A Pony Named Nopony

Her teeth ached from clenching against the knife's hilt. Dust coated her sweaty fur. Breathing steadily, she took one more quiet, cautious step.

She could see it now: the fifteenth grate. It looked just like any of the other vents, but the layout of this duct system had been drilled into her head since before she could speak. Every detail of that small opening called out to her. She could feel the song of those metal slats in her bones. It was the call of destiny.

Every moment of her life — from the very moment of her conception — had been in preparation for this. Even her name had been chosen specifically for this task: Nopony. For it had been foretold that no pony could slay King Sombra.

It was over two hundred years since Sombra had conquered Equestria, brutally repressing anypony who dared yearn after the old days of the Royal Sisters. But it would all come to an end. Tonight.

No pony could slay the King, and now, Nopony had come.

Nopony would be the fulfillment of the prophecy. She was the product of decades of preparation, come to set the ponies of the world free.

She took another cautious step, careful to not let the plating below her bow or creak... just as she had been trained.

Another step. She didn’t dare to breathe. Her legs trembled. Chocolate-colored hairs from her mane hung limply against her face, damp with sweat.

Finally, the unassuming vent was beneath her. She allowed herself a breath, making sure to keep it soft and soundless, and she wiped her clinging mane out of her eyes.

It might occur to a lesser pony to be terrified, but she was prepared. She had opened thousands of grates like this in her training. Her father had always punished her severely if she made the slightest sound doing it... before he was killed.

An expert tip of her nose lifted the grate up; a practiced touch of her hooves kept it from clanging back down.

She looked down.

The image below her had been burned into her mind since childhood. She had drawn crayon pictures of it as a foal. Sombra slept soundly, wrapped in black sheets. Not a single pony stood guard.

Soundlessly, Nopony attached her specially made harness to the edge of the duct with its purpose-made clips. She had never known them — had never known anypony other than her parents — but she had been told that three resistance members had been killed getting the specific design and layout of these vents.

Slowly, she descended into the dark room. The line played out from its holster exactly as it should, exactly as she had practiced a million times.

She touched down on the opulent bed as gently as a butterfly. The knife moved from her mouth to her hoof, seemingly of its own accord. And all of this was something Nopony could have done in her sleep. She had. Every night she dreamed of this bed and this knife... and that throat.

She slid the knife into position glacially slow. A single misguided vibration or noise could ruin everything.

Finally, the blade rested just above his tyrannical neck. The focal point of Nopony's life balanced on the knife's tip, poised to thrust into the one neck it had been made for.

Yet, she hesitated.

That wasn't part of the plan. Hesitation wasn't what she was born for. But she could see the sheets rising and falling in a steady rhythm. This wasn't the same as slashing a Sombra-shaped pillow. This was something new, something she'd never done before.

This was murder.

Some part of her, deep inside, some part she had never before felt said, 'How could you?' Her destiny called back, the only drive she knew: 'How could you not?'

The knife crept forward. Its glinting tip touched the King's throat.

His eyes opened. They glanced down at the knife before meeting Nopony's in a defiant glare. “Fool,” he said. “No pony can slay me.”

This wasn't according to plan.

Diversions from the plan had been allowed for, though. Nopony was well prepared to adapt and persevere. “I am Nopony. I can slay you.”

The King's eyes opened wide, but he didn't move. The knife pushed a slight dimple into his skin. “And yet you stay your hoof.” He had been looking at her the whole time, but now Sombra's eyes looked into her. “Every destiny comes with a choice, child. I will give you yours.”

“You're a monster! You killed my father in the Hoofington riot — with your own horn!”

“Hoofington riot?” Sombra's head tilted, away from the knife, of course. “Six... no, seven years ago. He had reddish fur, just like you, didn't he? But his mane was white, not brown.”

Her eyes opened wide. She might have dropped the knife if she wasn't so well-trained. “He... you!”

“You should know, I think, that his fellow resistance fighters set him up for it.” Sombra glanced back at the knife. “I never understood why... until now. They sacrificed him to give you a reason to hate me.”

“No! You're a monster!”

“I was, once. Being trapped — mostly dead — in the arctic ice for a thousand years will do that to a pony... but now? Now that I have recovered, now that my body and mind are again whole...” He shook his head very slightly. Any larger motion would have slit his throat. “I rule firm and strong, and I do not tolerate chaos, but I am also fair, and even merciful.”

Her parents had warned her of the unicorn King's words. “Lies!”

“What do you know of me, really? I will prove it by giving you a choice. And that's something you've never had before, isn't it?”

Nopony glared at him. “You have nothing to give me but your life!” Yet, her hoof did not move, and the knife did not make its deadly plunge.

“Your choice is this: You can stab me with that knife, I will scream, and the guards will come. By the end of the day, you will hang from the gallows for murder and treason...” Sombra's eyebrows rose. “Or, you can put the knife down. You will be forgiven and treated to a life of wealth and power.”

Eyes narrowing, Nopony pressed a little harder with the knife. A droplet of blood formed at its tip. “You would say anything to save your neck.”

“On my word and honor as King.” Sombra closed his eyes. “The choice is before you now, to choose your own destiny.”

The longest minutes of Nopony's life crawled before her, with no sound and no motion to mark the time. Her hoof began to ache. She was holding the knife too tightly.

It clattered onto the stone floor.

Sombra opened his eyes and gave her a toothy smile. “You have chosen well, child.”

⁂

Nopony held the knife in her hooves, as she often liked to do on the anniversary of her killing the King. Nine years ago, to the day, he had breathed his last with this knife lodged in his throat. It still showed slight brownish patches — she had never cleaned it.

Sombra had been a harsh and cruel master, but he was also fair and true to his word. It had taken her three years to develop the contacts and resources she needed in order to take control once he was dead. He never should have let her keep that knife, memento of their meeting or not.

“The insurrection in Manehattan has successfully been subdued, my Queen. Twenty-two of our soldiers were killed. Enemy casualties are estimated at three to four hundred. We captured forty-eight prisoners, and they are being subjected to full interrogation now.”

“Thank you, Feldspar.” Nopony grinned. She enjoyed having the beautiful crystal ponies as her personal staff slaves. It was a shame so few of them had survived Sombra's war. “That will be all for now. Please let me know when the tribute from the Griffon Kingdoms is here.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Feldspar backed away, bowing repeatedly.

The sound of crystal hooves against the stone floor of her throne room brought a smile to Nopony's face. She twirled the knife around on her hoof. It was beautiful, crafted for one purpose, destined for one specific neck... and it had performed admirably.

Destiny is an odd thing, sometimes.

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