“YOU ALL JUST MADE MY PERSONAL SHITLIST!” The human held a pony aloft in one hand, his cloak whipping behind him. The pony was breathing shallowly, with a nasty-looking injury to his neck. There was a splash of blood on the front of the human’s helmet. He tossed the defeated pony aside like an old wrapper, and in an instant, he was upon the next one. In a blur of glittering silver, the guard was sent flying across the cabin, crashing into a ghost and dematerialising it in a splash of ectoplasm.