The chair crashed down onto his back, snapping into pieces, save for the legs Rarity held in a death grip. Flam face-planted hard into the concrete floor. He turned over weakly, groaning. Rarity swung again, throwing one of the chair's legs to the side and instead using one in both hands. It cracked against his collarbone; Rarity heard a hard pop. He gestured with his hand towards her, and it quickly swarmed with an aura of magic. She felt her own magic tingle faintly within her hands, the poison in her system briefly receding just enough to taunt her before she lost the feeling once more. His magic didn't matter, however.

She brought the chair leg down yet again, connecting and blowing past the fingers on his right hand to land a blow to his head. The spell, whatever it was he had attempted, stopped when he was wracked with the flare of agony at his wounds. Flam glanced down at his hand and the misaligned way his middle and index finger lay caused him to let out a pained, wretched sob. Rarity didn't care. She continued to work, no mercy in her heart for the man involved in everything that had happened. Rarity, for a brief moment, was almost Jack in silhouette, tilling the field.

From the back, over the shoulder, into the ground.

From the back, over the shoulder, into the ground.

She struck his collarbone until his bones were like jagged rocks under a thin layer of dirt, his throat until it collapsed, his face until it was a red disgusting mash, until her delicate arms burned and ached, until her desperate gasps for air nearly made her faint. Delivering one final hit that was more akin to a tap, she finally stopped, throwing her weapon to the side in disgust. Looking down at the man, Rarity wiped at the trail of blood from her split lip and let the realization of her actions sink in.

She realized she didn't care. Not in the slightest.

The man had killed Jack in a way. He may not have delivered the killing blow, but he sealed his fate easily enough by allying with monsters.

Her thoughts turned slowly to Jack. Brave, kind, loyal, foolish, Jack. Rarity wondered what crossed Jack's mind before Gilda murdered her. Was she frightened? Perhaps. Were her thoughts with her family? A prayer that Bloom would grow to a good, upstanding adult? For Mac and her Grandmother to be happy? Could be. Or her last thoughts belonged to Rarity. That was almost too much to bear if it were true.

“Oh Jack,” Rarity choked out, cupping a hand to her mouth and clenching her teeth as tears fell from her eyes. Hard, unashamed, bitter tears she had held back for so long in order to look strong.

She had loved the woman. It was a simple statement, but an honest one, much like the farmer herself.

Rarity took comfort, however little, in the fact that they had expressed as much to one-another. In words, Jack's naive, lovingly earnest ones or Rarity's experienced, but truthful, painfully truthful affections; in action, their search for common ground letting them discover not only one-another, but allowing them to discover themselves more fully, or the times they had laid together, Rarity taking Jack's innocence, Jack's utter, complete trust in Rarity awakening something beautiful within the tailor, a feeling she had never felt with any other man or woman she had made love to. A feeling a hundred poets writing a hundred sonnets couldn't address.

Rarity shambled backwards, no longer able to control her crying, her pain over the loss, someone entering the room be damned. She bumped into a wall and slid down to the floor. She knew when she rose, she would need to be strong again, need to find her way out, but for now?

For now she let herself go.

Jack stared at the large, imposing doors before her. Walnut, she thought absently, observing the color. Right next to the door on the right was a bronze plaque showcasing one name, “D. Dorcis,” it read.

He was in there. Had to be. Jack licked her painfully dry lips, reached for the handle, froze. After a second, she let her arm drop again.

No, Jack thought, taking in a breath. No, you get yer damn ass in there. Rarity's countin' on ya. That at least got her to rest her hand on the handle, even put a bit of weight to it, but she didn't open it, not yet.

Fella's got magic in 'em, Jack thought, her heart increasing in tempo at the thought. Magic frightened her. She'd seen how powerless it made her, she'd seen what it did to Twila, and if this guy was even half as good as her...

No, the hard, stern voice of her mentor snapped. Wings and spells.

“Don't make a man,” Jack finished. She tossed her bag of supplies to the side and clenched her other hand tightly on her sword. Now, more than ever, Jack had to hope Will was right. She had to believe in miracles.

She let a prayer cross her mind and opened the door.

The room was pristine. Large, expansive, tall. Less an office and more a cathedral. Any other time and Jack would have paused to admire its beauty. Its bookshelves to her left, the glass coffee table and black, cushy sofa to her right, the small plants in jars propped up on a few stands, complementing the paintings hanging up along the walls, and the massive windows that gave an impressive view of the featureless distances.

But what was at the forefront of her mind was none of those things, but rather, a man behind an ornate desk. Not “a man,” the man.

“Dmitri,” Jack growled out.

He leaned easily onto the desk and offered a large grin. It reminded Jack of the Cheshire cat, a wide thing, tinged with madness.

“Jack. Jack Apple,” he said, thinking for a moment, then glancing down at his nails. “Fairly masculine, I'd say.”

Jack paid those words no heed, she stepped a bit closer, her sword at the ready.

“I'd ask if you were compensating for something, but I guess that for you it's more of an envy thing.”

“Talk all ya want, it's not gonna phase me.” Another step closer. “Ya know why I'm here.”

“To slay the dragon, Ser Galahad?” Dmitri asked, his damnable smile still present and mocking. “Or will you tell me there's still time for me to surrender? That this doesn't have to end in spilled blood?”

“Neither,” Jack said. This answer gave the man pause, so Jack continued. “I'm here ta take Rarity back, an' keep her an' my kin safe. Only way that's happenin' is if yer gone.”

His grin evaporated off of his face, sighing, he popped his neck. “You're ruining tradition.”

Careful... she warned herself, don't let him distract ya. Despite her thoughts, she narrowed her brow. “Tradition?”

“Like the biographies of Arthur's knights.” Jack stared at him, Dmitri sighed, rising up from the chair and leaning on his cane. Jack flinched, tightened the grip on her sword, but as the man made no motion toward her, she relaxed her stance. “Come on, now. Brave knights, monsters, a damsel in distress, they established traditions for other heroes to follow. Seeing you waltz in here with such a pragmatic view is... disappointing, to say the least.”

“I ain't no knight,” Jack answered. “I'm jus' a farmgirl.”

“A farmgirl that fought through a Yggdrasil and illusion magic.” He moved to the side of the desk, Jack took a step back, keeping the distance her oversized weapon let her have, but close enough to be able to better counter anything he did. He continued. “No, you have something more in you, don't you? I can smell a predator's blood.”

“I ain't nothin' like that,” Jack snapped back defensively, ignoring her own thoughts she had months ago, thoughts wondering how long it'd be before she hurt someone she cared about—no, she quickly addressed. You're better than that. “Shut up.”

“Sounds like I hit a nerve,” Dmitri replied mockingly. “Must be hard taking care of sheep when you're a wolf.”

That... that was the straw that broke her back. Her eyes widened in indignation and a small, worming thought agreed with him. She ignored that thought and charged forward, mad as hell. Raising her sword, Jack and brought it down, but he was nowhere to be seen. Literally, he was first there, then gone. She heard a whistle behind her; she snapped around. Dmitri sat on the corner of a table, resting an arm on the potted plant that sat on top. He gave a jovial nod her direction. Jack growled, charging at him once more. She brought the blade down, cleaving the table in half and sending hundreds of wooden splinters airborne. But yet again, he vanished. She felt a small spark of pain from her backside, and she stumbled forward from the blow; catching her footing after a second, Jack snapped around just as Dmitri lowered his foot.

“You're going to hurt someone with that, if you're not careful,” he taunted.

Jack swore. The son of a bitch was toying with her even now. The thought made her shiver with indignation, she raised her sword once more and—

Apple! Will's loud, booming voice erupted in her head. How do you fight magic? It's more than getting mad. Did you take leave of your senses?!

She nodded after a moment, slowly circling the man. If she couldn't see Dmitri, maybe there was another way...

Jack sprinted forward once more, this time shutting her eyes as she swung and listened. Sure enough, as the blade was in mid-flight, Dmitri said a word. A strange, archaic word that rose all the hair on Jack's body. There was an audible pop, and Jack knew he was gone.

Directly behind her, another strange word that churned her stomach and another audible pop as he spontaneously came into existence. This time, Jack crouched and snapped a foot behind her, delivering a kick like a mule. She heard a grunt of surprise and felt her leg connect with something hard. She pulled her leg back and rolled forward, getting to her feet and turning around, just as Dmitri thrust at her with his cane. Jack shot her hand out, grasping the cane and yanking it towards her. It came free of Dmitri's hands, surprisingly easy. She stared at the piece of wood. A hollow center. She swore, glancing up at the man, realizing what the cane truly was.

Dmitri shrugged, brandishing the blade Jack unsheathed easily, giving it a small flourish in his hand.

“Eager,” he said, raising a hand above his head, bending his knees and twisting to the side, striking a fencer's pose. Dmitri thrust his sword out with lightning speed; Jack dodged the thrust, backpedaling. He thrust again and again, each stab precise and flawless in its execution, not giving Jack even the slightest chance to take advantage of an opening. It took everything she had to duck and weave his strikes and he still managed to move fast enough to nick her, tearing a paper-thin cut across her shoulder, cutting at her bicep, along her thigh. Dmitri thrust once more; this time Jack slapped at the sword with the wooden sheath, pinning it to the desk, and shoved her shoulder forward to tackle him. He spoke that single word again, vanishing from her sight.

This time, Jack was ready for his return. As soon as she heard the pop from his body signifying his return, she twisted and shot out her foot, this time connecting with his chest and hearing a satisfying oomf! of surprise from Dmitri. Grasping her sword once more in two hands, she brought its weight down while he was still staggered.

An odd glint in his eye gave Jack pause. Before the blow, somehow through unnatural speed and finesse, he had dodged to the side and pounced on her, jumping and grasping at her shoulders and resting his feet on top of her knees. Jack stumbled backwards, but did not fall even with the added weight. Dmitri rocked, pushed himself forward and toppled the woman flat onto her back, her sword clanging to the ground as she lost her grip on it. He sneered, taking his blade and slamming it down towards her heart. Jack only just managed to free an arm from under Dmitri's body in the nick of time to slap Dmitri's weapon away. It thrust into the plush carpet Jack lay on. She clenched his wrist with one of her powerful hands, squeezing so tight she heard bones pop, then slammed his hand against the floor, once, twice—Dmitri took his free hand and awkwardly struck at her. Jack felt like her jaw just got decked by a cow's kick. It snapped her head to the side so fast and so hard she felt nauseous. Then he struck her again. He prepared for a third strike, but paused, instead looking towards his blade. As he grasped the sword in a hand already swelling and bruised, Jack grabbed him under the thighs and lifted his weight up and over her head with her overwhelming strength, tossing him a few precious feet away and buying her the time to stand and grab her sword.

Something felt wrong with her jaw. She fished around her mouth with her tongue and found the culprit. Jack spat out a molar, never taking her eyes off Dmitri. It flew through the air in an arc, a small tail of crimson immediately behind it.

Dmitri grinned. “You're making this fun. You have any idea how long it's been since...” He held up his already swelling hand. “It's had to have been at least a century.”

Century? Jack thought, wringing her hand on her sword's handle. She refused to give him the satisfaction of her curiosity, however, and instead rose her sword to a ready position once more.

“Ya talk too much,” Jack said, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth turning the earth-folk's stomach.

He held a hand to his side, palm up, as if he was cradling a wine glass. A swirling orb of black and red sprung up from his hand, rising up from his skin like steam from a kettle. “That so?” he asked, not waiting for an answer, “You must be a busy woman. I suppose if you're that desperate to get on with the day, then I'll stop playing with you.”

He thrust his palm forward, saying another archaic word to complement the gesture. The black orb blasted out, fast as a crossbow and split horizontally into dozens of other spheres like it. Jack dropped flat to the ground, the orbs passed overhead, but Dmitri once more gestured, and another orb appeared in his palm. He clenched it, and it turned into a whip, black as ebony and practically crackling with magic. The man snapped it down; Jack rolled to the side, then scrambled backwards to her feet as another strike cracked where her head was seconds ago.

She charged forward, anticipating his next strike, hopping to the side as the whip missed her, and continued her desperate sprint. Closing the distance, she swung horizontally. Dmitri back stepped out of its massive range, albeit just barely. She saw the faint glimmer of surprise in his eye, saw how his brief moment of unsettlement caused the magic in his palm to vanish, and relished it. The farmer went on the offensive, bringing her blade down time and time again, from the side, overhead, diagonal, striking wild and crazed. Yet even then, he dodged her blows all while muttering under his breath. He finally twisted his body and parried her attack with his blade. Jack heard a crack come from the weapon, and they stood briefly, their weapons locked together. She glanced down for a second and noticed with a maddening glee that there was a fracture on his sword.

“Enough!” he shouted. A powerful burst of energy erupted from within him, not just pushing Jack back but launching her across the room. She landed and tumbled head over heels, skidding to the ground and finally coming to a stop at the front of Dmitri's desk. Her body ached all over, yet she rose weakly to first one knee, then with the support of the desk, another.

Dmitri brushed his hair back, looking pleased, yet exasperated. Sweat coated his brow as he shook his head with a grin. “And you still get up!” He tossed his near broken sword to the ground and clapped at her mockingly. “You're like a cockroach!”

She grinned wildly though the pained haze her shoulder and punctured rib were causing her, the painkillers she took earlier only taking away the weakest throbs of agony from her body. “Maybe I am,” she admitted, her open-toothed smile as feral as a wild dog's snarl. “I ain't pretty, but I'll be the one still standin' when it's said an' done. Not you.”

“I'm sorry you think that.” He adjusted the neck of the shirt he wore. “Because you're about to be crushed underneath my foot.” Meeting her eyes, he offered a small, menacing smile, before pain, agonizing, blinding pain, erupted in between Jack's eyes. She clutched her head, sinking to the ground. When she was finally able to withstand the sudden agony he had somehow inflicted on her and take stock of where she was, Jack froze.

The entire world around her had snapped away, leaving her within a black, empty void.

“What?” she asked, her voice echoing in the abyss.

“I did a little renovating!” Dmitri called out eagerly. Jack twisted and turned, searching feverishly for him to no avail. “Do you like what I did with the room?”

Is this one of those illusion spells? Jack wondered. Guy's strong enough that maybe this is real.

“Where ya at, ya snake?” she shouted out, clenching her fist—it dawned on her that she was unarmed, wearing only a pair of jeans and a shirt.

“Here, there,” Jack felt a presence behind her. “Everywhere.”

She snapped around. Darkness there, and nothing more.

“This ain't real,” she said, unsure.

“What if it is?” Dmitri cooed out into her ear. Jack jumped back, pinwheeling her arms in surprise at his presence. He laughed.

“Show yerself, ya damn coward!”

The floor softened, becoming thick like molasses. Jack sank slowly into it, desperately trying to move her uncooperative feet. When her ankles were swallowed by the darkness, the floor hardened once more. She heard a harsh hiss and froze.

A massive snake crawled from the shadows, its forked tongue flicking out, gathering the scent in the air.

“Well?” the snake asked. Jack froze. The creature had Dmitri's voice. The thing had his voice. It leaned forward. Jack could smell the creature, its hot breath like carrion, its fangs yellowed and dripping venom. “Does this feel real?”

Sweat covered her forehead and Jack stood, paralyzed at the gigantic beast towering over her. She opened her mouth, then shut it, the words she planned to speak lost as her mind tried to process the beast. She stood, her mind, despite its earlier brush with an illusion spell, accepting that this was real but her heart, her heart was a different beast. It saw no real way to prove it wasn't fake, but...

She knew, though. She knew that in her heart of hearts, that it wasn't—couldn't end like this. If she was to die today, it'd be holding her sword and cursing Dmitri until she couldn't call his name out. She would not be afraid.

The snake shot forward. Jack spread her arms out, inviting its strike. The beast paused, inches from her, its breath blowing her hair back.

“What ya waitin' for?” Jack said. “If this is real, go ahead an' kill me.”

She felt a sickening sense of falling, tumbling head over heels, before being tugged in a direction, like being yanked on by a rope.

She stared at Dmitri from across the office, her sword once more in her hand.

“Ya ain't gonna pull the wool over my eyes twice, bastard,” Jack said, shaking her head.

Dmitri let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing at his lip. Finally, he threw up his hands in frustration. “You know, I expected you to come here, I'd have some laughs, kill some time, make things enjoyable. But now I see you're going out of your way to make things dull.” He gave an indignant shake of his head. “You've been a terrible guest. You tricked me. Aside from the pragmatic way of thinking, you seemed interesting. Now I realize that you're so boring. I mean, you didn't even flinch at that spell a second ago. It's insulting to me.”

“Ya need ta step up yer game. I—"

Dmitri gestured to the side, Jack was propelled off her feet and collided with the wall. She lay there, pressed by an invisible object.

“And that's exactly what it is,” Dmitri snarled, taking a step forward and raising his hand, squeezing an invisible ball. Jack let out a strangle, surprised choke, gagging at an invisible pressure on her throat. “A game.”

He stepped closer as Jack struggled and writhed on the wall, clutching at her throat with one of her hands.

“Do you have any idea what I could have done to you already the instant you walked into the room?” He laughed, looking around the room as if entertaining an invisible audience. “I could of electrocuted you to death. I could have made your blood boil until your skin cracked. I could have simply blinded you and had my way with a sword on you.” Dmitri thrust his hand forward, increasing the pressure put on her neck. Her vision blurred, she could feel every pulse in her body throb out, cry for air. “But I didn't. Know why? Because it's a game. It's why I let you bruise my hand. It's how you escaped that illusion spell,” he briefly trailed off, walking to the windows and glancing with disinterest at the horizon, the spell in his hand still crushing Jack's windpipe. “Which brings us here, I suppose. It's a gentler death than I had planned for, but...” He turned, grinning. “At least you get to see my handsome face one more time before I crush your windpipe like a paper cup. Don't worry. I'm sure with a little coaxing, Rarity will forget you in time.”

Jack felt a flash of boiling red anger at his words, she quivered, clenching her fist.

“Don't...” she hissed out. “...her...”

Dmitri quirked a brow, moving towards her and cupping an ear. “What was that? You had a frog in your throat.”

Something inside her changed. She felt the type of hot, boiling anger she had held back for all this time bubble to the surface. The beast she had kept locked in a cage ever since she murdered Dorado. The one that always had bubbled just under her skin. She let it out.

“Don't ya touch her!” she roared, With a flex of her muscles, she forced herself free of the spell and landed on all fours onto the ground.

“What—“ was all Dmitri had time to utter before she was on him, her legs a blur and her hands moving at a pace that could have given Isabelle a run for her money. Jack reached for her dagger and plunged it into his chest, then, with a roar, snapped her leg forward, stumbling him backwards and through the glass window. He stared at her for those few, brief seconds of action, genuinely surprised, before he was sent tumbling down through the sky.

Jack wiped at her bleeding mouth, panting, a tingle running through her body over what she just did, and the fact that she took pleasure from it. Taking a step forward, she leaned out the window, searching for him. Her eyes widened in shock and she hopped backwards, snapping for her sword and getting ready.

Dmitri launched himself upward and back into the room, two wings, one as bright as a bluejay's, the other a leathery black bat's, attached to his back. He landed on the ground, his eyes like ice.

“Well,” he tersely began, pulling out the dagger embedded into his chest and easily letting it clatter to the floor. “You know, you could have done something like that sooner.”

“Shut up,” Jack said, shaking her head violently. “Shut. Up.”

Dmitri laughed. “Looks like I'm pressing your buttons. Good.” He rolled his neck and opened his mouth to speak just as Jack charged again. He let out a surprised yelp, twisting to the side and rolling leaving Jack with only a small nick of his wing from her sword's swing.

He took a few steps back, raising his palms up. “Whoa! Let a guy finish first, why don't y—"

“I'll kill ya!” she roared, slamming her empty fist repeatedly into her chest and stamping her feet, her eyes pinpricks of fury and her face a devil's grimace as she lost herself in a blinding red anger. “Ya hear me?! Ya hear me ya piece of shit?! Yer dead!”

Dmitri held up a palm and channeled magic, erupting a bolt of lightning from his palm. Jack was struck by the bolt, yet the magic seemed to fizzle out the instant it came in contact with her body; she didn't even pause or flinch at the spell, the woman shrugged it off like it was water and sprinted towards him, thrusting her blade out. He hopped back but not quick enough, Jack dropped one of her hands from the sword's handle and reaching forward, grasping his ankle. Yanking back, she toppled him to the ground, then, with such speed that it was less a second motion and more a continuation of the first, pulled him towards her and took a boot to his prone body. She slammed it into his throat and raised her sword, plunging it towards his vulnerable chest.

The blade stopped inches from Dmitri's body. Jack looked down, her overwhelming rage briefly stilted.

A massive lion's paw, well over the size of her head, clenched her blade, small pinpricks of blood ran through its fur where the edge cut. Jack followed the paw. Dmitri's arm had completely changed. Now it was massive, almost the size of his torso and coated in the coarse fur of a beast. Using her brief shock to his advantage, he pulled the foot at his throat with his other hand, tripping her and bringing her crashing on top of his chest. Without a second's thought he swung his fist with the force of a sledgehammer, first to her breast, then another blow shot out like a lightning crack into her gut. Jack buckled from the strikes, the air knocked out of her. She pushed herself off him, stumbling down to a knee, rising to a slouch, then sinking down to a knee, gasping for air as Dmitri rose to a stand.

“Not bad, is it?” he questioned, giving the claws on his paw a small flex, one digit at a time. “Oh, don't worry,” he reassured, gazing at her, his ominous appearance seeming to almost dim the room's lights. “This is not an illusion spell. Not even magic, for that matter. So however you've been worming out of my spells won't work for it.” Dmitri grinned. Jack could see how sharp and vicious teeth where. She realized with some alarm that they seemed to be almost growing, stretching his lips to an abnormal width and height. “A gift from my mother.”

Jack watched as his body widened, his clothes bulging at the seams before tearing, revealing more coarse fur.

“You see,” he said, still able to speak clearly and easily even as his body underwent a horrific change. “Mother was a witch.” He open and shut his jaw. Jack heard a heavy pop come from his mouth, and he had the beginnings of a muzzle. “A witch that wanted power. So what does she do?” He shrugged. Jack finally stood, leaning on the hilt of her blade for support as Dmitri seemed to grow. The man easily dwarfed Jack's own gigantic height, well over eight feet tall and still rising. “She finds a young king when he first gets onto the throne. She seduces him when he's lonely on the road.”

Jack glanced away from his face for a moment and noticed that his feet where changing, morphing. Toes melded together and hardened, becoming a cloven hoof. The other seemed to first become brittle, then peel, showcasing thousands of green scales and the sharp talons of a predator.

“Turns out you get the seed of an all-folk and mix it with a soul-folk nine shades of crazy and you get someone like me.” His grin widened, bordering on the edge of madness. He gave a small shake of his paw and a hand quickly narrowing, as if becoming nothing more than bone. “A freak.”

A red mass of flesh erupted from his lower back and quickly took on reptilian features, becoming a scaled red. As it extended and tapered out at the end, spines rose, covering the top of the tail with spikes.

His face was now completely inhuman, resembling a sort of half-bred goat and wolf. Saliva dripped down his jaw. From the top of his misshapen head two horns erupted from his skin, one like a warped unicorn's, bloated and cracked where it shouldn't be, the other a deer's antler.

Dmitri took a step forward, his body a contradiction of colors and parts.

“You wanted me to be serious?” he asked, leering down to Jack. “Well, here I am.”