***

Dover, November 10th, 2028.

John Constantine had survived things that would have been too much for the devil himself (and of all people on Earth, he would know). He had survived events the likes of which would only have entered a madman's mind. Boldly, and armed with his wits, his fists and a pack of cigs, he had faced it all.

When the armies of Equestria came, he knew that he had to aid the forces of Britain in their fight. This was mostly, due to the fact that he knew they'd be fairly useless (magically speaking) without him - the Watcher's Council were clever and all, but they were all old tossers who'd never gotten so much of a speck of dirt on their hands. Anyway, a world ruled by a tyrant just would not have suited his lifestyle. So, reluctantly he came to the fateful realisation that he had to do… something. He was ready to give his life for the realm (after everyone else of course).

In a way, John Constantine, the crude magic man from Liverpool, did give his life.

***

When John came to, he was still in a daze. The last thing he had done was try to summon the Avatar of Albion, but he couldn’t hear the sound of battle from anywhere…

"Oh piss," he said angrily, somehow afraid the spell hadn't worked. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Constantine noticed one enemy that was left visible on the battlefield. Watching Constantine’s awakening unfold were the hollow eyes of the once high class Rarity. Her head still lay there, a confirmation that the weakened Elliot had indeed taken down an Element of Order.

"Oh, piss..." he said, suddenly relieved: the spell had worked. Somehow, Elliot had become the Avatar and defeated the Element. Suddenly, Constantine felt a hope that he hadn't felt in years. Maybe they could actually survive this shitstorm after all.

He moved to stand up, only to totter over. He reached out a hand to steady himself, only to find himself looking at a yellow hoof. He blinked at it. From the aches all over his body and the cloudiness of his brain, he knew something was up. If nothing had happened then he would still be able to feel his fingers and…

With dread in his heart, he looked at his body. It was gone, replaced by a pony one he didn't recognise.

"Oh," he said, as full memory returned and he realised what must have happened. "PISS!"

How? Slowly the vivid memory of the attack came back to Constantine. That bitch Rarity had got him. After all these years fighting in this godforsaken war, the little pastel bastards had finally managed to potion him. John thought for a moment, trying to piece together what had happened, and then he stopped at a sudden realisation.

John thought.

He knew what Converted were like as a rule, and he didn't feel like that at all. No change of opinion about the sodding Empress Solamina and no rampant desire to "save" people.

Mind you, better than being a “normal” Convie or not, it was still an insult. Gone was the human form that he had met so many allies and downed so many bottles of vodka with, now replaced by a pony body that… was odd in its own right. John had a cutie mark. A Converted with a mark. The sight of it put a grin on his face. It was the mark of the beast, "666". Of course. Elliot would find that…

Elliot!

John rushed over to Elliot, who was covered in marks but they didn't look like they were from the attack, patches of his skin that were smoking. They were magical wounds. It worked! David Elliot was now the Avatar of Albion (or could become him anyway). It must have been Elliot that saved John's mind.

He began to shake the now unconscious Elliot.

"Wake up you bucking bastard," John stopped. The words repeated in his mind over and over again. He slapped himself. "B...b...b...f...fucking bastard."

Upside: the spell worked and they had hope to end this war. Downside: his head was now full of pony swear words.

His thoughts turned to the end of the war, to Solamina's death at Elliot's hands. They had hope again. David hadn't even been the Avatar for a day and he had already pulled off a miracle. John's soul and mind (well, most of the latter) had been saved. Luck of the damned he guessed. John needed a smoke.

John.

The more he thought of his own name, the more it felt off. John didn't seem right in that moment. His shadow didn't look like John Constantine anymore. It looked like some pony in similar clothes. Then another epiphany hit him. He checked his pockets. Yep, a pack of cigarettes was in his pocket. Glorious!

He sat back, guarding Elliot as he picked the cigarettes out of his breast pocket. It felt unnatural, he could still feel some sort of grip but his fingers were gone. By the laws of nature, he should not have been able to pick them up.

John thought back to the moment of the spell. The memory was fuzzy but he could remember a bold figure standing before him, reaching out for him. It said something but the words were muffled in his mind.

The new pony for humanity's cause looked himself over again. He let out a short chuckle, it only figured that he wouldn't get a naturally spell-casting body. Some extra magic might have been useful. Hell, even a Pegasus body would have an advantage but no, lady fate doesn't do small favours.

Elliot's eyes shot themselves open. He goaned, getting the attention of Constantine.

"Great timing," he joked.

"You're...okay then," Elliot asked, struggling to actually get the words out. If you had been inside the pony's head you would a heard a chorus of almost sadistic laughter.

"Me?" John said, trying to hold a smile. "Have you looked in the mirror?"

Elliot smirked as he looked over John Constantine's new body and priceless expression. "Have you?"

"How do you feel?" John asked.

There's that unfitting name again.

"Mostly dead, but otherwise fine," Elliot replied.

"First use is always the toughest. Your body just housed something it wasn't designed for. Give it time." Magic was something of Constantine's expertise and showing off his knowledge was one of his pleasures.

David Elliot sat up in silence as he took in the aftermath of the fight. Rarity's corpse was something that, until today, was only found in the sweet dreams of soldiers fighting against her. Now however Elliot, no, humanity had the weapon they needed to make dreams come true. They had found their falling star, brought to them by a ego driven man from Liverpool.

"We can win." Hope returned to Elliot's voice. "John, we can survive this."

"Yep, we might just," John said, an aura of pride flowing from him.

"You've got to come back and tell the others," Elliot declared eagerly. "We'll definitely raise morale with this piece of news."

"Oh goody." Public speaking, what more could John Constantine have asked for, apart from a bare knuckle fight with a wall (for him, the wall was better company).

Elliot tried to get himself up. It was clear that the energy had taken its toll. John rolled his eyes and pulled him up with his hooves. The gripping sensation like slime on his skin.

It would take some getting used to.

Before they left the area, Elliot took his prize from Rarity, a lock of her mane. The proof they needed that he took down the mad element.

***

Dover Forward HQ.

John Constantine watched Elliot telling the troops about the end of Rarity and the miracle that was his conversion. A battle scarred unicorn - True Grit, another allied soldier of David Elliot - walked up to him. He stared at John for a moment, taking in his form.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

John thought for a moment. "Shorter, definitely shorter. Elliot explain Rarity's last godforsaken gift then?"

"He did," True Grit nodded. "It was quite the tale."

"I know, I was there."

"I can't believe he kept your mind intact." During a moment of silence, True Grit's wonder turned to concern. "Have there been any...side effects?"

"Well yes, actually there have been." John checked around, making sure that no one was listening. He gestured True Grit to lean in closer, his voice becoming a whisper. "You see, and you'll have to bear with me, I find that - and this will sound farfetched - since the transformation I… have hooves."

True Grit sighed in irritation. "Just asking."

"Do you have a light?" John asked in retaliation.

"No," came the stern reply.

"Horseapples!" John stomped the floor. True Grit was concerned again for a moment. "Sorry for my language. I meant to say shit. I could use a smoke right about now...and then about ten more after."

"Has that been happening a lot?" Grit asked

"A few times." John lowered his head slightly. It was not something he liked to admit.

"Must be traces of Equestrian culture in your mind from the potion," Grit thought out loud. "They might get out now and again."

"Well yepdie-freaking dee for me. Feels like tick, no offence."

To John Constantine the words 'no offence' meant 'avoiding an argument I'd probably win'.

"None taken," replied True Grit with annoyance in his tone, sounding like he understood exactly what John meant.

Earth swear words were the paint that John used on his brush. The brush being his boot, and the canvas being the face of anyone he disliked.

The troops roared with delight, getting the attention of True Grit and John once more. Neither were surprised by their reaction. The troops had needed something like this for a long time. With Elliot they could take out the Elements, send the armies of the Solaminan Empire running, and eliminate the Tyrant. John was going to be quite busy. No rest for the wicked, as it were. Rarity had been just the first step to Solamina's ultimate downfall. When that day would come, John Constantine would be ready, with a river of beer back home waiting for him.

***

In the months that followed, John found Elliot to be a good ally and - to his surprise - a trusted friend. The two were always on missions for the fate of their realm, and John was by Elliot’s side after every victory. John had been there almost every time Elliot had struck an enemy down into the cold hard ground. He was there to watch and aid the work he had done, watching the warrior he had helped forge in the world's darkest hour.

Elliot saved his life a fair few times, he had to admit that, but even in a different form John still continued to do his bit humanity in his own way. The enemies curses were useless as long as John Constantine was around to get rid of them. Soon many soldiers knew his name. Though now the sound of his name didn't quite feel like it used to. People would come looking for a John Constantine and find a smoking pony instead. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, he was never what anyone expected.

***

January 6th, 2029.

In one of the rare moments of calm at a command base, he found himself talking to the pony Lyra Heartstrings. She possessed something that alluded John. Lyra was still fairly innocent minded, even in a world that, in her own words, felt "wrong to be a part of anymore." Still, she had served alongside both him and David Elliot and she proved to be decent in many respects. Lyra was a good soldier and a good friend. Friends were surprisingly on the increase for John Constantine.

As they walked down one of the twisting corridors of the current HQ (the price to pay when you rework an office building), John had to know something.

"Level with me Lyra," he said, breaking the silence.

"What's on your mind?"

John stopped walking. "Does calling me John feel out of place."

"You're an out of place sort of stallion," Lyra replied.

"That's just it. 'Stallion' not 'Guy'. It's been bugging me for a while actually. My name doesn't feel right anymore."

"What makes you think that?"

John said nothing.

Lyra smirked. "I could help, it's what friends do."

"This stays between us," John declared. He was probably going to tell Elliot himself later.

Lyra mimed zipping her mouth.

"When I look in the mirror I don't see John Constantine anymore. The only time I feel like him is when I dream and even then I know it's not real. I mean, do you look at this form and think ‘John Constantine’ or..."

The two shared a silence.

"Well no," Lyra said. She saw the expression on his face and quickly tried to mend it. "But that's not what defines you. You're John Constantine because of what you do. You may not admit it but you really enjoy helping people, you are always there for your friends and you never lost hope. You are John Constantine matter what."

A smile grew across John's face. Truth be told, none of that sounded like John Constantine: he’d always been rather a selfish twat. But he liked to think that if he’d managed to dodge the purple pastel pony potion he’d have still been the way he was now (minus the annoyance of being too short to reach the porno shelves in the off license).

"Most ponies and people are just surprised when they meet you because have a human name,” Lyra continued. “Converted don't tend to keep their names."

John stomped his hoof in revelation and his eyes widened. Lyra's eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps a new name is in order," he said, mostly talking to himself.

"What?" Lyra's said, her worry growing. John never did make much sense to her.

"It’d be ironic mostly. The fact that a Converted managed to keep their soul intact and decided to change their name anyway might do something to the enemy’s morale - our ours. Or something. Or at least piss the buckers - the bastards - off. Either way’s a win." He smiled softly. “Plus… I dunno, it’d probably feel a bit better. Shut the pony shite up for a bit.”

“Maybe,” Lyra said dubiously.

John pondered for a moment. The question of giving himself a new, more fitting name, was actually kind of interesting for him.

"How does..." John looked his form over. His cutie mark had always been something of an in joke with him. Now it was proving to be quite the source of inspiration. "How does Hell Blazer sound?"

"Kind of twisted," Lyra replied without missing a beat, but still with a friend's smile.

"Perfect" he exclaimed before continuing on his way, Lyra hurrying behind him. For Joh...Hell Blazer order had returned. John still lived on but just with a more fitting name. Hell Blazer could also stop the tedium of having to explain how a pony had a human name over and over and over and over again (you’d think word would have gotten round by now). Heck, maybe the tick in his head would let him swear correctly now that he compromised on a pony name (probably not).

Before Lyra could even try to talk her friend out of it, Elliot arrived back to tell the troops of their latest mission for humanity's cause.

Author's Notes:

So, this Chapter was guest written by a friend of mine who goes by the name "The Void". Basically, I showed him the first couple of chapters of this story, he loved it, and has since been serving as one half of my "beta" team (for want of a better word).

Anyway, he threw me a little snippet that had been inspired by my story one afternoon, and I decided that, since I've created a world with a lot of stories in it, not all of which I have time or inclination to write, that I'd let him and another friend of mine write a few, since they were interested. The results exist as a few "Interlude" Chapters that will be sprinkled around the main story over the next few updates.

I hope you enjoyed this. Normal service will resume shortly. :-)

EDIT: This chapter was edited by myself and The Void, 14th July 2015.