Disclaimer: I don't own My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic or any of the characters, nor do I own Team Fortress 2 or any of its characters. I do, however, own Copper Head.

"This is strange, and unless something's not clear, I thought Lyra ALWAYS beat me coming here." Pyro only sighed as he sat under a gumdrop tree, surveying Pyroland with his chin on his knee. The sky was as bright and cheerful as the day it was made but Pyro was convinced that it had begun to fade. Pyro stood as he began to shout; "To me, Balloonicorn, you drunk layabout!"

Then a pocket of air did glow, and before Pyro's goggles burst a brilliant rainbow. The Mayor of Pyroland squeaked as he flew to his master's call, still a little tipsy from last night's grand ball. "How *hic* may I be of s-*uuuuuuuurr*-vice, master?" the little helium unicorn said with his words all a-slur.

"I'm worried about Lyra. The time for our meeting has past and I must be going all too fast. So deliver a message of my sincerest apology; our missed date was all on me." Pyro nodded slightly as he looked off and away. This was supposed to be a most perfect day…

-x-x-X-x-x-

The mercs rarely questioned the motives of their employers. Not to say that they just blindly accepted everything that was thrown at them. Spy above all had often pointed out the flaws and/or saner versions of battle plans…and then would be abruptly shot down by Soldier spouting a blurb from the back of a cereal box as to why they SHOULD go through with the plan, all while claiming it to be a quote from an ancient Chinese general.

Capture a gravel mining facility, protect a gravel mining facility, push a bomb down some rails, kill the people pushing a bomb down some rails, push a bomb slightly better than the other people pushing a bomb, get the enemy tax returns while protecting your secret muffin recipe, run a suitcase full of radioactive material past the violent TSA and onto a rocket, etc…

This time around, however, Pyro found himself scratching his head along with the rest of RED team after receiving urgent orders from their boss…who had been dead for the past few months.

"Just what the hell am I paying you for? SEND MY BROTHER TO HELL!" boomed the disembodied voice of Redmond Mann from the not-so-great beyond.

"Heavy is still confused. Why are we helping tiny dead man? And why are we fighting itty-bitty BLU team instead of metal giants?"

"They're still TECHNICALLY your bosses, even if Gray Mann did stab them to death a number of times," crackled Ms. Pauling from a nearly microscopic video screen Spy had produced from within one of his wisdom teeth.

"Oh," Heavy uttered as his facial expression suggested that the lone tenant of his Soviet-era mind had fallen under the immensity of that profound statement.

"S'alright, Heavy. It don't make a lotta' sense to the rest of us either. But, a job's a job and I'd be lyin' if I said money wasn't important," Dell Conagher grunted as he flipped a toolbox containing a dispenser onto his shoulder.

"Oh, can we PLEASE get zis farce over with before ze fat man makes any more sense!?" Spy barked as he faded from sight, followed closely by a concerned Tavish DeGroot who looked as though he couldn't have gotten through those gates fast enough.

-x-x-X-x-x-

It was truly incredible just how much control the Mann brothers had on the blighted specs of dust that they were eternally gridlocked over. Hightower, while normally a sunny, rustic, mining facility had been corrupted by something far more sinister; night time. The buildings had become dark and twisted with various decorations throughout, the medpacks were now pumpkin pies and cauldrons with pumpkin pie that had been left in the desert sun, a large clock tower loomed over the lake of lava that had begun to flow around the field of battle like a deadly fence in case the hundred-foot drop didn't kill whoever fell in.

And of course, freshly dug up from their resting places, tombstones and all, were the Mann brothers Redmond and Blutarch. Their rotting corpses barking orders to either team to push the opposing brother to the detonation point and catapult them into Hades. This was much easier said than done.

As the round started the gates of hell were thrown wide both literally and metaphorically, the two opposing teams rekindled their hatred for one another almost instantaneously as various forms of munitions ripped through the midnight air and warm flesh alike without discretion or a second thought about who's life in it might claim…because those brief seconds before they would be resurrected would surely allow them to push the rotting corpse of a greedy old man MUCH faster than the other team. Scouts frantically began to push the corpse-cart to the tune of the rhythmic clanging of Engineers upgrading their buildings and the whirring of lead-spewing miniguns.

Snipers picked off whatever crossed their scopes, Spies lurked in the growing shadows waiting for the time to strike, Medics rushed frantically from teammate to teammate as their name was bellowed from all corners of the surround area, and patrolling Pyros torched anything in their paths. Yes, all hell had broken loose and it wasn't even midnight. At least, not yet...

As the area's name would suggest, there was indeed a Hightower near the center of the arena that's upper platform and ramparts, while providing a great vantage point to stage all manner of assaults, was completely exposed and thus favored hunting grounds for trigger-happy Snipers and Spies waiting to prey on whomsoever tried to grab the large, pumpkin pie that rested at the very top. Near the base of the tower was a small room that contained a medkit and ammo box that was perfect for ducking in, resupplying, and then quickly turning the tables on a would-be pursuer. It also served as great place to host a meeting between old friends.

"Jane? Jane, you in there, mate?" Tavish "Demoman" DeGroot whispered as he pressed his back against the aged wall to avoid being seen by a BLU blur rushing by.

Tavish looked around the incredibly small room for the source of the voice but saw nothing save the large pumpkin pie and ammo box near the bottomless pit at the back of the room. Realizing that he was now having a conversation with the little floating pumpkin pie with a medical label plastered on the side listing all of the ways in which to NOT cure a gunshot wound with it, he turned to leave. "Thankfully I already don't remember this."

As his foot exited the doorway, Demoman turned as the blurred outline of a man in blue began to materialize before him. Mr. DeGroot, with hands faster than would be thought possible for a man with that level of inebriation, went for his emptied bottle of substitute paint-thinner to brain the cocky Spy only to be stopped by a much larger hand than any Spy Tavish had ever encountered. "Stand down, cyclops. It's me!"

"Look, boyo, I know I'm drunk but ye cain't pull the wool over me good eye sayin' that you can perform-" the BLU Soldier, deciding that now would be a fantastic time to interrupt his frienemy, produced a rolled up magazine he had tucked away in his belt. -"magic?"

-x-x-X-x-x-

"Sergeant, lower your launcher at once! We're TRYING to have a spot a tea here…and for God's sake; I'm inside the blast radius of that thing! If King Sombra were to try something as foolish as attacking me, use your shotgun," Gray Mann said with a dry voice as he let out a small yet pained sigh.

"AWW…" the metal giant sighed, lowering its titanic shotgun away from the increasingly irritated King. Sombra lifted the elegant teacup with a dark strand of magic to his mouth before tossing it aside with such force that it lodged itself into the optical nerve of a Scout-Bot.

"I'd rather have my old body for my tea," Sombra's dark eyes gazed down upon his scraped legs and bolted hooves, "and my kingdom."

"Kingdom?" Gray leaned back further on his chair, allowing his head to rest on his right hand, and so he could press the receiver planted in his ear.

"MAKER, IT HAS BEEN CONFIRMED ZAT ZERE IS A CRYSTAL STRUCTURE A FEW CLICKS AWAY FROM ZE CAVE ZAT COULD VERY WELL BE A CASTLE," the Spy-Bot's voice crackled through the air waves as it sat cloaked near the train station to the Crystal Empire.

"My kingdom- no, my empire was magnificent; countless slaves, an endless supply of crystals, total domination…not even the Princesses could truly defeat me. If it weren't for Cadance and her meddling strumpets I might still have all those things," Sombra said with nothing but spite in his deep voice.

"Those crystals you mentioned, they wouldn't happen to look a little something like this would they?" Gray snapped his withered fingers as the Scout-Bot with the teacup monocle approached the cloth-covered stalagmite table with a small chunk of shimmering crystal-

-which was forcefully yanked away along with the entirety of its arm. "ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?"

"This is a naturally formed crystal, not one from a Crystal Pony," the light blue gem entangled within Sombra's magic began to crackle and surge with a dark energy that violently consumed the shimmering rock until it was as black as the king corrupting it. Sombra's emerald eyes rolled back into his tin skull and the purple aura around them flared with the ecstasy of an addict on withdrawal finally getting his fix.

"I'll have what she's having." All of the bots present (including the Spy-Bot over the radio) began their pre-programed laughter sequence at their maker's terrible reference. Sombra, however, remained unamused. He placed the dark crystal beneath his iron hoof and smashed it into a fine powder.

"It's been far too long since I've been able to do that, and now I require MORE. Help me, Gray Mann. Help me reconquer the Crystal Empire with your army of metal monsters and I will grant you whatever you desire."

Gray sat back in his chair, his Australium-fueled Life Extension Machine making a slight clink, which gave him an idea. He motioned to his ever-present Medic-Bot to extract a small amount of Australium from the device and present it the increasingly confused Sombra. "If you can get me more of this element AND a vast quantity of those crystals like the one you just smashed, then I think we have a deal."

-x-x-X-x-x-

"Well believe it, darling. The friend we'll be staying with had an extra room at her lovely abode in the Empire's town square and everypony else already had plans set," Rarity explained as she tossed her elegant mane back behind her shoulder.

Lyra sat there in awe, still drinking in all that had happened that day, and what was to come. Come to think on it, Lyra really didn't remember much of her walk from the spa to the Carousel Boutique other than excessive hopping on her part and Rarity saying something about ruining her hooves with all that jumping, but it fell on excitedly deaf ears. The Boutique, easily the fanciest place in all of Ponyville, was even more spectacular on the upper floor where Rarity and her little sister, Sweetie Belle, lived. Lyra had only ever been in the lower store front when she and Bon Bon would fantasize about owning such wonderful dresses and attending the Grand Galloping Gala.

Lyra shook herself back into the present with Rarity and the quiet Fluttershy standing next to her friend as they looked over some of the designs they had thought up for outfits whilst visiting the Empire. "Wait, how do you know somepony that LIVES in the Empire? I thought all of the crystal ponies were over a thousand years old."

Rarity looked over at Lyra in surprise before stifling a small chuckle. "You misunderstand, dear. My friend Lulu bought a cottage out there after Princess Cadance reopened the Empire to the rest of Equestria. She's younger than I am!"

"It's just…" Lyra started as she stared off into space, "it seems like every time there's a big event that everypony goes to that something catastrophic happens. Nightmare Night; a giant, human skeleton almost turns the Princesses evil and tries to chop off every unicorn horn he could get his giant hands on." Rarity gulped as she placed a reassuring hoof against her pristine horn. "Grand Galloping Gala; the Changelings returned, again, brainwashed a walking bomb and then took over Canterlot."

"Oh, pshaw. So much has happened since then, and I'm sure that with the addition of two Princesses, security will be at its peak. It's not like we're in one of those predictable paperback books you find at the market…" Rarity said dismissively as she continued her work.

-x-x-X-x-x-

"I'm still havn' a hard time wit' this…magic nonsense." Demoman bluntly stated with a half-shrug.

"THAT is why I am going to show you a way to get a hold of it that will make getting a D.U.I. on St. Pantheon's Day look difficult! Watch this: 'Hello, Ms. Pauling! I wasn't aware that being naked was regulation!' Quick, get your bottle out…"

Tavish opened his whiskey trap to argue why the BLU Soldier had been trying to take his title of delusional drunkard when a burn tissue-encased hand shut him up. And lo, amid the explosions, gunshots, and screams, Demoman heard the faint sound of sneaker-covered feet running at a ridiculous pace towards them.

"Hey-hey-HE-LLO Ms. P-" *SMASH* The BLU Scout crashed hard into the grave soil and skidded along for about a foot before coming a full stop, just shy of plummeting into the hellish pit in the back of the already cramped room.

"Aye, I brained that wee little miss. At what part does this elusive- *urrp* -magic show itse- bloody hell!"

As Tavish spoke, a sparkling book burst into existence before the two men, the more patriotic of the two indicating for the more inebriated of the two to pick it up. Hesitantly, Demoman reached down towards the hovering book that floated ever so gently atop the bloodied Scout's corpse. His dark finger barely skimmed one of its many pages when, suddenly, the book took an etherial form and merged with his magazine, and before his good eye the names of various incantations and runes flashed and danced about like a mythical slots machine before settling on the symbol of a bat.

"Well? Which one did you get from the corpse book?" Soldier said with a chipper voice as he nonchalantly kicked the ballplayer's body down into the pit with a swift kick.

"The same way Frank Gorshin can tell what Burt Lancaster is thinking at all times; he just knows. Besides, these spells are Canadian weak-sauce compared the raw, American firepower that some of them are packing!"

Before he could ask about these tomes of power, Pyro rounded the corner looking to replenish his propane tank. Upon seeing the BLU Soldier and expecting an explosive welcome, he instinctively fired his compression blast which caused Jane to slam into Tavish who both found themselves in each other's arms, screaming like school girls as they tumbled down after the dead Scout.

"Murr-oh…" Pyro said apologetically as he peered over the edge. Deciding that it would probably be in his best interest if he were to vacate before Demoman could return with a vengeance, he quickly filled his tank and jumped back into the fray.

-x-x-X-x-x-

"Stupid, fire-breathin' mutant," Tavish cursed as he floated through the Void. He counted down until the Respawn Room would reach out and bring him back into the world of the perpetually dying, much like Jane, and the Scout that had been brutally murdered in the name of magic before him. "When I git me hands on that mumblin' devil, ohhhh…it's gonna be sorry."

-x-x-X-x-x-

"I'm full of bombs and magic!" Tavish exclaimed as he was brought back to life, making the Sniper who was at the locker, and therefore with his back to him, jump high into the air and cling to a dangling light fixture for dear life. "Ye might want to switch ta' decaf there, mate."

"Don't you 'mate' me, mate! You almost gave me a bloody heart attack!" Sniper lowered himself down to the floor and picked up all of the things he had ditched like a bird in order to make himself lighter for his awkward flight. "Whataya' screamin' about anyway?"

"I found a spell crammed with so much magic it'll make those lassies out there soil themselves," Demoman said with a chuckle as he ran out to unleash his own personal brand of hell.

Unfortunately for him, his hell might get mixed in with all of the other hells that had been let loose since he had been hug-tackled to death. Firestorms, red and blue skeletons were chasing people around while a Monoculus laid waste to all that came into its field of view.

"It's the Witching Hour, boys! Get a move on!" The Engineer made a mad dash past Tavish and headed towards the massive clock tower that loomed out over the field, only now two white, etherial bridges had extended down to allow passage and everyone had completely foregone the twin dead men they were supposed to be pushing to hell for a chance to get one of the rare spells at the tower.

Unfortunately for some of the slower classes, the bridges didn't stay long and were soon spirited away, stranding those on the clock tower it didn't drop into the lava when they went. Demoman could care less, as the being that gave him his spell swore that it was the best that could be obtained. Hell, Tavish had taken worse advice from those closer to him than a random voice in the afterlife…like when his mother told him to go sweep the entirety of Mermasmus' castle for a nickel. Just thinking about it made his eyepatch itch.

Blutarch's correction was an understatement of the gravest sort: the Skeleton King was a horrible monstrosity,nothing more than a glowing green human frame of hatred and corruption that strove for the utter destruction of everything it saw with no remorse…but only within the confines of the Hightower mining facility and only at a certain point in the evening. Unfortunately, that's exactly where the poor bastards of RED and BLU found themselves.

Heavies tossed, Scouts crushed, Soldiers destroyed, no class was safe from his wrath! And soon his crown-covered eye sockets settled upon Tavish DeGroot. "Aw, cripe!" Demoman fired everything he had at the towering skeleton, but only managed to scatter some of the lesser ones that clawed and gnashed near his feet like a pack of wolves following their alpha. The sticky bombs and pipe bombs soon stopped coming as he was reduced to his broken scrumpy bottle that still had dried Scout blood splattered along side it. This could very well be his end, but suddenly, a thought broke through the alcoholic swap of his mind: the spell! Tavish closed his good eye as the name of the spell appeared before him…

A ghastly skull launched forward from his palm and erupted into a shower of purple sparks as it made contact with the Skeleton King who reeled back in turn. The energy that swirled from the explosion seeped into the ground which immediately began to quake and tremble. The earth gave way as the purple, spectral from of the Horseless Headless Horsemann arose in his usual fashion; holding his carved pumpkin head high atop his boney arm with his massive Headtaker in the other.

"HAHAHA! I ALWAYS KNEW YOU DEGROOTS WERE GOOD FOR SOMETHING." The HHH looked down, and through, his new ghostly form. "NO, THIS BODY WON'T DO AT ALL. I THINK I'LL TAKE YOURS!"

The next few moments happened far too fast for Demoman's liking (or for his single eye to follow); the Horsemann spun on his heel and used his momentum to violently separate the King's skull from his neck with the Headtaker, and in the same motion, removed his own pumpkin and jammed it down on the crown-less King's skeleton. His whole frame shook if though he were standing in a tub that a toaster had just been tossed in as a purple sheen began to glimmer over the now white bones. An invisible seamstress knitted a dark and worn cloth over the mid section, waist, and hands while the feet were wrapped in black leather. Little orange fibers began stitching together the physical pumpkin, everything down to the strange growth off to the left temple, as a small puddle of wax formed in the mouth that twisted and contorted into a candle which flickered to life and cast an eerie glow inside the hollow head. The Horseless Headless Horsemann, formerly Silas Mann, had returned.

The HHH looked down at his gloved hands and flexed his digits a few times before pulling the Headtaker out from the damp ground it had been imbedded in.

"JACKASSSS," the gnarled, glowing axe hissed with a carved half-face much like its master's.

"QUIET, CLEAVER. I WILL NOT HAVE MY TRIUMPHANT ESCAPE FROM THAT MANOR SULLIED BY YOUR- HMM?" The HHH looked down to see that two identical mine carts had bumped into either of his boney legs, being pushed by equally terrified RED and BLU mercenaries. "WHAT- WHAT IS THIS!? REDMOND? BLUTARCH…? MUWAHAHAHA!!! YOU FOOLS FINALLY PERISHED! I IMAGINE IT WAS DUE TO YOUR OWN CRIPPLING STUPIDITY, HMM?"

"ENOUGH! TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO HEAR OR I SHALL CAST YOU BOTH INTO THE PITS OF HELL MYSELF!"

"It was Gray Mann!" the dead twins' voices wailed from beyond the veil. Silas was stunned by what he heard (the horrified mercs who had been pushing either cart took this opportunity to head for the hills).

"GRAY MANN!?!? ZEPHENIAH HAD ANOTHER SON!?" Of course, it all made sense to him now. Ever since the night Bette Mann died giving birth to her sons, neither Ms. Meriweather nor Barnabus Hale said a word about what had transpired that evening, and Silas had difficulty enough just trying to get his brother to tell him what time dinner was. "FIGURES THAT HE WOULD NEGLECT TO MENTION THAT TO ME. I SUPPOSE I'LL HAVE TO INDUCT HIM INTO THE FAMILY CURSE ONCE I'M FINISHED YOU TWO ONCE AND FOR-"

The Horsemann looked directly above at the ramparts to the source of the noise that haunted Silas Mann, and lo and behold, he found it. There, with his red asbestos suit glistening in the harvest moon and pilot light hissing slightly louder than his muffled breathing, stood the bane of all Spies, projectiles, and horsemen bend on conquering magical kingdoms. "PYRO…"

At the call of his name, Pyro jumped down with his flamethrower, lighting up the night and parts of the Horsemann's pumpkin head as he did so. Silas remained unfazed and swung the Headtaker in a wide arc but missed claiming Pyro's masked head for his own by mere inches. Unfortunately for Pyro, in order to save his neck he had to sacrifice his landing and tumbled along the ground. Seizing the opportunity the HHH brought his mighty axe down executioner-style but only managed to reap the head of the tank on the flamethrower. Which promptly erupted into a raging fireball.

Now it was Pyro's chance to seize the moment, because as Lady Luck would see fit, the Horsemann had technically defeated the Skeleton King, therefore the rare spell book that he drops should be- there! Demoman watched as Pyro dove for a book much like the one he had seen pop out of the Scout's body only instead of green magic, it was coursing with a sparkly purple aura that made it seem more regal. As Pyro's dark glove stroked the edge of the book's cover, the Horsemann lunged forward.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT SORT OF STUPIDITY YOU'RE PLANNING BUT I ASSUME THAT IT'LL BECOME NULL WITHOUT A HEAD!"

Pyro turned to see just how blindingly fast Silas had closed the gap and braced himself for a beheading when something miraculous happened: the HHH tripped.

"…And I zink zat you'll find it quite impossible to do anyzing without your sight," said another voice from beyond. A sound that has been imbedded into each classes mind sizzled from behind the fallen HHH as he pulled himself up; the sound of a Spy de-cloaking. "Pyro, I zink now would be a splendid time use zat spell of yours," Spy said as clocked out of sight once again.

"MURMOMR MURRRMMURM!" Pyro bellowed as a purple, alchemic circle was etched high above the staggered Horsemann as similarly colored fireballs poured down on his skeletal form. Spy and Demoman shielded their eyes from the dark magic that rained down while Pyro looked on to make sure that the flames consumed every part of the monster's body.

To their dismay, the Horseless Headless Horsemann stood and pointed at the trio. "I SEE NOW…GRAY…WAS NEVER HERE. NO MATTER…I'LL JUST HAVE TO PAY MY NEPHEW A VIST…EQUESTRIA…" With a final, haunting sentence the HHH let out a howl before exploding into pieces.

The Horseless Headless Horseman has been defeated!

Press [K] to REMOVE.

Everyone, including Redmond and Blutarch, all cheered as the popup vanished and fighting resumed as normal…or at least as normal as it could with the addition of spells.

King Sombra's Robotic Retaliation [CANCELLED]

by Darrtaa

Chapter 3: It Was The Würst Of Times