing the relative quiet that had fallen over the street. Applejack grunted and hefted her revolver, the final set of ligaments joining in her foreleg just as she lined up the shot.
A dull boom echoed through the street, and in the distance, the nightguard jerked to the side. Their engines sputtered, and a second later they slammed into a billboard advertising Flim Flam brand winter apple cola. The nightguard slid down the smiling face of a grinning earth pony mare, the soldier’s greenish blood creating a macabre tear on the girl’s face.
“We should leave,” whispered the Twilight Sparkle copy. “They will return soon, and in greater numbers.”
“Now wait just a minute. Who the hay are you? And don't you dare say yer Twilight Sparkle. I saw her get cut in half by that cruel bitch, Nightmare Moon,” Applejack growled.
“I’m not her, or at least I’m not your version of her,” continued the pony while drawing back their hood. “I’m from another world, one where I survived while you all perished.”
Applejack gaped silently, her gaze fixated on the hardened visage of her new, yet old companion. She had lost her horn, the appendage little more than a shattered stump, from which had sprouted a sharp crystalline spear that jutted from her head. That hadn't been the only thing that had been replaced by crystal, however, as her eye, a few teeth, and even one of her ears were now made of the sparkling stone.
Save for that, she looked exactly like how Applejack remembered her friend, only far older, and grizzled. Her numerous scars each sported a small sliver of crystal in their center as if the new flesh had been replaced by the curious mineral. Immediately, a dozen questions leaped into Applejack’s head, but a distant shout followed by a ringing bell silenced them.
“We need to move,” Twilight whispered harshly.
Applejack slid her revolver back into its holster and nodded. “Right, lead the way.”
Author's Note
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