The raven flew through the snowy night, its prize clutched tight in its talons. Snow clung to its black wings, but it ignored the cold, passing over the white-blanketed fields of crops north of Ponyville, over dark, silent cottages and homes shadowed by creaking, leafless trees.
It passed over one darkened two-floor brown cottage that stood post over long stretches of wheat, its passage unobserved by the two ponies in thick coats that stood on the balcony, stamping their hooves and trying to shield the fragile flames of their cigarettes from the biting wind.
It flew on another quarter mile to the next house, a ramshackle, formerly blue-white construction with cracked windows and a mold-eaten porch, surrounded by old, groaning trees and empty fields, the nutrients long sucked from the soil. A cracked window allowed it entry into the top floor. Flying past dust-covered furniture and broken housewares, remnants of owners who had long passed.
The broken, rotting stairs gave way to the bottom floor, which was lit by battery-powered lanterns and flashlights. Three earth ponies were clustered around a table, poring over photographs and a blueprint.
The mummified talon thumped onto the table, the black candle still clutched within its desiccated fingers. The three ponies all jumped back with a yelp, then looked up at the raven, which had perched upon a pale bust of a pony set into the wall above a nearby doorway. The raven blinked at them, ruffling its wings to shake the snow from its feathers.
“Hey, doc!” the white stallion with the slicked black mane said, turning towards the dual layer of black curtains that blocked the nearby window and adjusting the sunglasses that he wore despite the darkness and late hour. “Your pet’s back.”
From his post at the window, the pegasus lowered his enchanted binoculars and turned towards the voice with a small smile. He glanced once more at the target, the dark brown cottage with its faint lights feebly trying to expel the darkness, then turned, carefully shifted around the tripod-mounted camera. He pushed aside the first set of black curtains surrounding the windows, carefully replacing them before pushing aside the next set: couldn’t risk blowing the operation now by letting in a stray beam of light.
The other three stallions all repressed shudders and turned away from the masked pegasus as he approached. The raven hopped off the bust and onto his extended foreleg, croaking appreciatively as he stroked her with his wing.
With his other wing, he picked up the Talon of Glory, tilting it from side to side to study the construct.
“You know, I think flashlights are more efficient,” the white stallion frowned, his shaded gaze on the gruesome candleholder.
“Don’t ye know anything, Withers, ye numpty?” the broad green earth pony with the bushy red mane grunted. “That’s a Talon of Glory, a gift from the Lord of Chaos. The right claw of a hanged murderer, blessed with the proper rites.” He grinned at the grim trinket. “Aye, that’s a bonny one that the doc made.”
“Yes, we’re all very impressed with it, Rogue,” Withers commented, audibly rolling his eyes. “But what does it do?”
“You’ll see, lad,” Rogue replied as the doctor slipped the Talon into one of the pockets on his bandolier.
“All right, boys,” the large brown earth pony said, pushing his fedora back as he pointed at the blueprints and photographs spread out before them.
“They’ve got pairs of guards here, here, and here,” the leader declared, pointing to three dots marked around the perimeter of the house. “Plus the two guys on the balcony. The doc’s gonna get in through the balcony and start making some havoc. Once he’s got their attention, we’ll get in through the back and head for the basement vault. That’s probably where they’ll have the painting.” He pointed to a windowless room with a single door in the southeast corner of the bottom floor.
“The basement is the most secure part of the building, Biff,” Rogue grunted. “Only one way in or out of there. If those Mareish bawbags retreat back in there, they’re gonna be in the way.”
“That’s why we have this,” Biff smirked, holding up a canister filled with pale yellow liquid. “And these,” he added, holding up a gas mask. “We drill into the vault, flush them out. And right towards the doc.”
“Works for me,” Withers shrugged. “Long as those seals work.”
“I triple-checked, don’t worry,” Biff reassured him. “I have no intention of inhaling this stuff. No offense, doc.”
The masked pegasus just blinked at him and grunted.
“Right,” Biff said slowly. “Okay, if we’re all set?”
Withers adjusted his glasses and nodded, donning one of the three gas masks. The Plague Doctor unhooked his mask from his belt and strapped it on over his head, his breath coming in low hisses through the heavy filters.
After Rogue secured his mask tight and checked the seal, he closed his eyes and crouched down. “Lord of Chaos, give us your craftiness,” he prayed. “Confound our foes and grant us success.”
“Okay,” Biff nodded, taking a gas mask for himself and strapping it on tight. He and his two comrades all donned tight dark blue cloaks, tugging the hoods up over their heads. “Everypony got their teleportation crystals?”
All four ponies held up the small jars with the faintly glowing red crystals within.
“Let’s go get ‘em,” Biff nodded, heading for the back door and opening it with a groan.
The group exited, their hoofsteps crunching through the snow. The doctor spread his wings and took flight, gliding low over the ground to bank around. The three earth ponies stuck low to the ground, their movements muffled by years of experience.
Up ahead, the three-story cottage stood sentinel against the darkness, lights from every window spilling out of the house into the snowy night. A biting wind drew a rattle from the few remaining leaves on the sweetgum trees next to the driveway. The patrolling couple on the driveway looked up as a single leaf detached from the tree and drifted to the ground.
The earth pony adjusted his coat, making sure that the sawn-off shotgun beneath could be easily drawn if need be. “Front patrol, checking in,” he spoke into the walkie-talkie he pulled from his pocket. “Nothing yet.”
“Back patrol one, all clear,” another voice replied.
“Patrol two, still nothing.”
“Balcony, all clear,” a hippogriff standing at the balcony over the front doors reported into his radio. He replaced the walkie-talkie and sighed, staring into the darkness, his breath frosting before his beak.
“I’m still thinking about poor Diamond,” the unicorn mare next to him said, sucking at her fag. “I can’t believe that we’re just leaving her.”
“What do you want us to do, Cashew?” the hippogriff grunted. “We have no idea where she is, and we’re not just gonna give that masked freak that painting. The Mareish don’t just roll over for that.” He took a draw on his own cigarette. “He’s hoping those detectives will find her,” the hippogriff replied. “And that once all this is settled, he can use that bloody painting as a bargaining chip.”
“He’s acting the maggot, Leo,” Cashew snarled. “His arrogance is gonna get us all killed.”
“Oy, don’t talk about him like that,” Leo snapped back. “Coin gave both of us a home and a purpose to fight for. Wasn’t for him, you and I and most of the others here would be on the streets and you know it.”
“That doesn’t make him right!” Cashew replied. “He--”
Her protest was cut off by the lights over the balcony door suddenly turning off, as if they were a candle that an errant wind had snuffed out. “The fuck?” Leo asked, turning around and fumbling for his flashlight. “Who turned that off?”
A flap of wings from up above. Cashew looked up just in time to see a dark shape swooping down upon them.
The next thing she saw was a sprout of crimson blood erupting from her throat. She staggered, futilely clutching at her neck as warm, thick liquid gushed over her hooves. She tried to speak, scream, something, but all that came out was a panicked gurgle.
She could only watch as the masked stallion whirled around. Leo didn’t stand a chance; the blade sliced through his neck like the flesh was made of butter, sending blood flowing like a spigot. Leo stumbled, turning towards his killer with wide, horrified green eyes. His claw fumbled for the walkie-talkie in his pocket, only for the device to be cruelly slapped from his grasp and onto the floor. His body followed a moment later, twitching as the hippogriff desperately and futilely clung to life.
In her last moments, Cashew spotted something hanging around their intruder’s neck: a mummified griffon talon, clutching a candle. The flame on the candle, though...it was wrong. It was black, and despite the wind, it did not flicker, remaining steady on its wick.
And then the Plague Doctor was bending over her. The last thing Cashew saw in this life was the crimson eyes hatefully glaring down at her.
“Cashew, what’s going on?” a voice barked over the radio. “What happened to the lights?”
The Plague Doctor glanced down at the walkie-talkie, then glanced at the raven sitting astride his back. He picked up the radio, then held it up to the bird, clicking the button.
The bird let out a sharp caw right into the speaker. Smiling beneath his mask, the Doctor dropped the walkie-talkie to the floor and slid the balcony door open, the lights within snuffing out as soon as he entered.
“Fuck, he’s here! He’s here!”
The basement of the cottage was a simple construction, decorated with bookshelves, stuffed hunting trophies hanging upon the walls, and throw rugs covering the stone floor, the room lit by a chandelier hanging from the wooden ceiling. A locked chest sat in the corner, secured by a heavy iron padlock. The ponies within stood about the central table, all of them looking up at the ceiling.
“He’s here,” Coin Toss confirmed, checking the slide on his hoofgun to ensure a round was chambered. “Be ready, boys. There’s only one way in here.” He nodded towards the double-locked door on the north wall. The thick metal material was incongruous with the rest of the building, but stood strong in the threshold, its very presence promising safety.
“Break in here and try to take what’s ours,” one of his companions snarled, hefting a shotgun at the door. “We’ll show that masked gobshite!”
The bearded unicorn turned and glanced at his companion. The dark gold pegasus fidgeted in place, one hoof tapping at the trigger of his submachine gun.
“For Diamond,” Winged Key muttered.
“For her,” Coin nodded. “The detectives will find her, mate. And we’ll take care of this freak for her.”
Winged Key nodded and his eyes narrowed as he hefted his weapon. His tattoo caught the light, the golden motto glittering for all to see.
“Éirinn go Brách, motherfucker,” he swore at their foe.
A crack of gunfire roared from over their heads. They looked up at the chattering of an automatic gun.
“He’s in the dining room! He’s in the--!” The voice through the radio on the table was cut off by a cry of pain.
The six ponies stared up at the ceiling, listening as the gunfire was suddenly cut off. The sound was accompanied by shouts and pounding hoofsteps as others came to the fight.
More gunshots.
Screaming.
Then silence.
Coin Toss swallowed and glanced around at his companions. The other five ponies all stared at the door, shifting nervously, sweat beginning to run down their brows and necks. Gun barrels wavered as hooves adjusted their grasps.
“What’s going on up there?” Coin asked into the radio.
His only reply was crackling from the radio. “Anypony there?” Coin called again. “Come in!”
“We...fuck, fuck...we lost him!” a panting voice replied, cracking with terror. “Three guys down! I don’t know where--no! Oh, Faust, no!”
His reply turned into screaming. Then static. Then nothing.
“What is it?” Coin shouted into the radio, trying to force the growing rush of panic from his voice as his companions all stared wide-eyed at the little black box in his hoof.
The room shook with thunder. Every head turned around to see a hole blown into the ceiling in the corner of the room, the wood blasted aside by a shotgun slug.
“Feck off!” Winged Key roared, turning and firing a salvo from his gun into the ceiling. Bullets punctured the ceiling.
A gray canister fell through the hole in the floor with a clatter, yellow gas spewing from the device. The mobsters staggered back, coughing and choking.
“Shite, they’re trying to flush us out!” Coin Toss wheezed out, staggering for the gas canister. Seizing it in a bubble of emerald magic, he tried to lift it back out through the hole blasted into the ceiling. “Winged, get--”
Winged Key turned towards his boss, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. Eyes as cold, empty, and black as a pair of holes.
The gas canister clattered to the floor as Coin staggered back, gasping in disbelief. “No…”
Black filth bubbled into Winged Key’s mouth, tongues dangling from the pitch. Veins tore across the unicorn’s skin, eyes like swollen bruises bursting from his flesh at random intervals. The thing stepped towards Coin, laughter bubbling from the inequine throat.
“No! Get back!” Coin screamed, opening fire at the thing, every echoing gunshot mixing with the monster’s howls.
“That’s not what I expected,” Biff commented, staring at the hole in the closet floor, listening to the gunshots and screams coming from within.
Rogue chortled, the mask making his voice sound almost mechanical. “The Lord of Chaos is with us, boys! He brings his wrath upon our foes!”
“Hey, he can bring all the chaos he wants, so long as it gets us that painting sooner,” Withers shrugged.
A scream echoed through the house from up above. Withers glanced up, trying to repress a shudder.
“Just be glad that he’s keeping the rest of these idiots off us,” Biff grunted.
The cries and gunshots from beneath petered out. “Okay, I think that’s the last of them,” Biff nodded, rising. “Let’s go get ‘em, boys.”
The gas mask-wearing trio descended the steps, pausing at the locked and reinforced door. Rogue reached into a pocket and pulled out what looked like a spray bottle. He sprayed the edges of the door with the foul green liquid within, which hissed and bubbled as it began to eat into the material.
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous to carry around?” Withers commented, raising an eyebrow at his companion.
“Aye,” Rogue grinned back at him.
Biff reached forward and pushed the door, which fell off the threshold and crashed to the floor, revealing the basement within.
The clouds of yellow gas were slowly dissipating. Corpses lay across the floor, blood staining the throw rug and the stone floor. A single green unicorn was curled up in the corner, tears running from his eyes into his red beard, the gun in his hoof clicking uselessly as he pointed it at the intruders.
Biff walked over to one of the bodies on the ground, red holes punched through the unicorn’s throat and chest. He glanced over the body, his eyes settling on the motto tattooed on his arm.
“Guess that’ll teach you,” he sneered at the still-twitching corpse, giving it a light kick.
Withers made a beeline for the trunk in the corner, crouching down at the lock and working at it with a set of tools that he pulled from his cloak. It took him only about thirty seconds to defeat the lock and open up the trunk.
“Let’s see what we won…” the thief muttered, shoving aside the stolen loot within, ignoring the albums of notebooks and bags of stolen gems and coins. “Aha! Jackpot!” he declared, seizing a cardboard tube. He opened it up and extracted the old, cracked canvas within.
“Is this it, boss?” Withers asked, unrolling the painting.
Biff glanced over and grinned at the sight of the stallion in the top hat with his back eternally turned to the world. “That’s it, Withers.”
“What do we do about the tadger?” Rogue grunted, glaring at the shivering Coin Toss, who was now covering his face, half-formed prayers and pleas feebly emitting from his quivering lips.
“Doc said that we’re supposed to kill everypony here,” Biff shrugged. “Might as well get him, too.”
Rogue grinned and stepped forward, pulling a curved knife from beneath his cloak. Coin Toss shivered and curled up into a little ball, whimpering like a frightened child.
“The motherfucking boss of the motherfucking Mareish Mob,” the husky earth pony sneered. “What a fucking joke.” He bent down to begin the cut.
Coin Toss stared up at him, eyes glistening with fear. With a bellow of desperate determination, he lunged at his attacker, bowling into him like a runaway car. Rogue grunted as the Mareish pony's hooves bashed into his chest, knocking him back a step.
"Fucker!" he snapped at Coin, slashing wildly with his knife and striking nothing but air.
Coin charged at Withers, who could only stare slack-jawed at his attacker, still numbly holding the painting in his hooves. Coin seized the canvas in his mouth and tugged.
"Hey! Let go!" Withers barked, trying to pull his prize away from Coin.
A great ripping noise resounded through the air as Not to Be Replicated tore in half. Gripping his own half in his teeth, Coin Toss charged for the doorway, lunging past Biff's attempt to tackle him. Panting and gasping, the unicorn charged up the stairs three at a time and out onto the landing.
Slipping and skidding through the still-warm blood that covered the floors, stumbling over the corpses of his comrades, he slammed through the front door. The cold wind bit into him as he ran across the driveway, racing towards his target: his white four-door car. "Come on, come on," he gasped through his teeth, grabbing at the door handle.
Pain flared across the back of his leg, like fire through his muscles. Coin Toss fell with a scream, dropping the torn half of the painting. He looked up just in time to see a raven swooping around through the air, his blood dripping off the blades on its talons.
Hoofsteps crunched through the snow. Coin Toss gaped in horror as the masked pegasus stalked towards him, the red eyes blazing with hate. The blood dripping from the blade in his hoof left a trail of red dots behind him. A mummified griffon talon was secured to his bandolier, the candle within its withered grasp snuffed out.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Coin Toss breathed in time to his thumping heart, trying to crawl away on his lame leg. He could only stare as the blade was raised, the eyes fixed upon his throat.
And then a sound pierced through the night air. The howl of police sirens.
The Plague Doctor froze, his head whipping up to stare in disbelief at the mass of red and blue lights that were charging up the streets towards them, tires screeching against the slick asphalt and dirt.
Coin's horn lit up and seized a clump of snow from the ground, flinging it at the Plague Doctor's mask. The assassin grunted in fury as the slush covered his face, shaking his head furiously.
He looked around just in time to see his target rolling underneath the car, dragging the torn canvas into cover with him. With a snarl, he reached after the unicorn.
Lenore screeched in alarm. The first police cruiser was turning up the driveway, headlights illuminating the Plague Doctor's figure.
A growl escaped the mask. Spreading his wings, he took to the sky, with Lenore following. A distant shout chased after him, but he was already vanishing into the night, his prize unclaimed.