“Thirty more minutes Flash, just keep it together....”

Normally, Flash Sentry wasn't one to complain about garden patrol. Far from it actually, as he'd always found the silence rather calming, peaceful. But ever since Discord’s escape, and the subsequent tirade of chaos, the gardens had rapidly become a creepy, unsettling place to be, especially at night. For one, the gardens were almost empty save for the few other guardponies who patrolled the maze-like hedges. The presence of the statues, all of which were now a very serious threat, as they could each be containing some kind of ungodly monster or another, only added to the anxiety of the situation.

Of course, that didn’t mean the statues weren’t intimidating enough already; large “sculptures” of demons, monsters, high-profile criminals and the like, all of which were stuck in aggressive poses with fiercer expressions, always seemed ready to leap out and kill whoever was fool enough to let their guard down for too long.

Now, of course, with the possibility of that being reality, and with Discord's breakout having occurred barely a month ago, the fear they instilled was marginally greater, and the silent threat of an imminent demise hanging over Flash Sentry's head like a dark rain cloud.

Even still, with how nervous these figures made him, Flash Sentry made to pass the time by reading the plaques as he passed by each mounted pedestal; a pastime he enjoyed as much as he was discomforted by it.

“Discord...King Sombra... Gildamesh the Conqueror...the Shadowmane...Tirek....the Zealot...” He stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, resting his eyes on the pedestal he had just passed. The short, wide marble slab with the plaque reading “The Zealot” was one that he passed on every patrol, and the statute upon it were ingrained in his memory.

Flash Sentry was no stranger to old stories and fables, so he knew that the statue before him portrayed what mythology recognized as a “hue-man”, and judging by its build, Flash assumed that it was male.

The human male stood tall, at roughly six and a half feet with short, ragged hair. In each hand, he held a bayonet, crossed in front of him in a vaguely plus shaped fashion; a similar symbol hung from a necklace around the hue-man's neck, barely visible beneath its extensively long trench-coat. Itd face was hidden behind the shadow of its arm, save for the manic, wide-mouthed grin, baring its for all the world to see.

This was not the first time The Zealot had drawn Flash Sentry's attention. Discord aside, it was the most interesting creature here, to him at least. Also, the name given to the statue, the Zealot, meant that that in had an unwavering, fanatically passionate belief in some kind of principle. Flash had meant some of the ponies the worshiped Celestia, Luna, and even Princess Cadenza, and they could be called zealots, but they were not sealed in stone for their convictions. What beliefs did the Zealot hold that had made him such a threat to Equestria that Princess Celestia was forced to seal it away?

Flash Sentry would have pondered this more, but he was snapped out of his musings by the rustling of the hedges nearby. Grabbing his spear, Flash made his way over to the imposing rose bush wall, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of movement.

“Is anypony there?” he called.

Silence was his reply.

“The Royal Gardens are closed to visitors until tomorrow. If you come out now, I'll see you out. You won't be in any trouble.”

More silence.

“Okay, have it your way.” Snorting in irritation, Flash pulled himself up to full height and made his way into the hedge grove.

High above, perched on a ledge overlooking Royal Gardens, Crimson Goblet watched as the foolish guard made his way into the hedge maze, licking his chops in anticipation of his next meal.

And to think all it took was a little patience, timing, and the whimsical toss of a pebble to set the guard on edge. Goblet mused, his red, cat-like eyes flashing in the pale moonlight. I really should thank Discord for setting everyone on high alert.

Spreading his wings wide, Crimson Goblet hopped off the ledge, and swooping down into the maze with the stealth and precision that came with several decades of extensive practice.

Time to find out what the Guard's “fresh meat” tasted like.

Unbeknownst to either pegasus Solar Guard nor bloodsucking vampony, one entity was aware of their presence within the Gardens, as well as ones malicious intents therein. Within its hollow stone prison, the Nail began to stir, the presence of the its age old foe resonating with its existence.

As the remnant of an ancient miracle long forgotten, The Nail itself had been remade, re-purposed into an instrument of divine punishment. But just as a tool was useless without a hand to wield it, so to was the Nail useless without a hand to wield it, a body to warm it. A righteous soul to aim the loaded gun at its intended target and pull the trigger.

Time had robbed the Nail of its host; having been sealed away for so long, the human who had been its vessel had succumb to its earthly needs. Having been sealed away with the Nail, the human had suffocated within minutes of being sealed away, and the remains left to rot, until not but dust remained. Yet, even though his soul had shed its mortal coils, it still remained, bound in eternal service to the Nail.

Setting about its business, the Nail began reconstructing the vessel with which it would carry out its mission. Thick green vines filled the hollow stone visage, and when it was fit to burst, vines became bone, and once that was done, flesh. Skin covered muscles, and grew taut over a tanned, toned, muscular physique. Ragged, choppy, dirty blonde hair sprouted from a previously bald scalp. Piercing blue eyes, once dull and lifeless, shown with the inexplicable spark of life once more, and darted about in the darkness. The black robes of the order, unsung uniform to those who walked the path of Judas, the holy assassin among the disciples, were the last to form, ever fiber, ever stitch as primp and pristine as the day it was made.

Outside its humble home a little more than a millennium, the stone visage of the Zealot began to crack, thorn covered vines whipping and flailing about in anticipation of what was to come. Tainted blood would be spilled, it's reawakened thirst born of divine purpose would be sated for the first time in centuries. From one of the cracks that now riddles the once pristine statue, a slew of shrill, raspy voices growled at once:

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