Three days. It had been three full days since Striker had arrived in town. Tonight would be Nightmare Night. The excitement over Striker had died down, and been replaced with anticipation for Nightmare Night. From colts and fillies going door to door, to the more mature parties planed for the older mares and stallions. It was looking to be an great night.

Striker had spent his time at Twilight's library, searching through old archives. Nightmare Night made the wall between the living and the dead paper thin. He wanted to see the records of everypony that had every lived in town, he was surprised to see that he had all ready been put on file. To his chagrin, the Ponyville had a history of missing pony cases that seemed to make up a pattern. Occurring every ten years or so, a bundle of ponies go missing for good on Nightmare Night. Not believing in coincidence, he tried to dive deeper, but couldn't find much else. He was rather worried. It had been eleven years since the last disappearance on Nightmare Night that lasted more then a day or two. He learned quite a bit, although now he had promised to tell Twilight more about Seekers.

His plan to not spend the night with children backfired, so he had to make a new plan. He would now do his best to protect the children. He assumed that if anything got dark that Applejack, Twilight, or Fluttershy would come to seek his aid. His biggest concern was that he was starting to care about these ponies, and he might be getting them in more trouble and danger then they could think plausible. Ignoring those pessimistic thoughts, he prepped, making himself ready for just about any situation. He carried holy water, salt, several rounds of shotgun shells, his cast-iron machete, and even his lockbox in case of an emergency. He kept it all hidden underneath that trench coat. His bum leg would slow him down, but would do nothing to stop them from saving the lives of innocent of this town. Technically, he was supposed to arrive in costume, so he threw something together last-minute. A few more bandage wraps, and he became a burn victim.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The School was nicely decorated. With fake spiders and spiderweb adorning the ceiling and walls, several fake tombstones placed on the grass lot nearby and around the building. With the sinking sun, and ghostly wind the place would soon become “spooky” once night fell. Several colts and fillies waited impatiently inside the building's classroom. He gave a knock at the door. It quickly opened to reveal a pretty earth pony mare, Ms. Cheerilee, the schoolteacher dressed as a pirate, infamous Jolly Roger hat and eyepatch combo. Her white and blue striped clothes, did not match the red polkadot bandana, which was still slightly visible, she wore on her hair beneath the hat.

“Arr!” She played, happy to see him.

“Hey there Ms. Cheerilee, good to see you again. I'm on time right?”

“Oh your early, we have to wait for the sun to go down before we start anyway. Nice costume by the way, umm mummy?”

Striker gave a grin, scratching the back of his head with hoof. “Heh... Burn Victim... Yeah, still kind of getting settled, got dressed in a rush, hope this is good enough.”

“All that's fine, we're all just glad you showed up.” She beamed.

He stepped inside, taking in the classroom. Several pumpkins had been carved and placed around the room. They varied in size and shape, as well as in design. Some were cut... poorly, while others were actually very nice. Some had candle inside other didn't. One in particular had a second pumpkin placed on top of it, creating a kind of... pumpkin afro. Several crayon pictures were made of unique monsters by each student. Several were more cute then scary, while some were disturbing, even for him. The pony with a big triangle for a head and a large blade of some kind, and a white faceless pony in a fancy business suit with several tendrils out his back, in particular disturbed him the most. More fake spider webs coated the higher places. The students were all in costume, and had been waiting for this Night for a while.

“Striker!” Scootaloo's voice shouted out in happiness as she lept toward him in a big jump, her little wings beating fast.

She had a pretty intricate costume. She wore a dark blue hooded pullover sweatshirt, and a pair of dark brown cargo pants. The pants had been wrinkled thoroughly, and had duck tape around each leg at some point. Her hood was down, revealing her painted face. She had painted her face a near white pale, save for the near black red she had around her eyes and the corners of her mouth.

“I'm a Hunter, you know from the Left 4 Pony! That super awesome zombie game!” she bragged, obviously proud of her costume.

“Oh I see it now, very cool Scoots!” He lied, he did not get it at all, but she didn't need to know that.

“Check out mah costume Striker!” Applebloom stated as she approached him.

Her costume was also very intricate. She wore a pair gun metal gray goggles, and a yellow hard had that pushed back her mane. She had on a pair of brown overalls, over a button-up red collared shirt with a yellow wrench imprint on her shoulder. On each of her knees was a yellow knee pad, and she also had a work belt on her hips. To top it all off, she had on a yellow wielding glove on her right hoof.

“Oh that's really cool Applebloom!” Striker praised, once again not getting the reference.

“Yeah it's a great Engineer from Pony Fortress 2 Applebloom!” Scootaloo commented proud of her friends costume.

“My turn! Ta-daa!” Sweetie Belle shot in, giving a quick twirl.

She had on a orange workpony's jumpsuit, with a circle made of rectangles on her back. Her mane was entirely pulled back into a pony-tail manedo, save for small bits which became her bangs in front of her face. She had tiny white boots on, with a little metal looking stick that curved around the bottom of her hoof.

“I'm Belle from … umm what's it's name, how did I forget the name, you know the one with all the portals!” Before anypony else could speak, Cheerilee picked Sweetie Belle in her hooves.

“Look at the children! Aren't they the cutest things you have ever seen?!” Cheerilee squeed with delight giving a hug to each Crusader.

Cheerilee showed off her students and her classroom, explaining the decor that he already taken in. The Crusaders went around introducing Striker to their classmates. Most did not care, and were waiting for Zecora to show up. Time for the fillies and colts had nearly froze, especially because many of them were also waiting for Zecora.

Applebloom spoke with a bit of worry. “Hey where's Babs, shoulda been here by now.” As if on queue, a zebra burst through the school room's door.

“A little one! She wandered into the Everfree, a friend of Applebloom,! I'm sure if we don't act fast I'm sure she'll meet her doom!” The worry obvious in her voice.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The panic had come fast, in a rush, Striker had ran off, the Crusaders had followed, Zecora was not far behind them. All had gone deep into the Everfree. The tall trees and moist grass had a level of tranquility, that did nothing to the levels of panic going on inside all of their minds. The grass was so crisp that gave a slight crunch under their hooves, a quiet version of the sound made when they stomped a twig or dry fallen branch.

Striker ran as fast as he could, galloping fast enough to push himself in the lead, even with his mangled leg. He had given himself a single responsibility. Protect the children, and he was close to failing that already. He refused to let anypony get hurt. His leg protested but he kept charging forward. A filly's scream filled the air. He rushed, assuming the worst he galloped as hard as he could, then a contrast of color grabbed his focus.

He saw the mare, pure white fur, with a blood red mane, soaking wet, still dripping. Her mane clung to her face and body, as did her tail. She held a orange filly in her hooves. Cradling the frightened filly like a baby, she hummed a lullaby. They noticed each other at the same time. The un-equine screech roared like hooves on a chalkboard, only louder. He felt the screech deep in his chest, and in a single instant, everything went black.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Images ran through sight.

A stallion yelling.

Crying.

Fire.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Striker drifted back awake. He felt fuzzy. He picked himself up on to his haunches. He was in a odd room. It stank of mold, and rotten wood. Everything was made up of wood, very old, rotting, moist wood, there was more mold then wood in most areas of the room. The hard wood floors groaned as he got up on his hooves and took in his new surroundings. It was dark, near black, the only illumination coming from a barred window. He cursed. This was far from good. Ahead of him was a aged water-stained door. He noticed the window to his left, looking out of it he saw that the bars were to condensed for him to squeeze through, but they were also extremely rusted, with enough time he could probably get through with a bit of hard kicking.

He checked his trench coat, cracking a smile when he knew all his belonging were still on him, he tried the door. The door's knob turned, it was unlocked, or possibly the lock had broken open from rust. Using more force, the door gave a hard moan of protest, only opening when he began pushing with his entire body. The hallway was not much better then the room. The rug that once sat on the floor had been reduced mostly to clumps of mold. The stench of dead rotting wood still sat in the room hanging heavy like a fog. Not far away he could hear dripping. He looked to his right, the hallway went on, three more doors, then it turned to his left. He looked in the other directions, just a few feet until the hallway ended. The dripping got louder. He turned to go down the hallway, but he was meet by a soaking wet mud brown stallion, the water soaking in to his coat so deep he looked black, his eyes deeply puffed and fogged. His muzzle was hardly an inch away from Striker's.

Striker jumped back. Glaring daggers at the buck. Who looked at him in a daze. The soaking stallion stretched out a hoof, then opened his muzzle. The instant he did, water poured out like a faucet then for a second, he flickered like a dying light bulb, his entire body vanishing and reappearing. Striker did what came naturally, drawing his shotgun, he quickly loaded in his custom shells. Getting no threat from this the stallion moved at him, gurgling, “hhhhhhhhhhhhhh” Striker acted.

KRAKOW

The shotgun blasted like lightning, a flash of light, shining through the darkness. The stallion roared, water spraying out several newly made holes as it's body turned to ash and smoke. The smoke fled through cracks in the surroundings.

Ghosts, that's not bad, I'm well equipped for ghosts! Striker thought to himself. But, ghosts are not my only problem. That thing that grabbed that filly was no ghost. I wouldn't be surprised if there was something up with this building either. Shit, if I'm here then that kid is probably here to.

Striker loaded his shotgun, the sawed-off looked happy, loving to be used. He took pleasure in the sound of the gun cracking open and closed as he loaded it. (Which was not easy being that he had to do it with one foreleg.) He kept the gun ready, close to his chest, he made his way forward, walking slowly and silently. The squishy wood absorbing most of the sound his hoofsteps made. He heard them before he saw them.

“hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllllllllll” Two more of the ghosts were stumbling at him, hooves outstretched trying to embrace him. Both looked like the first. They looked like they were drowned, bodies bloated and regurgitating water from their muzzles. He instantly twisted around, not wanting to know what would happen if they grabbed him.

KRAKOW-KOW

He fired both shells of the sawed-off in quick succession. The two Ghost imitated the first, crying out then bursting into ash that fled away. He placed a shell in his mouth to reload, but two hooves wrapped around his chest from behind him. He felt an intense nausea come on fast, so he literally bit the bullet. He tried to turn, but the ghost had him. He began heaving water just at the ghosts had done. He kept his muzzle shut, but that didn't stop the water from pushing through his nose. He was being drowned, only in reverse. He acted quickly. He pushed his bad leg against the ghost while it remained solid, then with a bitter pop, he dislocated his own shoulder again. Taking the opening he squirmed, turning to face the ghost that grabbed him. It wore a doctor's scrubs. He spat in its face, once he did he couldn't stop the water from rushing out his mouth, but he had done it.

The Ghost roared, the bullet's payload shot into it's face, which began to burn away. With an angry roar, it burst away like the others. Striker fell on his back, then turned over, letting himself vomit out the rest of the water in his system on to the floor. He struggled to his hooves, then slammed his shoulder into the wall, slamming it back into place with another pop. He grunted in pain, whiskey would make a great pain killer right now. Picking himself up all the way, he quickly took note that the floor also silenced the ghosts.

He moved on, his only resistance being locked or jammed doors, or destroyed stairs. He found the one functional staircase and took it down. From the position of the light coming from the bared windows he figured he was three or four floors up. He made his way to the ground floor, to what looked like a lobby. He tried the double doors that looked like the front door. Locked, damn it I need an exit! He took a deep breath. Look for others, then make an exit strategy.

He heard a cry of terror. It had come from somewhere on this floor. He rushed at the source of the sound. More cries, louder and louder. He came to a door that the the screams came from, the door was jammed. KRAKOW The lock did not handle being shot point blank with a shotgun very well. With a hard buck, the door flew off it's hinges. He saw the filly in workman's overalls, Applebloom, cornered by at least five ghosts, each with their hooves outstretched at her.

“hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllllllllllllllll”

KRAKOW.

Two of the ghost huffed away in a fit. The other three ignored him. Not having time to reload, he rushed pulling out his machete. The grip tasted like rubber as he slashed through the ghost, who's body acted like a fog, a gas being pushed by the knife. The ghost screamed then vanished, flickering away instead of bursting away as smoke. The other two did not fair much better.

Applebloom's face was full of cheer again. “Striker!” she dashed and gave him a hug. He finished reloading before returning the gesture. “Everything's so crazy, where are we, what's happening!” she asked, hoping he had answers. He didn't

“I'm not sure myself, but we got ghosts.”

“Ghosts!”

“That's what those things are, ghosts, ponies who died and haven't moved on. Usually because their pissed.”

“GHOSTS!” she shouted pointing a hoof at the open doorway, Striker turned then saw the five ghosts he just sent away. He fired a single well placed shot, dispersing them. “They wont stop”- he pulled out a box of salt from his trench coat and began pouring a line in the doorway, then a circle around the room. When he finished the ghosts had already returned, they stood at the door way, but did not move forward. The small room they were in was old and stank of mold. Old boxes lined the back wall, and a desk sat in the corner, old and dilapidated.

“H-how?” Applebloom asked, her eyes not leaving the ghosts, who just stared at her, flickering occasionally like dying light bulbs. Striker put himself in front of her vision.

Showing her the box of salt, now roughly half empty. “Salt” he said calmly. “Don't look at them.”

“Wha-what? Striker Wha-” She stammered he mind not able to decide which question should be asked first. She didn't have to, Striker had done this before and knew what questions would come.

“Relax, panic and you're dead, stay calm and listen to me, and we can get out of here.” he stated, putting a good hoof on her shoulder. She responded by swallowing hard, then giving him a nod.

“Firstly, I'm what's called a Seeker, or a monster hunter... kinda.”- he gestured a hoof at where the ghosts were -”I deal with stuff like this, ghosts and stuff. It's what I do, what I'm good at. Second, look “- he showed her his machete -” that's cast iron, don't ask me why but iron is like... anti-ghost... sticks. They touch the stuff and it burns them. Pain being something they don't feel often they usually panic and go away. As for the salt, it's like ghost repellent, they hate the stuff, make a line with salt and they will NOT cross it, right now we are very safe. Now then, once again I have no idea why but look at this. “-he slid out a shotgun shell, then cut it open with the machete, reveling the large rock salt chunks inside in place of the normal pellets, he then hoofed three more shells to her. -” peppering them with salt like this usually sends them running for a while" he stated with a grin. "Third, in case of an emergency, if they somehow show up, I want you to put one of these in your mouth. IF they get close, if you know they are going to grab you, bite down as hard as you can then spit in their face, that'll get them off you.” he finished by giving her a hug and soft kiss on her forehead.

“That's... a lot da take in...” she replied looking to the shells.

“I know, and this is not the place nor time to learn about this stuff, but its ok right now, rest, you are safe. Even without the salt, I'm here, and I kick ass!” he bragged.

She gave a grin, “Thanks Striker, but aren't you scared?”

“Me?! Nah! Like I said this is normal, and as far as ghosts go they aren't exactly high on my danger scale, they can only get you if you are alone, trapped, and outnumbered.” he stated in a voice of complete calm.

She looked to him like an action hero, come to save her. Glad that he, of all ponies, came to her rescue. He was lying, he was terrified, and he already almost died because one snuck up on him. He got lucky, he happen to be reloading with one leg, so he had to use his mouth, if he didn't have a bum leg, he'd probably be dead right now, he doubted his ability to pull a machete out while being drowned. He knew, however that if he looked scared, Applebloom would panic, be more scared, she would not handle the danger of the situation very well if he too was acting scared. Instead he acted the badass role, coming to her rescue, gun blazing, knowing exactly what to do, and how to save her. He acted the part for the filly, and he would keep doing it for as long as he had to.

“Alright, I need you to stay here, I'm going to keep searching this place for others, stay here where it's safe.”

“But!”

“No, here“- he placed his machete beside her -“keep this, stay here and you wont need it, it's too dangerous for you to follow, I can watch my back, it would be harder for me to watch yours too.”

She knew she wouldn't win this argument

“Make sure that the salt line does not break."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He once again trenched through the building. Searching. He heard a recognizable un-equine screech. He ran toward it. The screech roared out again, he felt like a cold claw was pushing toward his heart. His nose began to bleed. Turning a corner he saw it again. The drowned mare. Still wet, still dripping. He quickly recognized Zecora and the orange filly the drowned mare had grabbed in the first place. Zecora was on the ground, clutching her ears, nose bleeding significantly worse then his. The orange filly was asleep, and seemed unaffected. He ran on instinct, firing both shells simultaneously this time. The blast was hard to control with a single hoof, the blast however did nothing to the drowned mare but make her turn around. She glared at him, he got a good look at her. She was no ghost. Her hooves had been replace by large disgustingly disfigured claws. And her mouth had been stretched, her jaw was more then her entire muzzle, it reached through about half her throat. The maw stretched open and she screeched.

The howl was hard, he instantly knew why Zecora covered her ears. His nose began to hemorrhage blood, and he could taste copper, he could feel the icy claw dig deeper. He didn't instantly recognize this creature, he wasn't sure what it was or how to kill it. So he acted quickly, reloading his gun. He pointed it straight at the creature ears, then rushed in closer.

“Let's see how you like it!” The ringing in his ears making it so he could barely hear himself.

KRABOOM

The blast sounded off like thunder again, but this time right in the ear of the creature. It flinched clenching it's ear, It could yell loud and be unaffected, but other noises could hurt it. Zecora had recovered, mostly, and with the filly on her back ran past the creature and Striker. Striker followed. The monster on their tails, he pushed himself again. He got ahead, then signaled for Zecora to follow him. He ran back to Applebloom. At the door way he lept over the salt, and crashed down beside a familiar tiny white unicorn. Zecora followed him, crashing beside him the unknown filly in her hooves. The creature stood at the doorway, looking at them, but stopping at the salt. Pissed, it screeched, but nothing happened it just yelled. The dark effects did not work past the salt. Then it Flickered like the ghosts, and vanished.

“Striker! The two fillies hugged Striker.

“Hey girls, glad to see you too.”

“Sweetie was running from the ghosts, I saw her and dragged her in here!”

“It was so scary! I thought I was gunna die!” Sweetie exclaimed.

However, his ears were still ringing, he couldn't hear anything. He laughed.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I'm Babs Seed. Its a nice to meet you, thanks for savin' me an all. I'm sorry this is all my fault, I gots all you in to this.” the slightly dark orange filly stated timidly and with a sniffle.

“It is not your fault little one, you cannot change what is done.” Zecora tried to comfort the filly.

“Besides, fighting stuff like this is what I do.” Striker began. He reiterated what he had told Applebloom. The information came as a shook. Save for Zecora.

“If you are a Seeker, then answer these questions three, get them right, then I shall believe you are like me.” Zecora stated, once he had finished.

“You're a seeker too then huh? Well alright I'll play your game, make it quick.” Striker stated matter-of-fact-ly.

“Where are we now, that we must face such ghostly might?”

“We're in a blight, a place where a whole bunch of ghosts are trapped together.”

“When facing festering undead, what is the greatest weapon made.”

“You mean zombies? A Blade, I don't have to stop to reload a blade.”

“How do you kill a pyre, Stake through the face, or chain whip most dire?”

“Trick question, you cut off their their tails. Am I done, I have a plan.”

She nodded.

“Alright, I think it's safe to assume that the Crusader's got pulled here together, so were still missing Scootaloo. We need to find her fast, she is probably hiding somewhere, but there is also that thing out there, and the fact that this blight has trapped us means there is no getting out just yet. So I go find Scoots, bring her back,”- he pulled a journal book out his trench coat. -” this is a log of everything my family has slain. I'm pretty sure that whatever is out there is also in here, and it should also tell us how to escape a blight, you girls find all that. Then i can fix that”

“No.” Zecora said simply

“Why not?”

Zecora grinned “I have all my legs, I shall find Scootaloo, you help the girls find a cure for our plagues.”

Striker grimaced. He figured that would be fore the best. She could find her faster. It would be better.

“Striker, you might also want to rest you're leg.” Applebloom stated.

“I... I think you should stay, here with us.” Sweetie stated shyly

He gave a sigh, and handed Zecora his sawed-off, and his shells.

This time he couldn't argue.

Zecora took the gun as he explained his rock-salt filled ammo. The girls, however made it a point to do their best to help. Telling Zecora where Scootaloo would likely hide. Behind things, inside small places, ect ect. The information was too wide spread to particularly helpful, but Zecora was reminded that Scootaloo could be anywhere, and she should be thorough in her search. She left hoping to find the filly quickly and return.

Babs felt awful. She blamed herself. She had no idea that ghosts were real. She felt as if she dragged her closest friends into a terrible situation. Applebloom felt the same. She kept telling herself that if she meet Babs at the train station this would have never happened. Instead she had chosen to show off her costume to her classmates and friends. Sweetie Belle felt equally at fault, blaming herself for similar reasons as Applebloom. Striker wished he was better. Wished his leg wasn't mangled. He wanted to save Scootaloo. He wanted to kill that screamer.

“Babs... your name is Babs right? I was wondering if you could tell me about that... big mouth.” Striker asked, pulling out the journal from his coat.

“Babs Seed, Yeah.. I'm sorry, I know I got us into this...” she looked to the ground in shame

“No, you didn't, that thing out there did, that's why I need you to tell me about it, why it got you unconscious but wanted the rest of us dead. Listen Babs, it's not your fault, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but that's ok, I can fix this, you don't know it yet, but I'm pretty badass." He grinned.

That put a small smile on all of the fillies. “It... it called me, it said, “come with me” and I did, I don't know why, but I did, it was like I was me, but at the same time.... I wasn't." she told him with a level of suspicion in her voice, she doubted he would believe that.

Striker grinned “Perfect that was exactly what I needed.” the three fillies looked to him with a puzzled look, he began fiddling through his notebook.

“How was dat what you needed.” Babs bulked.

“This journal, it a record, it is a log of everything my family has ever defeated spanning generations. It's in my hooves now. I look to it for guidance when I don't know what I am up against. If it's not here then I find out how to beat it myself, but that's rare, but I still add it to the logs. Or if I find something new about something old, I add to the records already in place.”

The girls looked to him oddly. “Yer family does this too?” Applebloom managed.

“Used to, I don't have family anymore, that's why it's mine now.”

“Oh ah didn't mean-”

“It's fine, as a single child who's mother died, I don't have much family to begin with, and my dad was a real dick so I didn't morn very much. Family to me is just a word.”

The girls weren't sure how to respond to this. They all felt that the information they were just given was very private. Not only that, but they had much deeper connections to family.

“I can be your family Striker.” Sweetie Belle smiled.

“Me too!” Applebloom added
“Uhh me three I guess.” Babs added with a blush,

Striker was not sure how to feel, act, or reply, in fact the feelings conflicted with his Seeker mind set, he really wished he had whiskey. He replied the best he could.

“...Thanks girls, look at this- (he moved the topic of the conversation) -I found what that screamer is.” he stated, looking and reading a page.

“Well what is it!?” Sweetie asked after a long pause.

“Well first, this building, it's what's called a blight. You see buildings and objects, like something very important to you, they have.... what is almost like a soul. Just like you and me they perceive what's going on around them. This building saw some bad dark stuff. That plus the large number of ghost concentrated here, formed what's called a blight. Like a ghost, but a building, a ghost building. It saw some bad things, and is stuck here, but it want's help, so it grabbed us all up when we got close. Now then, when you die and become a ghost, you gain characteristics, depending on your age upon death, and how you died. I think it is obvious but most ponies here drowned. Now then, with those two things plus an integral fact about ghosts. You see ghost become ghost because they don't know whats happening, they are scared and want help. But what happens if you call for help, but nopony comes, just other's with the same problem.”

“Umm, you cry, or umm ask for help?” Sweetie replied

“You try to find your family?” Applebloom told him

“You get mad, and angry...” Babs stated wide-eyed

“Exactly, these ghosts are pissed, they keep asking for help, but everypony the blight brings panic or something, so they are pissed. Finally, when you take a drowned mare ghost, then get it really pissed, and give it a deep feeling of betrayal you get what is known as, a Banshee. That's what is out there now, a mare in white, the mare in the lake, a Banshee. They can influence your mind, scream so loud that it hurts your soul. They are more then just a ghost, but not a lot more, they are still bound by salt, but iron in useless. They chose little fillies, then call them in, lull them to sleep then eat them. We need to dry off that bitch.”

“So... towels?” The fillies asked in unison.

“No...-” He turned the journal around showing them a mouth drawn picture of a Banshee, and a picture of a torch, pointing at the Banshee the torch's fire burned large. The next picture had a picture of the Banshee with an large ex crossing it out. “We kill it with fire.”

“Awesome!” Applebloom said with a jump.

“Whoa who did this, who's.... Radiant Sunset?” Sweetie Belle beamed looking at the drawings and the autograph on the page.

Striker hesitated a moment, but the girls didn't notice. “Don't know, maybe like an aunt or something.”

“Coooooool.” Sweetie bell replied.

“Now then, I have a new plan, once Zecora gets back with Scoots, I can lead our escape, and deal with this blight situation.”

“How? What's the plan.” Babs stated, pushed out of her self pity.

“Don't worry, it will only take a minute, I can explain once the other's get back.” He was ready now, sure of himself, he would get the girls out, then purify this haunted ground. He would take down about a flock of birds with a single stone. He hated himself for not seeing it earlier, it was so clear now, so obvious, but none of that mattered now. Taking off his hat, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from the inside brim, lighting the cigarette, he finalized how he would go about fixing everything in his head. Risky, stupid, and borderline bear-baiting... well I wouldn't need to do this stuff if it was safe now would I.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Only a few more minutes passed before Zecora returned with Scootaloo. She had been hiding in cupboards in a horrid kitchen. The Banshee was still out there, but they had not seen it. Striker once again explained his being a Seeker, and about ghost, the Banshee, salt and iron. Scootaloo was a bit... shocked, the surrealism of the situation got to her. She did not know what to say or think. If her friends had not been there she probably would not have accepted it as well as she did. She took a deep breath, then found herself surrounded by the other Crusaders. She had friends, she was not alone, she may not be safe, but she was definitely not alone. She looked to Zecora and Striker. Her saviors. The other girls felt the same way. They looked at the two with a new level of respect and pride. Babs did not know either very well, but with the events that transpired, she felt she could trust them.

“Alright, you girls head to the lobby, you'll see a pair of double doors, they will be locked when you arrive. I am going to cure the blight, so it should unlock, if it doesn't I'm sure you can bash the door down.” Striker said hastefully, looking at Zecora at the end of his statement.

“Where are you going then Striker?” Scootaloo asked, giving him a worried look.

“I told you-” he gave his best smile ”-I gotta cure the Blight!”

“In a situation this dire, you have fire?” Zecora asked, not noticing his cigarette. He responded by letting out a breath of smoke.

“Well, I see, though I must say, you are either braver or stupider then me.” She replied with a laugh.

“The answer is probably somewhere in between.” he joked.

Zecora gave him a sympathetic grin. She knew what it takes to stop a blight. She did not envy what he was about to do. She lifted his shotgun, returning it to him. She doubted that she would ever see him again. She would never say that to the fillies however.

“Keep it, keep the girls safe. I wont need it.” He stated, lifting his machete. She couldn't help but feel like he didn't think he'd survive either. It made her heart pang. However, Striker was pretty confident. Partly arrogance, he believed he could succeed and survive.

The two traded a glance, the girls gave Striker quite the hug. Then wordlessly, the group exited the room. Striker going in another direction. Part of him wanted to say good bye, but the other parts were confidant he wouldn't have too. Striker trotted quickly, not entering a full gallop, but keeping his speed up. The mares all galloped, rushing to the lobby.

Their hoofsteps were hardly silenced by the galloping of five mares. They ran. They had ghosts following. The powerful thundering of the shotgun pushed them back, but the group was getting a lot of attention. Zecora reloaded as she ran. The girls were scared. Their hearts pounded. Their little legs were getting tired quickly. They felt a burning in their chests. Their legs ached. They were slowing down.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Striker entered a large open room, full of old rusty, and soggy chairs. The room fell in on itself. Broken boards, mold and tattered papers littered the floor. He acted quickly. Motivated by the sound of thunder he recognized, even through the thick moldy floor boards, to be his shotgun. He picked up a chair and threw at a pillar in the center of the room.

“You hear that bitch!” He shouted picking up another chair. Then he smashed it down on to the floor as hard as his one good leg would let him.

“Dinner's ready! Come get some!” He threw more and more chairs into a pile, any of the wood he could get he splintered, then threw pieces into the pile. Until a spine chilling screech hit him.

“Hey there, I see you heard the dinner bell.” He knew how stupid this was, but he wouldn't let it get the girls.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The screech turned the fire in the mares' chests into ice. They ran as hard as they could. When they finally arrived at the lobby door, they ran into it, hard. The door refused to budge. Zecora gulped. Looking back into the lobby, filling quickly with flickering ghosts, legs outstretched.

“Hhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll”

She held up the shotgun, then gulped hard.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Striker looked at the Banshee. It body was still soaking. It looked angry, filled with an un-equine rage. He grinned spiting out his cigarette in to the pile of shattered moldy wood. He pulled out his lighter, and another screech raked through his head and chest. The small flame popped out the lighter. The Banshee roared again, and rushed at Striker. He dropped the lighter, flame still burning.

It was, honestly, a good amount of luck. The wood was moist, with a bit more time, it would burn, but it did not want to. The moss however, it was kindling, kindling that coated nearly the entire building's interior. The mossy pile lit up fast. Striker lept out the path of the Banshee. It reeled at the flames, stunned by the fast growing light of the flames. Sticker threw himself in to the beast's back pushing it into the fire. It gave one last final bloody roar as it's entire body went up in flames, causing the fire to explode. Flames licked across the room. The entire room was set ablaze. Striker was caught in the explosive blast. He struggled to catch his breath in the growing cloud of smoke. Yet he still managed...

“...I'm so sorry....” He stated, just above a whisper.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zecora was sweating, the horde was encroaching, her back was to the wall. She was sure Striker had failed, but then she head the explosion, and she immediate bucked the lobby doors. They doors flung open and the mares dashed out, the ghosts stopped in the door way, glaring. Zecora's eyes widened as she saw the third floor, the fire was spreading, it tried to consume the adjacent floors. She gave a prayer for Striker. The fillies looked to the fire with awe. Gasping at the sight before them. All at once the ghosts looked up and flickered away.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Striker struggled desperately to reach some kind of exit. The walls were coated in flame, and smoke hung heavy in the air. He got on his hooves. Still dead set on doing what he believed to be right.

“I'M SO SORRY!” he shouted as loud as he could. “I'M SO SORRY YOU'VE ALL BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH.” he quickly found the room full of ghost each shambling toward the pillar of fire that was once a Banshee. “I'M SORRY I DIDN'T SEE IT SOONER, BUT I'M HERE, I BROUGHT THE LIGHT!” He fought for his breath back, pushing toward the nearest window. The heat was overwhelming. Every breath he took to was a double edged sword. He need each breath, but each one burned his lungs like hot coals. His head was still ringing, but slowly he made his way toward a window.

“HERE, I CAN,SAVE YOU, LET ME SAVE YOU, LET THE LIGHT SAVE YOU, LET IT FINALLY FREE YOU, LET THE LIGHT SAVE YOU. LET ME SAVE YOU, PLEASE, BATHE IN THE LIGHT!” He roared like the Banshee. He turned to see the Ghosts shambling into the fire, each one causing the fire to burn with more force, burn with more fury. With a smile he galloped with all his energy, leaping into an old burning window. The rusty bars were brittle, shattering apart with the collision. He found himself falling three stories down.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fillies gave a cry as they saw Striker leap through the window, their hero's fate looking grim. Then he fell to earth with a hard smash. Zecora ran to help, then stopped eye's wide to see him begin to stand on his own. The fillies continued to run to his aid. He simply stood, looking to the building, now nothing more then an inferno.

Zecora looked to him fear in her eyes, she made the realization, and now the impact of her discovery really dawned on her. The book, his tenacity. It made sense.

“Striker, you just jumped out of a building!!” Sweetie cried.

“What did you do, why is the buildin' burning!” Applebloom asked in howl.

“What just happened!” Babs shouted.

“Striker! Did you do that!” Scootaloo stated reaching him then looking looking at the flames.

Striker grinned at the fillies, he fought to catch his breath, the cool air feeling amazing on his blazing lungs. If his entire body was in agony, from burns, or the fall, he did not show it. To them, he was just out of breath. That's all he would let them see.

“Its a blight, in order to fix it, you have to burn it.” Striker told them between breaths. “ And Banshees, liking wet places, didn't handle fire as well as she can take salt or iron. When you get down to it, Banshee's are spirits, just like ghosts. To save a ghost you burn the place it's haunting, or the ghost's bones. Banshees are just the same.

“Whoa, you're awesome, and you just shook off that fall!” The fillies cried with glee as they hugged the stallion.

“Well it's gunna take more then fire, brimstone and a fall to stop me!” He stated getting a grin from the girls, Zecora just kept her distance.

“Its good that we did this, blights are bad places, this one in particular has a sad origin.” Striker stated calmly, breath returning, as he gazed into the flames.

The girls all asked the same question. “What happened?”

“I read about it in Twilight's library, while not technically part of Ponyville, it was still recorded. It was a motel, out in the Everfree.” he began.

“There is no motel in the Everfree?” Applebloom stated with an off look.

“Not that you know of, this was about one hundred years ago.”

“One hundred!” Scootaloo gawked.

“Roughly, it's old so there is no being sure. Anyway the owners had built the place so travelers had a place to rest. Ever heard that the road to Tartaris is paved with good intentions? Before long, travelers would arrive injured from the trials the Everfree possessed, it became more of a hospital then a motel. A motel with out the proper equipment. So the place was full of sick ponies, travelers too mangled by the Everfree to travel, and infection... then the storm came. The place wasn't built to handle hurricanes. The nearby river flooded, it was bad. The storm was so bad the building seemed to disappear, and nopony took the path again. Eventually newer easier paths were made, and it was forgotten.”

“The Everfree isn't that bad...” Sweetie mumbled

“Imagine it one hundred years ago, before proper tools and supplies were available. Where it was even more wild and untamed.”

“Dat don't sound good.” Babs stated calmly.

“It wasn't, c'mon we should leave, get you girls back home. Sorry, I guess this ruined your Nightmare Night.” Striker told the girls with a sad smile. The girls took a bit, but eventually began making their way back to town. Zecora took the lead, claiming that she knew the way back to town.

The fillies all looked at each other and communicated with a nod.

“Striker... This was the awesome-est Nightmare Night EVER!” The fillies stated in unison, bouncing up and down quite excitedly.

“You were all like, Get back! Pshew! Pshew!” Applebloom beamed imitating Striker's voice, while firing an invisible shotgun.

“Or like, BLAM, POW!” Sweetie grinned.

“Aww man! Everypony is gunna be so jealous!” Scootaloo shot out.

“About that... umm can you girls keep this all a secret, like everything, me being a Seeker, and the whole haunted house thing.” He stated in his best “Friend” voice

“Huh? Why?” was the general response. Zecora had kept silent. Yet her ear perked up at this.

“The whole night, and Zecora and I's secret that we are both Seekers, lets just keep it all between us. If the townsfolk believed you, which I doubt they will anyway, well that may not put us in the greatest light, and ponies usually freak out when they learn that there are super bad monsters out there. I'd be much easier for the whole town if this secret stayed between us.” Striker explained calmly.

“Hmm, alright we can do that. It will be like a CMC team secret!” Sweetie Belle answered for all the fillies. The young girls all chirped happily, each telling each other what they had down before meeting up in the blight, their mood greatly improved now that they were safe. Striker was happy to see that the event of the night had left he girls generally unphased. Zecora was happy about that too, but her main concern was with Striker now.

By the time they arrived back to town, the main events of Nightmare Night were coming to an end, even for the older ponies. Being the closest home at the time, Striker and Zecora escorted the fillies to the Apple Family home. Once the adrenaline had worn off, the fillies found themselves exhausted. Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Babs Seed had all fallen asleep, only Scootaloo remained awake, but only by fighting the sleep creeping up on her. Striker carried two of the fillies, while Zecora carried the third, Sweetie Belle, on her back.

When they arrived, Applejack herself had not arrived home yet herself. So the small group let themselves in and got the tired fillies in bed. Zecora and Striker both agreed that they would give Cheerilee some explanation in the morning. However, before sleep over took her Scootaloo reached out from the bed she shared with her friends.

“Hey... Striker... Can I ask you a question?” She spoke in a silent voice, she was fighting sleep to the bitter end.

“You should get some sleep...” He replied with a smile.

“Aww... just one? Please?” She asked returning with a smile of her own. He sat on that for a moment.

“Alright just one, what's your question.”

“I was wondering... Tonight I was more scared then I had ever been my whole life. But... But you were not scared at all... Why not?... How'ed you get so brave?” Her words stung his chest.

“Well, to be honest, a long time ago I was scared, scared out of my mind. I... I have just seen a lot of stuff like this so... I'm really used to it. Not to say tonight didn't get scary, I was pretty spooked. Its like when you watch a scary movie. It gets less and less scary each time you watch it, some things still pop out and spook you, or you dwell on it to long then you can't sleep, but eventually, it gets kinda funny, you know?” He told her, brushing her mane back with a hoof, then finishing by giving her a kiss on the forehead. She grinned and gave a slight blush. Then with the last of her energy.

“Striker...”

“Yes”

“Thats... Thats... actually really sad...”

“......... I know.... Get some sleep kid.” his words fell on deaf ears, she had already fallen asleep.

Zecora hid her expression, but it was somewhere between understanding and hate. When they stepped out of the room, she noticed his limp, which was much worse now. She also saw that he was also burned up pretty bad. She wanted to let him rest, let him lick his wounds, but she had questions... questions she need answered.

“Mr. Striker, let us take a walk, we should talk.” she told him a a very uneasy tone. He looked to her, he knew these questions were coming. He was just hoping that they would come later.

“Alright... but can it wait, I could use a break.”

She lifted his shotgun she still carried and pointed it at him. That was answer enough. The two trotted outside, then made their way into the Apple family orchard. They both looked at each other. They were both exhausted. It was late, and they both needed sleep. They were determined to talk as Seekers first.

“Alright, you drag me out here at gun point, with my gun by the way, what did you want to know, how long I've been a Seeker? Or if you can trust me to keep the secret? What?” He asked annoyed.

“Be you Sunfall?” Zecora asked plainly, the gun in her hooves unwavering.

Fuck, already? “What's a Sun-fall?” he replied trying ignorance first.

KRAKOW-KOW She fired the shotgun at the dirt.

“You are a Seeker Damn it! All Seekers, even across the world in the Zebra lands, Seekers know of the Sunfall Do NOT lie to me!” She shouted. Striker couldn't help but notice she wasn't rhyming anymore.

“What the FUCK does it matter, It doesn't change ANYTHING!” He shouted back.

“It changes EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING, and you KNOW IT” She roared. Their eyes now locked.

“HOW, You saw me out there tonight, fighting things, saving FILLIES for Luna's sake!”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION!” She aimed the gun at his head.

“FUCKING SHIT, FINE, YES, I am Sunfall, not that it actually means anything since I hate that fucking name!”

“How many? Hmm? Kin! How many?!” She demanded

“None.”

“LIES.”

“That named killed my brother, my father had been missing for too many years to count, on a hunting trip, that doesn't mean good things for Seekers, and I killed my mother, so there HAPPY YOU BITCH! I'VE BEEN ALONE MY WHOLE LIFE, THAT NAME HANGING OVER ME LIKE FUCKING GUILLOTINE, SO THERE ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY?.” He finally snapped

“I could end you, put an end to that cursed bloodline...”she spoke slowly, contemplating her choices.

“You could, but you should know, that I'll fucking rip you're fucking heart out before you do.”

Their eyes were locked. Neither blinked. Striker was pissed, he hated that name. He hated everything it had put him through, right now, he hated that Zebra, but before he did anything, he was waiting for her. Waiting for her to move, to strike.

Zecora looked at him, She knew that she should pull that trigger, she wanted to. She wanted the evil Sunfall clan dead. She wanted to be the hero who killed the last of the Sunfall. She looked at him. Remembering his bravery. His willingness to die for fillies, to put himself in danger to save both herself and the group of fillies. That wasn't Sunfall. The Sunfall were supposed to be vile, evil, put in the same category as the things she hunted. He wasn't evil. At least he didn't seem evil. But that could be Sunfall trickery. Then a fillies words rang in her head, Thats... Thats... actually really sad. I know...... get some sleep kid. She dropped the gun. He is no monster, he a Seeker the same as I.

“You and I... we share this curse.” She told him

“The curse of being a Seeker.” He finished for her. She gave him a nod.

“You don't seem evil, but I shall keep an eye on you. I spare you this time, be thankful.” she bragged with a grin. Striker chose not to tell her that she had fired both shells into the ground.

“Just don't point my gun at me again.” Striker added with a slight grin.

Zecora said nothing, she turned and went on her way.

“Alright then, I'm going to crash on Applejack's couch, the motel is to fucking far. I've been drowned, roasted and took a dive from three stories up. I'm fucking done, we'll talk again soon, about more then my name.”

“As you wish.” She replied.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Striker had arrived at Applejack's home just after she did. She looked as tired as he did. She gave him a grin. He was still bitter about the incident with Zecora.

“Hope the Crusaders didn't give to much to handle.” She stated with a smile.

“You'd be surprised.” he told her. He would have to tell her what happened eventually, but now was not the time. “Would it be alright if I sleep on your couch, I'm beat.” He really hoped that the darkness of the late night hide his burns and injuries.

“Yea, ahm sure that'd be fine.” She told him.

Striker sad his good night, then laid on the couch. He was tired. Everything hurt. He really wanted a drink. He knew he had a lot of explaining to give Applejack, he wasn't looking forward to it. Then there was Zecora, who knew he was Sunfall. He now had to watch out to keep a knife out his back. Then their was the fact he had been here for a few days, and yet he already had to handle two cases. At this rate he wasn't going to last long. He laid on the couch for sometime, his body wanted to rest, but his mind was everywhere. However, he eventually began to fall asleep, letting himself fall into slumber he would get his much need rest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rain...

Pouring rain...

Striker sat in the rain again.

He was soaking.

The ever living gray surrounded him.

Trapped him

Entombed him.

He heard her steps behind him.

“Mistress Luna, there was another Seeker in Ponyville. A zebra mare. She knows of my linage.” He wanted to be as proper with as he could. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted to know her plan.

“My apologies, I knew about that Zebra, but did not know that you and her shared professions.” She told him. Sitting on her haunches beside him.

“There was also another case, A blight.”

“So I saw in the dreams of four fillies. Once again the Pale Stallion comes to the rescue to save colts and fillies from their dreams. You do great work Sunfall, and soon it is this work that I am sure shall quell my sisters flame toward your blood.”

“Is that your plan? Make me into a hero?”

“Nay, All Seekers are heroes. I simply only trust you to protect this town.”

“Princess, if I may ask, what is your plan?”

“There are still pieces to that puzzles Sunfall, big pieces, as soon as I can tell you, I shall.”

“Please Mistress, don't call me that.”

“What shall I call you then.”

“Anything but that, or my real name.”

“Why not thine true name?”

“I hate that name.”

“Very well, My Lunar Knight, please take care of yourself. I must go, I have other engagements tonight.... Also.... I enjoy your true name Knight.”

He sat in the rain alone once again.

“Sun Strike is a stupid fucking name...” he mumbled to himself.

Author's Notes:

This took a while longer then expected.

Not exactly what I started with, but still.

Still rushed a bit so sorry about that.