The pony in black ran across the desert, and the mercenary followed. He took his time, slowly plodding along, his face and body covered by a grey cloak and hood, to protect him from the fierce wind that blew constantly, buffeting him this way and that, peppering him with small particles of sand and dust. He knew the pony in black would run out of food soon, and he would be there when it did. He knew not who he was chasing, only that the pony's head would further line his pockets with hundreds of bits.

He carried but two things upon his back, a bag, filled with provisions and water, a precious commodity out here in the dry, scorched wasteland, and a long, thin bundle, tied tightly around his shoulder. He flexed his shoulders and tried to find a more comfortable position for his pack. He kept walking, focused only on the faint tracks that showed his quarry. He paused, and sat upon his haunches, taking out some food. He slowly ate, trying to conserve as much energy as possible for the long trek ahead. He looked up as a new sound assailed his ears. "What the hell is that?" He thought, looking for the source. He gasped, the first sound that escaped his lips in well over two years, and stared at the black cloud rapidly forming on the horizon. Then, suddenly, it was upon him. A veritable torrent battered him, drenching him in freezing water. "What the fuck is going on here?" He got up an trotted to the first piece of shelter he could find, a rock with a large overhang. Here he hunkered down for the night, waiting for the downpour to cease. He waited for three days before he realized that it wasn't going to end.

Finally, on the dawn of the fourth day, he decided to embark and hunt his prey. He packed his things, re-strapped his bundle, and set out, pulling his hat down over his horn. For days he walked, plodding silently along, slowly gaining upon the pony in black.

After five agonizing days of ceaseless walking, he finally spotted his enemy. With a grim smile, the mercenary crept up upon the sleeping pony, waiting for the right time to strike. He crept up behind the pony, and raised his hooves for a fatal strike. As his hooves descended, the pony turned at kicked him in the stomach. The mercenary flew backward, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs, and probably breaking some ribs. With a snarl, he slowly got up, his horn glowing an angry red. The bundle on his back began to glow. With a feral growl, a gleaming great-sword rose into the air, and at that moment, a great clash of lightning illuminated the scene, showing the fear and surprise on the other pony's face. Raising the sword high, he turned it so the point hovered a few feet from the pony's breast, he laughed and the sword sank, slowly piercing into his chest. The pony writhed in agony as the massive blade entered his ribcage, blood gurgling out, slowly staining the sand around him red. After minutes of convulsing and screaming, the pony succumbed to the darkness. The mercenary smiled and cleaned his blood-drenched sword on the cold carcass of the deceased pony's fur. Slicing off it's head and stuffing it into it's own sack, the mercenary took it's food and water and walked off back toward town.

---

Little did the mercenary know, he was being watched from afar. High atop a mountain, in a dark chamber, a great beast sat upon a throne of skulls. With the head of a pony and the body of a myriad of different beasts, it looked into a glass ball. "Hmmm..." He said, talking to no one in particular, "that pony shows potential. I might just have to 'recruit' him." The creature laughed, a wicked, cruel laugh that echoed in his empty chamber. "Time to cause some discord in the world!"

The mercenary awoke from a very strange dream- a dream in which he was a young colt, and a strange creature came and tempted him to do something. He just couldn't remember what. He yawned and stretched, getting ready for another days trek towards the far-flung town of Whitetrot. He started walking back, the rain never had seemed to abate. He pulled his hat down over his horn, shrugged his shoulders and started trotting back. After about 5 hours, he began to see the outline of Whitetrot. It was a small town, with but a few shops and businesses, but the tavern was the centrepiece of the town. With a large sign that read "The Prancing Pony" swaying in the breeze. It was two floors, one a place to mingle and have a pint or two, the other an inn, with soft beds and fresh hay to snack on.

To here the mercenary went, walking through an apparently deserted town, doors and shutters were clanking against windows and porches. He stood suspiciously in the town square, looking around, his body tense for any signs of hostile ponies. After a few minutes he shrugged and renewed his trek toward the tavern. He walked in, expecting it to be filled with ponies, but it was vacant. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and climbed up the stairs, the head in his bag bouncing along with each step. He opened the door to the room where the pony that gave the mission stayed, walked inside and stopped dead in his tracks.

The room was covered in blood, from floor to ceiling the room was drenched in red. The sharp tang of iron assailed his nostrils. He looked about and saw entrails hanging from the ceiling like streamers. He gagged and hastily stepped back, the blood already beginning to congeal on his hooves. He stumbled back and vomited on the floor. He began to walk back to the town square, leaving red hoofprints in his wake. He stumbled into the town square where he saw a perplexing sight. A group of well over a hundred ponies stood in a semi-circle, wielding pitchforks and torches. A pony stepped forward, who he recognized as the mayor of Whitetrot and said, "You are under arrest for murder and plotting a coup against Princess Celestia! What say you in your defense?" Th mercenary looked shocked, he stepped back and hastily muttered that he had done no such thing. But at that very moment, the severed head of the pony in black came rolling out, it's tongue out, and it's eyes blank.

"Shit." He said, as the congregation of ponies stared at the severed head. "Get him!" One pony yelled, and they all charged, brandishing their torches threateningly. He sighed and shook his head, then shrugged his shoulders and threw off his coat and pack, revealing a scarred but heavily muscled grey body, and a gleaming sword as a cutie mark. his horn glowed as he whipped out his sword. he counter-charged, dodging and weaving, jumping over torches and ducking under pitchforks. He reached the mayor who hastily tried to pick up a carving knife. But she was too late. He jumped overhead, landed behind her and plunged his sword into the base of the mayor's neck. It came out the other side, side, dripping red blood onto the dusty grass. He wrenched it out of her carcass, the sight of his blood red sword tinging his vision. His mind succumbed to the bloodlust, and he bared his teeth in an awful smirk. The ponies stopped and stared as he licked the blood off of his sword blade. He screamed a great battle cry and lunged into the waiting crowd of defenseless ponies. Hacking and slashing, he wove his way through the bodies, blood spurting everywhere. He ducked underneath one pony, slicing it's sword through its stomach, her guts spilling onto the ground. She stared at it for a moment, as if not really believing what she was seeing. Then her head flew off, going six feet into the air, the same expression on her face as when she was staring at her disemboweled intestines. But the mercenary had moved on, stabbing and slicing, kicking and punching, he wove a path of blood and death. He grabbed one pony and forced his jaws open, then plunged his sword down it's throat, tearing his trachea and larynx, blood gurgling out his mouth, the mercenary laughed as the pony's eyes rolled in the back of his head, and abruptly stopped twitching. He pulled his sword out, panting at the adrenaline pumping through his head. he looked around, covered in blood and organs. He saw there was nopony left, and the red faded from his vision. he collapsed on the ground, exhausted.

When he got up, he looked at the carnage he had wrought and promptly threw up. He sank to his haunches and stared blankly at the blood covered ground. "God, what have I done?" He asked himself. He hung his blood covered head in his blood covered hoof and silently sobbed. The tears carving a path through the blood and grime sticking to his face. A few hours later, he got up with his eyes bloodshot from his tears. He re-slung his pack and put his sword on his back. He walked to a stream and bathed, desperately trying to clean the blood of of his grey fur. Once he and his blade were cleaned, (every time he used it he marveled at how easily the blood cleaned off,) he got up and turned back towards the desert.

He sighed and embarked. Walking towards the desert, he focused only on the ground, making sure to dodge the blood-soaked town square. He trudged to the edge of the desert, and braced himself for the coming journey. He took the first step, already the wind picking up, he pulled his cloak up to hide his horn, pulled his cloak around his frame and set out.

For months he walked, pausing to eat only when he collapsed from starvation, sleeping only when he lost consciousness from exhaustion. All other times he walked. Ignoring everything around him, whishing for something to come and end this hellish existence he was in. He walked at the same pace day after day, not noticing the subtle changes in his surroundings. He didn't notice the dust and sand slowly turn to dirt, he didn't notice the wind begin to die down, didn't notice the small outcroppings of grass appear. He kept walking, ignoring it all. After months of monotonous desert, he didn't notice the small hovels to his left and a great forest to his right. He didn't notice the large wooden sign until he walked into it, weariness causing him to sway, he looked at it and read the words "Welcome to Ponyville," and sank onto his side, and with the last vestiges of consciousness saw a pink, bouncing blob rapidly approach. Then it all went dark.

The mercenary awoke from the same dream he kept having. The one where that weird creature kept telling him to do something, but, like always, he just couldn't remember what. He didn't want to open his eyes for fear of what he would see, but his curiosity got the better of him. He slowly opened his eyes, and stared at what he saw. A pink mare was standing over him, her face inches away from his, a smile stretched across her face from ear to ear. "HI!" She called, and began to bounce up and down, over and over. He shook his head and groggily got up. He rubbed his head with his hoof. "Wh-where am I?" He asked looking at the strange pony.

"You're in the Sugarcube Corner, silly!" She said, bouncing around him. "So what's your name, huh? Mine's Pinkie Pie!!" She asked.

"Uhh... that's not important. What is important is where THE HELL I AM?!?!" She cringed at his outburst, her smile quickly fading into a frown. Her eyes began to water. "N-no, please," he sighed, "I've had a hard month." He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He got up and looked around the room. He saw streamers and party supplies draped around the room. "What's going on here," he asked, and saw the pony's face split into another grin.

"This is your Welcome Party!! We were just waiting for you to wake up!!" He looked at her quizzically and asked, "We?" Just then, five ponies burst into the room.

"Holy shit!" He cried, pushing Pinkie back, he drew his sword and brandished at the array of ponies, who quickly stepped back.

"Wait wait wait!" Pinkie Pie said pushing the mercenary aside. "They're my friends!" She stood in front of him, and he finally noticed the five ponies wearing party hats. He blushed and lowered his sword, grinning sheepishly at his own paranoia. The ponies breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was then he noticed her, she wore a large-brimmed hat pulled down over a light blonde ponytail. He stared at her, and the rest of the ponies saw him looking. Pinkie Pie giggled, and the mare crossed her legs and blushed deeply. He sheathed his sword and looked at the ground.

Then Pinkie Pie called for the party to began, and hastily rushed AJ and the mercenary to the dance floor. Both were incredibly embarrassed. With the ponies desperately trying to be matchmakers only served to annoy the shy pony. And he knew annoyance led to anger, and that anger led to everypony in this room being mercilessly slaughtered, and he knew that would lead to him being an outcast and killed. And so, he promptly walked away, not giving a word to the others who simply looked quizzically at him as he trotted off. He briefly brushing against her, the scent of apples and dirt pervading the air around her. He shot a furtive glance at her cutie mark, three apples arranged in a pyramid, and decided that apples were now his favorite fruit. As he walked away, he herd the girls giggling, and Pinkie Pie saying, "Oooh, I think Applejack's got a cru-ush!" He said that name a thousand times over in his mind, relishing it's sound.

---

He meandered about town, looking around at the new sights and sounds. He marveled at the shops and stalls, all the bustling little ponies going about his business. He felt out of place, expecting something deadly around every corner, only to be met by a waving pony or mule. He shook his head and went to the town outskirts to clear his mind. He stood there, staring into the dark woods, reflecting on what he, "No," he chided himself, "not me, the other one. That is NOT me."

"Well who're you talkin to?" He whirled at the unfamiliar voice, his sword pointed at the pony's throat, but when he saw who it was, it dropped to the floor. "Uhhh, nopony," the mercenary said, blushing deeply. "Well it certainly sounded like ya'll was talkin' tah somepony." She said, smiling as she called his bluff. "Ah came to see what your huff was all about earlier, and instead found you pointin' that big sword at mah throat." He looked down at the ground and apologized to her.

She continued to try and make conversation with the mercenary, but he dodged her questions and she eventually decided it was futile to crack his shell. She sighed and walked away, shaking her head and reassuring herself that at least she had tried when he finally piped up. "Uhh, do you maybe want to, oh I dunno, grab some dinner at a cafe?" He cringed as he posed the question, expecting a harsh rejection, but was surprised when she turned and said, "Fine, but you realize ya'll are payin', ya hear? Oh, Ah'm Applejack by the way." He looked at the ground and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something, and said "My name's Greatsword, but people call me Sword, but you can call me whatever you'd like."* He looked down and cringed and his apparent stupidity. She laughed and trotted away, excited at the prospect of the date with that odd, yet endearing, pony.

As she walked away, (his eyes fixed on that glorious ass of hers,) the inner voice that constantly plagued him got his attention. "Heh, you think this little emotional relationship with that dumb bitch can last? Do you honestly think that when she finds out who you are, what you do, she's still going to want to know you? My God, you're stupider than I had thought!" As he said that to himself, his face contorted into a grimace of knowing and mockery, just as quickly as it came, it left, leaving the mercenary looking the same as always, bright blue eyes, heavily lidded, giving the impression he was always half asleep. "She's not like that," he told himself, whimpering at how puny his argument was. Again his face changed, instead of the kindly-looking pony that desperately fought to maintain control of his fractured psyche, a cruel looking pony dominated, his irises turning red-violet, a haughty smile twisting his face into a grimace. "Ohhh... 'She's not like that,' wah, wah, wah. She's going to leave you, like all the other failed "friends" you've tried to make, hell, I might just aid the inevitable. What will she think, seeing this exchange, she'll leave, and you might not be able to keep me contained, what would happen then, I wonder? Oh, I know, I'll go on a killing rampage, slaughtering everything in site, making sure you watch this precious "Applejack" die in the most horrid way I can imagine, then get you killed, and finally be free of you, you fucking pussy!" The mercenary's face turned back to normal, tears welling up behind his crystal-blue eyes. He sank to the ground and began to weep at his life, he hated it, he wished it could end, he wished that he could leave it all behind, the ponies he'd hurt, the families he'd ruined, and just leave. But he knew that if he did, the demon that rested in his heart, desperately trying to corrupt him, would escape, and he feared for what would happen. (For what will happen if He escapes, read Fallout: Equestria.)

---

*Author's Note: From now on, I'll be referring to the mercenary as Greatsword or Sword.*