3questriaby BaroqueNexusChaptersPrologue: Primary ContactChapter 1: Rude AwakeningChapter 2: Capital PunishmentChapter 3: The NecromaresPrologue: Primary ContactPrologue: Primary Contact Graydon National Park, Vermont November 14, 2002 0829 hours A boy crouched in the underbrush and fiddled with the straps on his vest. He was well-built, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, with light brown hair and pale green eyes. An older man joined him in the bushes, his father, a man of forty-something years with fading hair and wrinkled hands. They both wore bright orange vests and caps and carried rifles, but neither made any noise. The forest was quiet, unnaturally quiet. No birds chirped. No woodpeckers drilled. Even the wind made no sound as it caressed their faces and scattered the leaves from where they stood, again, soundlessly. The boy did not like quiet. He was not a patient teenager. Hardly any teenager ever is. His father caught sight of his son’s impatient scowl and nudged him softly, pointing in the direction of where their buck was supposed to be. The tracks had vanished long ago, but the father had knack for knowing where things would go. They’d been following the buck for hours, drawing deeper and deeper into the forest. However, the boy’s face did not change, so his father nudged him again. “What’s the matter, Danny?” he whispered. “It’s too quiet, Dad. You said we’d bag one today.” “We will, son. It just takes time. But you’re right, it is too quiet. Strange…” “How much longer are we gonna follow this deer?” “Until we can get a good shot at it, that’s how long.” The boy groaned. He liked hunting, but only the part where he got to pull the trigger. Not that he hated animals or loved killing things. He just enjoyed the thrill of having a target in his sights, its life in his hands. It made him feel powerful, to control when a creature could die and when it could not, without it ever being aware of his presence. Something rustled across the clearing from where they lay. The father put a finger to his lips and readied his rifle. The rustling continued. It was the only sound apart from the hunters’ breathing and heartbeats. Many seconds passed. Too many. Then the buck emerged from a grove of trees into the clearing, a huge six-pointer with an unusual stretch of white fur down its back. It stood stock still for several moments, observing its surroundings. The father smiled down at his son and nudged him. The boy grinned and readied his gun, resting the bottom of the barrel on a fallen log, lining up the deer’s flank in his scope. The crosshairs drifted toward the odd fur on the buck’s back. He steadied himself. Take the shot, Danny. Take the shot. His sweaty finger slowly pushed down on the trigger. BOOOOM! A thundering noise, much too loud to be a gunshot, echoed through the trees. Startled, the boy fired and missed the deer, which ran back into the forest and out of sight. Before he could curse his luck, the boy caught sight of a strange glowing orb in the middle of the clearing, dazzling white and devoid of features, like a bowling ball made out of diamond. He looked to his father in hopes of understanding, but he was just as confused as his son, with his mouth agape and his eyes wide as saucers. The boy turned back to the orb. Slowly, steadily, the sphere grew, and the light became blindingly bright, so much so that they had to duck down behind the bushes to shield their eyes from the painful whiteness. They heard another boom, then the crackling of electricity, and finally…voices. Voices and the acrid smell of smoke and burnt hair. Either somebody had gone and set a raccoon on fire or… “What the hell?” The father grasped his rifle tightly as he and his son peeked over the bushes. The orb was gone, replaced by three creatures that looked like dogs from another planet. They were short and had very unnatural looks about them, like they just didn’t fit in with the world around. The boy looked closer and saw that they were not dogs, but horses; three small horses, each with eyes wider than dinner plates and wings and horns. Wings and horns?! “Daddy,” the boy stammered, “what are those things?” “I don’t know, son. Stay low. They’re…they’re talking.” They were indeed. One of the horses, black-furred and red-maned, was impossibly addressing its companions, both red-furred and black-maned, with words. “Talking horses,” the father said, dumbfounded. “My God…” The boy hushed his father. He wanted to hear what these horse-things were saying. As he brushed away a bit of the undergrowth, the words became clearer. “…fools! Dunces! I told you thrice that we are not prepared for a full-scale usurpation of Earth! Celestia still reigns supreme, and even with Chrysalis on our side, we would not last one day in combat with these beings! They are violent by nature! They kill each other in droves!” “My Lord,” interrupted one of the red horses. “It was a mistake and nothing more. The tests…” “To Tartarus with the tests! We accomplish nothing by attacking too early. Our technology is far inferior to that of the humans! We must…” “But my Lord, the humans are incapable of magic!” The black horse looked furious, or about as furious as a horse could look. “Firstly, Blood Spatter, if you interrupt me again, I shall have you fed to the manticore! Secondly, magic alone will not aid us. Humans have iron dragons that drop death from the skies! They have cannons that rain fire on their enemies! And they hold them in their hands! The humans may be a violent, sadistic, brutish species, but they are superior in war technology! We must…” The boy and his father heard nothing more. They’d both seen enough alien movies to know where this was going. Not knowing what else to do, the father stood up and aimed his rifle. The boy looked confused and slightly anxious. “You’re not taking Earth, whatever you are!” his father shouted, looking down the scope of his gun as the horse aliens reacted. “Surrender!” He didn’t know what to expect, so he was surprised when the black horse thing slapped its own comrades. “You see, you fools?! We—wait, wait, wait. He holds a firestick. Perhaps…” “I said surrender!” “Dad, what are you doing?” the boy whispered, reaching for his gun. His father didn’t react, keeping his eyes on the aliens. Then the black horse chuckled. “Foolish human. You underestimate our power. Blood Spatter, Death Rattle, prepare the portal. I shall deal with this human.” “Yes, Lord Blade,” said its comrades simultaneously. They pointed their horns at each other, and soon sparks were flying from their foreheads, intertwining and forming a small orb like the one the boy had seen before. The black horse approached the father. “Your kind is only strong in numbers, human. One of you will not kill me. One thousand will kill us all. But this is the moment that changes. Surrender your weapon to me, and I shall let you live when this world becomes mine.” The father couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The black horse wanted him to drop the gun. He almost laughed. “You’re stupid for an alien. You don’t have anything to threaten me with!” “Oh, but you’re wrong,” the alien sneered. “You see those two? Their horns are producing magic, magic that can kill as well as heal. I can make every cell in your body explode, human, but I really don’t want to. I’d rather not waste my magic on a lowly human, at least for now. But your weapon…I desire it. Give it to me, and I shall spare you and whatever family you possess.” “I’ve heard enough,” the father said, taking aim again. “No one threatens my planet.” The black horse sighed. “As you wish.” Suddenly, inexplicably, the father screamed in pain. The boy caught a glimpse of a red aura around the alien’s horn, but was then distracted by his father’s cries of agony. The boy screamed as well, not sure of what to do, but the black horse just smiled. The father clawed at his own leg, retching and shrieking, and as his son watched in horror the flesh of his father’s leg began to rot. A necrotic virus spread up the man’s leg, turning it black and green with decay. Soon the rot had reached his neck, and by then his legs were nothing more than blackened bone, devoid of blood, muscle, or any other form of organic matter. The meat on his body was being melted clean off. “DAD!” the boy screamed, rolling around, trying to find something, anything, to help his father with. But he didn’t touch him. Something told him not to touch his father, and when he saw that the necrosis was spreading to the leaves around his father’s writhing body, he stumbled away, dropping his gun in a thicket of bushes. The black horse saw him and approached, its horn still glowing red. All the boy could hear of his father was the sounds of retching and choking. The smell of rotting meat filled the air, making the boy vomit on the forest floor. As he looked up, black hooves met his eyes, and suddenly he was face-to-face with the black horse alien, which had already picked up his father’s gun. “I do hope you don’t grow up to be as stupid as your father was,” the alien sneered. “Perhaps you will put up more of a fight.” With that, the glow around its horn vanished, and the choking noises stopped. The alien turned away and rejoined its comrades, who had apparently succeeded in creating the portal orb. The alien hadn’t seen the second gun. Everything else vanished from the boy’s mind at that point. He dared not look at what remained of his father’s body, nor did he let the smell of filth and decay overwhelm him. He crawled to the thicket where his gun lay, picked it up, and looked through the cracked lens of the scope. The first two horse aliens were already gone. The black one was last, surveying the woods around it before approaching the orb. The boy stood up, leaning against a tree trunk, and aimed. “HEY!” He didn’t know why he yelled. Maybe it was because he was angry, or because he wanted a better shot. The horse alien turned around, and a perfect opportunity presented itself in the boy’s crosshairs. BLAM! He never saw the bullet. He only saw a cloud of red and a dark hole that swallowed the horse alien’s right eye, but that was it. The alien fell backward, roaring, and the white orb gobbled it up, taking with it the chunks that had been blasted off its face. The orb spun and pulsed before disappearing in a flash of white light, nearly burning out the boy’s retinas. And then silence. Again. And that awful smell. He forced himself to look, and what he saw burned itself into his mind. His father was beyond dead. His charred skeleton lay in a pool of his own liquids, a clumpy, coagulated mixture of blood, muscle, marrow, and other fluids. His mouth was still open in an everlasting cry of fear. Flecks of orange netting still lay around his ribcage. He’d been melted dead. The boy collapsed to his knees, unable to process what was happening. He was in the middle of the Vermont forest with a melted father and a closer encounter. He didn’t know what to do. He turned around and, picking up his rifle, inspected the clearing where the aliens had stood. Nothing. No trace of anything except for the deer that had run off. He looked around in his pockets. All he had were a few matches, a pack of cards, some gum, and a couple of shell casings. There was no way he could contact anyone. He had no food or water. Rescue wouldn’t come for days. He was trapped. But if there was one thing that could be truthfully said about Daniel Rothman Jr., it was that even in the face of a dilemma as tragic as watching his father die before his eyes, he was still a resourceful son of a bitch. And he had an idea. Taking the matches, he looked for a dead tree and, finding one, lit a match and tossed it into the brush. Surprisingly, they caught fast and began to burn, slowly inching up the tree and spreading across the forest floor. He started crying. But eventually the fear of burning to death usurped his grief for his father. Pulling his shirt up over his nose, he tore the orange net vest to shreds and wrapped the pieces around his hands, then approached the drying bones of his father. Gulping and wiping vomit from his cheek, he grabbed the ribcage and began to drag the skeleton away from the growing fire, crying silently as he went. Chapter 1: Rude AwakeningChapter 1: Rude Awakening Ironhoof Fortress, Equestria-Bleakmire Border Year of Celestia 4017 Approx. 1700 hours “My Lord!” The crack of a whip silenced the red unicorn as a dozen armored ponies sat gathered around a huge oak-crafted table. At the head of the table stood Princess Celestia, her hair flowing even though no breeze blew through the castle. At her sides stood Twilight Sparkle, her newly appointed scribe pony, and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, her niece. A dozen royal guards surrounded the trio, eyeing the black-armored ponies warily. Princess Celestia looked astonished at the sight of the unicorn that had just galloped in, and turned her attention to the dark figure at the far end of the table. “Lord? You call yourself Lord now, Onyx Blade? Is that how you see yourself?” An amused chuckle escaped the dark figure, who leaned forward, revealing his face in the torchlight. “My dear Celestia, you know better than anypony of how knowledgeable I am in the field of equine hierarchy. You call yourself a princess, do you not? Then why should a faithful commandant of her majesty’s elite guard not be honored with such a title?” “Don’t play games with me, Blade,” the princess growled. “And don’t mistake me for a buffoon. I know you have been conducting portal experiments outside of Equestria. Do not assume that the hostilities between Equestria and Bleakmire do not deter us from monitoring unusual events that occur in that region.” “Unusual events?” the black pony said with honeyed innocence. “What unusual events? And portals? What sort of nonsense is this?” “We’ve seen it,” Princess Cadence piped up. “The lights, the quakes, the magical fluctuations. All these signs point to portal activity.” The pony called Onyx Blade, a black equine with a mane of bloodred hair, leaned back in his thronelike chair. “And what of it? Say that I was experimenting with portals, which is obviously my top priority, other than to keep the changelings off of the Equestrian border so as to not have another incident like the one at your wedding, Princess!” “Don’t you dare!” the younger princess yelled, and a few of Blade’s ponies reached for their swords. Celestia held her back as Onyx Blade snickered. “Oh, I see. Still angry about the unfortunate position of your husband?” “That’s not relevant to what we’re talking about,” Twilight Sparkle said, though she was shaking with barely-concealed anger. “I don’t recall anypony asking for your opinion on the matter, scribe.” “You will address my subjects with the same respect I address you with, Blade,” Celestia said angrily. “Respect?!” Onyx Blade stood up and stared at the trio, his single red eye full of rage, the other covered by a patch. “You come here unannounced, drawing attention from all sides, from the enemies beyond this border, and you preach to me about respect?! My dear Princess, you would earn my respect if you would tell me what you are doing here, compromising the security of all of Equestria!” Tense silence followed the outburst, until Celestia finally spoke again. “We came for Shining Armor.” Princess Cadence and Twilight stiffened, but Onyx Blade narrowed his eyes. “Spare me. Equestrian law dictates that…” “I know what the law says,” Celestia interrupted. “I was there when the Law of Equestria was written.” “Then you know, Princess, that any pony found guilty of war crimes is to be punished at the expense of his commandant, following a chain of appeals that can go to the Royal Court. But, as you have already found out many times, you are a conflict of interest. Your niece is Shining Armor’s wife! Your court scribe is his sister! He is being held under my custody until his trial can begin. Now why are you really here?” “We are here for Shining Armor. The Canterlot Council has signed an affidavit for his release.” “Release?!” Onyx Blade screamed, his eyes going wild. “You would release a criminal such as him into Equestria?! After what he did at Trottingham?!” “There was never any evidence to link Shining Armor to that wildfire!” Cadence pleaded. “On the contrary, Princess,” the commandant sneered. “There is plenty of evidence.” “Enough of this!” Celestia snapped, startling both Twilight Sparkle and Cadence. “Will you or will you not release Shining Armor from this fortress?” “I will not. Not until he is found guilty—or innocent—by a jury of his peers.” “Then you violate the proclamation of the Council.” “To Tartarus with the Council! And to Tartarus to you!” “HOW DARE YOU!” Twilight screamed, preparing to fire a bolt of magic at the alicorn, but a look from Princess Celestia stopped and calmed her. “You will not escape punishment for this foolish decision, Onyx Blade. The Council will see to your removal from the Equestrian Guard.” “Will they?” Onyx Blade said, smiling cruelly. “Well, there may be no Council by the time they can come to a decision.” The three ponies had turned around to leave, but at Blade’s words, Celestia turned around and gave him a look of utter loathing. But she said nothing as the three of them exited the grand hall of Ironhoof Fortress. Blade’s smile vanished from his face, and he motioned for the red unicorn that had interrupted earlier. “What is it?” “My Lord, the Necromares are ready and the portal spells have begun. What are your orders?” The smile returned. The Necromares were ready. His red eyes glittered. “Tell the Robes to oversee the portal enchantment. Nothing must go wrong. Prepare the Necromares for invasion. We begin the attack today. All soldiers are to be dressed and geared for battle. The volunteers will not be armored.” “And what of Princess Celestia and her escort, sir?” Onyx Blade pulled an onyx blade from a sheath at his flank, forming a hand out of magic to grasp the evil sword with. His eyes, red with bloodlust, were cold. "Oh, I have plans for the princess. Don't you worry." 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C. April 9, 2015 1340 hours Agent Michael Gallagher shifted uncomfortably in his starch-stiff suit, breathing slowly as his chest expanded outward, the cold butt of his gun pressing against his undershirt. He should have been paying attention to what President Sheldon was saying as he spoke to dozens of reporters on the White House lawn. Security had been doubled since Sheldon had decided he wanted to hold the conference outside. He was an outdoorsy man, born and raised in Montana, but outdoors wasn’t the best place to be when you’re the president of the United States. That’s where the Secret Service came in. But Secret Service Agent Michael Gallagher was distracted by a dark cloud over the Washington Monument. A lifelong sufferer of ADD, Gallagher had been lucky to have even gotten into the army, much less the Secret Service. He could handle any gun and any situation, but small things often distracted him. Like the cloud. It was blacker than night and it hovered over the monument, not moving even though a gentle breeze blew through the air. He didn’t think it was a rain cloud, but the way it just stood over the monument confused him, captivated him, distracted him from the duty at hand. The President continued to go on about job growth and the recent turmoil in Latin America, and Gallagher’s focus switched from the cloud to the crowd, scanning faces and searching for potential threats. A call came over his earpiece. “G-2, respond. Urgent.” An urgent call in the middle of a presidential conference? “How urgent?” the agent replied quietly. “G-2, this is Nexus, we have incoming reports of situations rising in New York and Los Angeles. Acknowledge.” A cold shiver ran down Gallagher’s spine. “Acknowledged. What sort of situations?” “G-2, this…uhm, hold on. We’re having communication troubles. Electronics are going haywire back at Nexus. Richmond and Philadelphia centers are also reporting signs of…” Then static, so loud that it made Gallagher cry out. This started a chain reaction that culminated in the arrival of a dozen agents who swarmed the President as a few others broke off to join the crowd. Gallagher tore off his earpiece and addressed a nearby agent. “What the hell’s going on? This doesn’t constitute a full extract!” “New York and LA have been hit by something, and we don’t know…” Thooom. It was a sound like an explosion underwater, muffled but still violent enough to shake the world around them. As Gallagher looked for the source of the sound, a wave of energy pulsated from the black cloud, which had grown larger. “Nexus, say again! Nexus, what is happening in New York? Damn it!” “Everybody disperse! Right now!” “Priority One is in custody. Ready for transportation.” Sheldon had been taken back to the White House, where Gallagher imagined he was ranting and raving at his agents. The reporters were confused, and some of them screamed at the sight of the agents’ weapons. Gallagher was about to pull out his own gun when something caught his eye. The black cloud was no longer a cloud, but now a throbbing, energy-ringed hole in the sky. As the agents watched in horror, the hole grew larger and larger, so big that the Empire State Building could fit through it without touching the sides. Then, suddenly, a cracking noise, followed by another, and before anybody knew what was happening, the Washington Monument broke into pieces and started to spin around as if it were caught in a hurricane, sending chunks of debris down the Mall and even as far as the Reflecting Pool. An incredibly loud bellow escaped the hole, rattling the ground and the agents, who were transfixed at the sight of the Washington Monument torn to shreds. The hole contracted, and the pieces of the monument smashed together, forming a strange sculpture of quivering marble. Then, before anybody could react, something exploded in the hole and slammed into the place where the monument once stood, blowing up the chunks of the monument and sending its remains in all directions. A plume of fire billowed from the site where the proud monument had once stood, spreading across the lawn and throwing oily smoke into the sky. A piece of monument slammed into the White House, and as Agent Gallagher ran for cover, another explosion ripped through the afternoon air, knocking him off his feet and shattering windows and trees all around. A black sedan smashed and rolled down Pennsylvania Avenue, on a collision course with the Secret Service agent. There was no avoiding it. He covered his head as a mass of black steel and glass crashed down on top of him, silencing everything. Times Square, New York City April 9, 2015 1410 hours It happened even faster in the Big Apple. So many would later recall how much it reminded them of 9/11, with all the smoke, all the noise, all the fear and the pain and the uncertainty of what the hell was going on… Such was it for Alex Andrews, a cab driver who likened himself to John Winger from Stripes: lazy, unmotivated, hateful of his customers, and always quick with a snide comment or razor-sharp comeback. However, when he saw a wall of black smoke bearing down on his cab, billowing from the spot where the Chrysler Building had once stood, he had no words, no quips. He gunned the engine, throwing the cab into reverse and hitting several fleeing citizens along the way. He didn’t even look. He just kept backing up, hightailing it out of Times Square, desperate to escape the black cloud… And then, out of the corner of his eye, a bolt of lightning smashed into the Empire State Building, and from the massive tower of steel came a black fireball. Not red. Not orange. Black. But it was fire, Alex knew that. Even from Times Square he could feel its heat. Moreover, the black cloud seemed to have stopped. But Alex hadn’t. Before he knew what had happened, he was sitting in his wreck of a cab, parked very awkwardly on a subway station staircase. He heard screams, roars, and shots. Somebody was shooting. He stumbled from his wreck, tasting blood, and pushed through the smoke and haze, trying to find his way to the surface. Outside Ironhoof Fortress Year of Celestia 4107 Approx. 1900 hours The trio of ponies walked away from the fortress feeling as though they should have done more, Twilight especially. Her brother had been locked up in Ironhoof Fortress for months, and she hadn't seen him since. It was even harder for Cadence, not hearing from her husband in so long. Even the company of Princess Celestia didn't cheer them up. Onyx Blade's guards eyed them hungrily as they climbed into the royal carriage. "What will we do now?" Cadence sobbed. "My Shining Armor..." "Nopony can just take another pony and hold him prisoner! Even we don't have prisoners!" "That is because we don't have criminals, my faithful student," Celestia replied. The purple unicorn frowned. "But then, what do we do?" The princess looked out into the red evening sky, a grim look on her face. "I don't know, Twilight. I don't know." Ironhoof Fortress “My Lord, the princess's convoy has left.” “Good. And the portal?" "It has opened in many locations, my Lord. Strategic points that will weaken the humans." "And what of our...volunteers?" "They are ready. More than ten thousand strong." "Ten thousand will not be enough to crush the humans. What of the Necromares?" "They are ready as well, my Lord. They yearn for flesh. "Good. Their hunger will soon be satisfied. Unleash the ponies and the Necromares. Inform the Robes that they shall give no quarter. Let Earth taste the might of Onyx Blade.” “Yes, my Lord.” Chapter 2: Capital PunishmentChapter 2: Capital Punishment Washington, D.C. Day 1 of the Invasion Agent Gallagher had been in the Persian Gulf. He’d served in Afghanistan. Very little could stop him. But a thousand-pound hunk of wrecked car had pinned him to the street as sounds of chaos and confusion rang outside. Shaking off his unconsciousness, he tried desperately to claw his way out of the wreckage. He heard automatic weapons fire. They were under attack. Muffled screams and boots on the ground. Something big was going down. Then, all of a sudden, the car was gone, blasted off by some unknown force, and Gallagher didn’t waste a second. He was on his feet within moments with his Sig Sauer drawn, trying to contact someone, anyone, via the radio. And then he saw the flying horses. Millions of them, maybe billions, emerged from the dark energy hole that hovered above the rubble of the Washington Monument. From afar, they looked like a large swarm of locusts. But as they neared, Gallagher could make out a horn, a pair of wings, and a set of hate-filled eyes in every horse that neared him. Then the world exploded. BOOM! The Secret Service agent tumbled backward as a tongue of fire leapt from an overturned Jeep in front of him. Recovering quickly, he took aim and fired. Each shot met its mark, felling one flying beast after another, scattering their bodies across the street. Taking a moment to reload his weapon, Gallagher observed the things he had just shot. They were horses, or aliens. A combination of the two. Gallagher barely had time to observe the bodies before three more aliens attacked him, shooting at them from their horns and from guns on their backs. The horses had guns. “This is G-2! Does anyone copy?! Over!” Nothing but static. Gallagher dropped the radio and fired until his clip ran dry. And even then, more of the alien ponies came after him. He wasn’t the only one shooting. As he ran for his life down Penn Avenue, he heard distinct Beretta and MP5K fire. The agent ran and ran until the ponies decided to target someone else. Only then did he stop running, stopping in the middle of the street in front of the White House lawn to catch his breath. He didn’t see the minivan careening toward him. WHAM! Metal met flesh, and Gallagher flew down the street and skidded along the asphalt, burning through the fabric of his suit. The pain was unbearable, but he didn’t appear to be badly injured. The minivan never stopped as it sped across sidewalks and grass trying to evade the hellfire from the sky. He got up gingerly, double checking that his bones hadn’t been broken, and then made his way to the Mall, where most of the gunfire was coming from. It was a grisly sight. Civilians, police, and Secret Service alike were all getting mowed down by the gun-wielding winged unicorns. But then Gallagher saw that at the base of where the Washington Monument once stood, wingless unicorns were charging out of the white light that had engulfed the monument. Gallagher dipped and ducked to avoid the beams of deadly light that the ponies let loose, finally taking cover behind a piece of the monument, alongside a police officer, a woman, and a sanitation worker. “Sir!” the woman yelled over the gunfire. “Sir, what’s going on?!” “Ma’am, all of you, stay down and don’t leave this spot until it’s safe! You, officer! Where is the rest of the President’s security detail located?” The officer reloaded his gun. “I couldn’t tell you, man. They all scattered when the shooting started. What are those things?” “I couldn’t tell you, man,” Gallagher replied, unknowingly mocking the officer. “You keep these people safe, alright? I’m with the Secret Service and I need to find the President. But you keep these people safe!” “Uh…yeah. Okay!” Unimpressed with the officer’s lack of confidence, Gallagher broke cover and ran for the Capitol. As he ran he passed Servicemen, police, and fleeing civilians, all screaming their heads off. The sky overhead was black with ponies, and he could see and smell smoke everywhere. At that moment, a blue unicorn took aim and fired. BOOM! The magic bolt went between Gallagher’s legs and hit the ground a mere inch in front of him, and the fireball engulfed him. He never had a chance to cry out, to see his murderer. He simply vanished in a vortex of flame. Canterlot Castle YOC 4017 Approx. 1950 hours Celestia could not believe what she was seeing. Even from her balcony overlooking Canterlot, the glow of the portal storm from Bleakmire was almost unbearable to look upon. Twilight Sparkle gasped at her side. They had been right all along. “Blade,” Celestia growled. “How could we have been so foolish to let him free of our grasp so easily?” “Princess…” “Twilight,” she said, turning to her pupil. “You realize what this means, don’t you? Blade has made for another world! But which one?” “There is only one other world I can think of, sister,” said a new voice from behind them. Princess Luna trotted up alongside them, shielding her eyes from the bright light of the faraway portal. “Luna! You don’t mean…?” “Earth. The land of the humans.” Twilight’s face twisted in confusion. “What’s a human?” “A human is a creature with no hooves or tails. They walk on two legs and have arms and hands. They exist in a world parallel to ours, Twilight. But what could Blade want with the humans?” “Power, perhaps?” Twilight answered. “The thought of conquering another species can drive anypony mad with the desire for power.” “Onyx Blade seeks to gain new power,” Luna uttered. “That cannot be done.” “Yes. With more power he may very well—” BAM! “DEATH TO THE PRINCESS!!” “What on…?” But Celestia said nothing else as a bug-eyed unicorn charged headfirst toward her. “Princess, watch out!” “Sister!” Celestia just barely managed to sidestep the crazed unicorn, but did not escape entirely unscathed. The unicorn’s horn sliced her flank, leaving behind a thin red line on her cutie mark. The unicorn slammed into the wall and tried to get up, but a dozen royal guards tackled him and held him down, and soon the room was a circus of chaotic ponies. “Princess Celestia! Are you alright?!” “I’m fine, Twilight dear. I am fine. But who is this pony? How did he get past the guards.” “Forgive us, Your Majesty,” one of the guards said, bowing. “Guard morale has not been well since Shining Armor was incarcerated. I’m afraid this intruder broke through our weak point in the line.” “Weak point in the line?” “The guard shift, Princess. We are fewer and fewer every day.” “But who is he?” “A rebel!” the unicorn suddenly shouted as he was pulled to his hooves and cuffed. “A do-gooder for all of Equestria! I am the hoof that holds the rag that will clean up this mess of a land!” “You will spend your days in the dungeon until trial,” Celestia said angrily. “Take him away.” The unicorn never took his eyes off the princess as the guards hauled him away. Luna went to comfort her sister. “Are you alright, Celestia?” “I am fine, sister. He nicked me. Nothing more.” “But you are bleeding!” “I am fine!” Celestia snapped, and Luna withdrew. Twilight walked up to her princess. “What happens now, Princess? I doubt you can just let what happened go. We need to figure out who this assassin is.” “I know who he is.” Suddenly Celestia’s eyes widened, and she went back to the balcony, gazing at the bright portal storm. “And I know what Onyx Blade wants. It all makes sense now. An eye for an eye, a hoof for a hoof.” “What is it, Princess?” “What does Blade want, sister?” Celestia turned to them. Her eyes were grave. “Chrysalis. He wants Chrysalis.” Times Square, New York City Day 1 of the Invasion 1400 hrs. Alex Andrews picked his way through the rubble of the collapsed subway entrance and reached the smoky surface of Times Square, only to find that the square was aflame. Fire leapt from every building, and he heard the distinct sound of gunfire and screams coming from all directions. As he coughed, a man burst through the glass window of a Burger King and hit the asphalt, sliding onto the street and leaving a bloody trail behind him. He didn’t move. Alex ducked out of sight. Cars were burning. Buses were blown in half. People were running for their lives from… From what? WHABOOM! An abandoned ambulance exploded thirty feet from the hot dog stand that Alex was hiding behind, and through the smoke he could make out a light haze that seemed to lead back to somewhere high above him. Tracing the haze, he finally saw what the people were running from. Ponies. Millions of them. Some dark as night, others brighter than day. All of them looked pissed. And they were all converging on the square. A bolt of light zipped past Alex’s head, and he saw that a pony had just climbed out of the broken Burger King window, his eyes red with hate. It was clear that these were no regular ponies, and definitely not the kind Alex had seen in Western films. These things were like little cartoonish killing machines, intent on massacring the fleeing refugees in Times Square. Alex ran for his life down the street, avoiding blasts and tongues of fire until finally he saw an open door and made a beeline for it. At last he was indoors, away from the fire, and he shut the door and barred it with a broken lamp. He was in a lobby that looked as though it had just survived an earthquake. Debris was scattered everywhere, and in the midst of the rubble, Alex caught sight of a flickering TV on a desk. Ignoring the booming noises coming from outside, he made his way toward the television and slapped it, trying to get the fuzziness out of the picture. Moving scraps of metal and Sheetrock away from the set, Alex let loose a breath of success as the screen cleared up, showing a female reporter at her desk, her face grim. “If you’re just joining us, it seems that the United States is under attack by an unknown enemy. Reports are coming in from all over the country of creatures destroying cities and killing civilians. Details are limited at this point, as we have lost contact with our head reporter in Manhattan. Wait, stand by…we seem to be having a probl—” And then the screen went back to fuzz and snow. The transmission had been cut. Alex had his suspicions as to why. The news channel he’d been watching was NBC. He changed the channel only to find more static, until he got to FOX News, where the screen showed Manhattan in flames. The story was the same. The country was under attack. By ponies. Chapter 3: The NecromaresChapter 3: The Necromares From CNN “This is a CNN Breaking News Report. Good morning, I’m Linda Stark, and we have breaking news out of, well, out of many places around the country of an apparent alien invasion of our world. Unconfirmed reports are coming in around the globe of unidentified creatures attacking major cities. As of now, Los Angeles, New York, Baltimore, Atlanta, Richmond, Philadelphia, and St. Louis are all apparently under attack by what one witness describes as ‘alien horses.’ Folks, looking out the window right now I can tell you that Manhattan is in flames and we may have to move soon in order to avoid the crossfire. No report of any casualties, but with the extent of the damage that I can see right now, folks, I would not be— “Oh my goodness…if you’re just tuning in, that is the Empire State Building and it—my God, it is going down. The whole thing is coming down. We also have unconfirmed reports that One World Trade Center is on fire and that…yes, that military forward operating bases are being set up at the Statue of Liberty and in the sheltered areas of Central Park, but again, we are dealing with pure speculation at this point. “At this time, we are going to move to a new location. We are no longer safe. Stick with us, though, we will return once we have found a better spot…” From BBC “This is Paul Collins, and it is sixteen past the hour. We are continuing live coverage of the apparent alien attack on the Earth, and as you can see from this live feed these things, whatever they are, are tearing London apart. Fire is coming out of Big Ben’s faces, and it looks as if Parliament has been blown out. Are these things…Jim, do you think these things are attacking our government buildings or are they just attacking at random? I think that…my God, they’re coming for the studio. I think we have to lea—” From the Pentagon’s emergency alert system PREPARE ALL FORCES. WE ARE AT WAR. United States Army Forward Operating Base, Designate ‘Golf Bravo’ Empire-Fulton Ferry, Upper Brooklyn, NY Day 2 of the Invasion 0040 hrs. Overhead, the streaks and smoke trails of rockets drew an ashen lattice of crisscrossing lines in the sky. The roars and drones of F-22s and Blackhawks drowned out the groans of injured soldiers and buildings. Combat boots crunched broken asphalt, spent ammunition, and other bits of debris, and Marines found themselves ducking behind burnt taxicabs and in underground subway entrances just to avoid the deadly bolts and horns of their equine enemies. A few miles away, the radio operator of F.O.B. Golf Bravo wiped the sweat from his brow. His name was Jensen, and his ears were ringing, not from explosions or gunfire but from the endless barrage of static-laced voices coming through his headphones. The fuzzy computer screen didn’t help his eyesight either, but then again, this was barely an FOB. A pocket of Marines had managed to set up tech in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, and spray from the East River wasn’t helping anything. For Jensen, it was hard to process any thoughts with so much noise flooding his ears, adding to the low booms and cracks from the battlefield. “Be advised, multiple hostiles on Fifth Avenue, Raptors have taken aim.” “…coordinates…” “Choppers going down over Times.” “What the hell are those things?!” “We have reports of friendlies and civvies stranded on the roof of the Flatiron Building, acknowledge.” “Be advised, SATCOM is picking up a large group of hostiles converging on civvies in Central Park.” Such was the confusion, the frantic scramble for control of the situation. But Jensen didn’t feel in control, not when New York was being destroyed by flying horses. “Jensen!” A lieutenant approached the radio operator. “Yes sir?” “Do you have any contact with groups on Broadway?” “Negative, Wolfpacks Four and Nine have gone quiet.” “What about the other packs?” “All accounted for, sir.” “Did we pull out our boys from Fifth?” “Yes, sir, but word from Wolfpack Two is that those pony things have taken almost all of central Manhattan.” Suddenly a new, much more frantic report came in. “This is Wolfpack Two! Visual on enemies at Trinity Church! Repeat, Trinity Church! Wolfpack Three has gone dark and we’ve got men pinned down at the Stock Exchange!” “Wolfpack Two, confirm enemies in South Manhattan.” “Confirmed, base! Those things aren’t letting up! And…holy shit—what the hell is that?! What are those things?” Jensen tried to blink sweat out of his eye. “Wolfpack Two, what do you see?” “There are new hostiles! Repeat, new hostiles! I—my God, they’re everywhere! They’re not like the pony things! They’re…” Static. “Wolfpack Two, repeat! Wolfpack Two, come in!” The lieutenant hung his head and punched the desk on which Jensen’s Powerbook lay upon. “Damn it!” he shouted. “We’re losing Manhattan to a bunch of flying ponies!” “What if they’re not ponies, sir?” Jensen said suddenly. “What if they’re aliens?” “Shut up and give the following order, Private! All units in the Financial District, retreat to Battery Park. Units in Midtown, Gramercy Park, and Chelsea will pull back to the rivers, which ever is closer. What kind of air power do we have, Private?” Jensen checked the radar. “Raptors and Hawks are going down fast, sir, but we’ve got an A10 detachment coming in from Vermont, ETA 1 hour.” “Alright, we have to get those planes over the city to wipe those bastards out. Send orders to—” BOOOM! The explosion came from outside, and it was so loud that it shook the tent in which Jensen and the lieutenant were situated. The two men ran outside. It had begun to rain, but it didn’t impede their vision, and as they traced the screams and pointing fingers of the men around them, they saw where the explosion had come from. The Brooklyn Bridge was collapsing. Cars, tanks, and bodies tumbled from the falling bridge as a dozen winged ponies flew away from the carnage. Jensen watched as dozens of Marines and other military men plunged to their deaths. “Jesus,” the lieutenant managed. The rain picked up, coming to earth in torrents, but it would not put out the fires that decimated New York. The lieutenant turned to Jensen. “Where’s Wolfpack One?” Jensen shivered, and not because of the rain. “Wolfpack One, sir?” “Yes, damn it! These fuckers just took out the damn Brooklyn Bridge! We need heavy firepower and we need it now! Where are they?!” Jensen ran back to his computer inside his tent with the lieutenant hot on his heels. “Wolfpack One is awaiting deployment, sir. They got held up at Tilden. Sir, they’re on a no-go.” “What?!” The lieutenant gazed over Jensen’s shoulder. “Why the hell are they on no-go?! This is a national emergency!” “They’ve been temporarily decommissioned.” “Well recommission them, goddamn it!” “Sir, I don’t have the autho—” The lieutenant slammed his fist on the table. “Manhattan is fucking burning, Corporal! Dispatch Wolfpack One and any other units available! I want you to—” Suddenly the cry of “Watch out!” pierced through the battle-laden air, and fire instantly leapt up in front of the tent, as if something had just spewed a giant fireball and launched it at the F.O.B. Jensen fell to the ground, his back scorched, but the lieutenant got the full blast of the fireball. He screamed in pain, and when the heat subsided, the screaming stopped and Jensen hopped up, threw off his burnt jacket, and attended to his superior. “Sir? Sir, are you okay?” But he was not okay, not in the slightest. Half of his face had been burnt off, exposing scorched muscle and bone. He was dead. RRROOOAAUUGHHH! The roar came from outside and above. It was so powerful that it knocked the tent over, burying Jensen in cloth. Struggling, he cut through the fabric with his teeth and fingertips and, on instinct, relieved the dead lieutenant of his Beretta. Men were screaming and pointing, and the whole base was in flames. When Jensen finally looked in the direction that his comrades were pointing in, his blood ran cold. A dragon, black with bloodred eyes, stood atop the ruins of the burning Brooklyn Bridge. It was the size of a jumbo jet and had something around its neck that looked as deadly as its wearer. The dragon roared again, nearly shattering Jensen’s eardrums, and behind him the fires were battling the rain, and winning. Jensen, perhaps more out of shock than desperation, aimed at the dragon and fired three times. All three shots fell far short of their mark, and suddenly the dragon began to shed black clumps from its back, fuzzy and evanescent as if they were made of shadow. But they weren’t shadows. As they approached the remains of the base, Jensen realized they were aliens, and took aim again. The dragon took off, spewing another fireball that slammed into the faraway MetLife building, ravaging its floors with flame. In mere moments, the shadowy aliens were upon them, flying past and cutting soldiers down like locusts with sharpened wings of steel. Jensen fired until he had no ammunition left, then ran as the scythelike wings of the shadowy aliens cut deep into his skin. It was over in minutes, and every soldier at F.O.B. Golf Bravo lay dead or dying. Then the bombing run began, a series of purple explosions that incinerated some soldiers and maimed the rest, destroying what remained of the southern portion of the Brooklyn Bridge. Overhead, the dragon spewed fire into the sky that sent a whole squadron of F-22s plummeting to their fiery doom. All that remained of the A10 attachment from Vermont lay sinking in the East River. Gunfire, artillery, and lightning bolts streaked across the sky, forming a lattice of fire and smoke. The skies above New York were aflame, and the city was slowly burning to the ground. After the bombing subsided, Jensen looked up and saw that his foot had been blown off from the explosions. A bloody stump lay where his left boot had once been, but he was too shocked to feel any pain. Cuts and gashes, some as deep as two itches, were etched across his body and face, and he lay on the ground, dying. As his vision blurred, as the only colors he could see became the black of night and the orange of the fires that burned around him, a blackish-gray shape appeared from the flames. He aimed and pulled the trigger, but he was out of bullets. The shape became clearer: it was a craggily-horned equine with gray skin, black mane, and red snakelike eyes. It was winged and horned, and its wings were like black tempered steel, hell-bent on cutting down anything in their path. It looked rotten, but its eyes were alive and full of boiling hatred. It spared little time between seeing the downed soldier and coming over to him. “What…” Jensen gasped as his life faded. “What…what are…” His hand slackened on the gun, and he closed his eyes. He was dead. The equine smiled. “Puny human. We are the Necromares, and your world is from hereon forfeit.”
Prologue: Primary ContactPrologue: Primary Contact Graydon National Park, Vermont November 14, 2002 0829 hours A boy crouched in the underbrush and fiddled with the straps on his vest. He was well-built, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, with light brown hair and pale green eyes. An older man joined him in the bushes, his father, a man of forty-something years with fading hair and wrinkled hands. They both wore bright orange vests and caps and carried rifles, but neither made any noise. The forest was quiet, unnaturally quiet. No birds chirped. No woodpeckers drilled. Even the wind made no sound as it caressed their faces and scattered the leaves from where they stood, again, soundlessly. The boy did not like quiet. He was not a patient teenager. Hardly any teenager ever is. His father caught sight of his son’s impatient scowl and nudged him softly, pointing in the direction of where their buck was supposed to be. The tracks had vanished long ago, but the father had knack for knowing where things would go. They’d been following the buck for hours, drawing deeper and deeper into the forest. However, the boy’s face did not change, so his father nudged him again. “What’s the matter, Danny?” he whispered. “It’s too quiet, Dad. You said we’d bag one today.” “We will, son. It just takes time. But you’re right, it is too quiet. Strange…” “How much longer are we gonna follow this deer?” “Until we can get a good shot at it, that’s how long.” The boy groaned. He liked hunting, but only the part where he got to pull the trigger. Not that he hated animals or loved killing things. He just enjoyed the thrill of having a target in his sights, its life in his hands. It made him feel powerful, to control when a creature could die and when it could not, without it ever being aware of his presence. Something rustled across the clearing from where they lay. The father put a finger to his lips and readied his rifle. The rustling continued. It was the only sound apart from the hunters’ breathing and heartbeats. Many seconds passed. Too many. Then the buck emerged from a grove of trees into the clearing, a huge six-pointer with an unusual stretch of white fur down its back. It stood stock still for several moments, observing its surroundings. The father smiled down at his son and nudged him. The boy grinned and readied his gun, resting the bottom of the barrel on a fallen log, lining up the deer’s flank in his scope. The crosshairs drifted toward the odd fur on the buck’s back. He steadied himself. Take the shot, Danny. Take the shot. His sweaty finger slowly pushed down on the trigger. BOOOOM! A thundering noise, much too loud to be a gunshot, echoed through the trees. Startled, the boy fired and missed the deer, which ran back into the forest and out of sight. Before he could curse his luck, the boy caught sight of a strange glowing orb in the middle of the clearing, dazzling white and devoid of features, like a bowling ball made out of diamond. He looked to his father in hopes of understanding, but he was just as confused as his son, with his mouth agape and his eyes wide as saucers. The boy turned back to the orb. Slowly, steadily, the sphere grew, and the light became blindingly bright, so much so that they had to duck down behind the bushes to shield their eyes from the painful whiteness. They heard another boom, then the crackling of electricity, and finally…voices. Voices and the acrid smell of smoke and burnt hair. Either somebody had gone and set a raccoon on fire or… “What the hell?” The father grasped his rifle tightly as he and his son peeked over the bushes. The orb was gone, replaced by three creatures that looked like dogs from another planet. They were short and had very unnatural looks about them, like they just didn’t fit in with the world around. The boy looked closer and saw that they were not dogs, but horses; three small horses, each with eyes wider than dinner plates and wings and horns. Wings and horns?! “Daddy,” the boy stammered, “what are those things?” “I don’t know, son. Stay low. They’re…they’re talking.” They were indeed. One of the horses, black-furred and red-maned, was impossibly addressing its companions, both red-furred and black-maned, with words. “Talking horses,” the father said, dumbfounded. “My God…” The boy hushed his father. He wanted to hear what these horse-things were saying. As he brushed away a bit of the undergrowth, the words became clearer. “…fools! Dunces! I told you thrice that we are not prepared for a full-scale usurpation of Earth! Celestia still reigns supreme, and even with Chrysalis on our side, we would not last one day in combat with these beings! They are violent by nature! They kill each other in droves!” “My Lord,” interrupted one of the red horses. “It was a mistake and nothing more. The tests…” “To Tartarus with the tests! We accomplish nothing by attacking too early. Our technology is far inferior to that of the humans! We must…” “But my Lord, the humans are incapable of magic!” The black horse looked furious, or about as furious as a horse could look. “Firstly, Blood Spatter, if you interrupt me again, I shall have you fed to the manticore! Secondly, magic alone will not aid us. Humans have iron dragons that drop death from the skies! They have cannons that rain fire on their enemies! And they hold them in their hands! The humans may be a violent, sadistic, brutish species, but they are superior in war technology! We must…” The boy and his father heard nothing more. They’d both seen enough alien movies to know where this was going. Not knowing what else to do, the father stood up and aimed his rifle. The boy looked confused and slightly anxious. “You’re not taking Earth, whatever you are!” his father shouted, looking down the scope of his gun as the horse aliens reacted. “Surrender!” He didn’t know what to expect, so he was surprised when the black horse thing slapped its own comrades. “You see, you fools?! We—wait, wait, wait. He holds a firestick. Perhaps…” “I said surrender!” “Dad, what are you doing?” the boy whispered, reaching for his gun. His father didn’t react, keeping his eyes on the aliens. Then the black horse chuckled. “Foolish human. You underestimate our power. Blood Spatter, Death Rattle, prepare the portal. I shall deal with this human.” “Yes, Lord Blade,” said its comrades simultaneously. They pointed their horns at each other, and soon sparks were flying from their foreheads, intertwining and forming a small orb like the one the boy had seen before. The black horse approached the father. “Your kind is only strong in numbers, human. One of you will not kill me. One thousand will kill us all. But this is the moment that changes. Surrender your weapon to me, and I shall let you live when this world becomes mine.” The father couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The black horse wanted him to drop the gun. He almost laughed. “You’re stupid for an alien. You don’t have anything to threaten me with!” “Oh, but you’re wrong,” the alien sneered. “You see those two? Their horns are producing magic, magic that can kill as well as heal. I can make every cell in your body explode, human, but I really don’t want to. I’d rather not waste my magic on a lowly human, at least for now. But your weapon…I desire it. Give it to me, and I shall spare you and whatever family you possess.” “I’ve heard enough,” the father said, taking aim again. “No one threatens my planet.” The black horse sighed. “As you wish.” Suddenly, inexplicably, the father screamed in pain. The boy caught a glimpse of a red aura around the alien’s horn, but was then distracted by his father’s cries of agony. The boy screamed as well, not sure of what to do, but the black horse just smiled. The father clawed at his own leg, retching and shrieking, and as his son watched in horror the flesh of his father’s leg began to rot. A necrotic virus spread up the man’s leg, turning it black and green with decay. Soon the rot had reached his neck, and by then his legs were nothing more than blackened bone, devoid of blood, muscle, or any other form of organic matter. The meat on his body was being melted clean off. “DAD!” the boy screamed, rolling around, trying to find something, anything, to help his father with. But he didn’t touch him. Something told him not to touch his father, and when he saw that the necrosis was spreading to the leaves around his father’s writhing body, he stumbled away, dropping his gun in a thicket of bushes. The black horse saw him and approached, its horn still glowing red. All the boy could hear of his father was the sounds of retching and choking. The smell of rotting meat filled the air, making the boy vomit on the forest floor. As he looked up, black hooves met his eyes, and suddenly he was face-to-face with the black horse alien, which had already picked up his father’s gun. “I do hope you don’t grow up to be as stupid as your father was,” the alien sneered. “Perhaps you will put up more of a fight.” With that, the glow around its horn vanished, and the choking noises stopped. The alien turned away and rejoined its comrades, who had apparently succeeded in creating the portal orb. The alien hadn’t seen the second gun. Everything else vanished from the boy’s mind at that point. He dared not look at what remained of his father’s body, nor did he let the smell of filth and decay overwhelm him. He crawled to the thicket where his gun lay, picked it up, and looked through the cracked lens of the scope. The first two horse aliens were already gone. The black one was last, surveying the woods around it before approaching the orb. The boy stood up, leaning against a tree trunk, and aimed. “HEY!” He didn’t know why he yelled. Maybe it was because he was angry, or because he wanted a better shot. The horse alien turned around, and a perfect opportunity presented itself in the boy’s crosshairs. BLAM! He never saw the bullet. He only saw a cloud of red and a dark hole that swallowed the horse alien’s right eye, but that was it. The alien fell backward, roaring, and the white orb gobbled it up, taking with it the chunks that had been blasted off its face. The orb spun and pulsed before disappearing in a flash of white light, nearly burning out the boy’s retinas. And then silence. Again. And that awful smell. He forced himself to look, and what he saw burned itself into his mind. His father was beyond dead. His charred skeleton lay in a pool of his own liquids, a clumpy, coagulated mixture of blood, muscle, marrow, and other fluids. His mouth was still open in an everlasting cry of fear. Flecks of orange netting still lay around his ribcage. He’d been melted dead. The boy collapsed to his knees, unable to process what was happening. He was in the middle of the Vermont forest with a melted father and a closer encounter. He didn’t know what to do. He turned around and, picking up his rifle, inspected the clearing where the aliens had stood. Nothing. No trace of anything except for the deer that had run off. He looked around in his pockets. All he had were a few matches, a pack of cards, some gum, and a couple of shell casings. There was no way he could contact anyone. He had no food or water. Rescue wouldn’t come for days. He was trapped. But if there was one thing that could be truthfully said about Daniel Rothman Jr., it was that even in the face of a dilemma as tragic as watching his father die before his eyes, he was still a resourceful son of a bitch. And he had an idea. Taking the matches, he looked for a dead tree and, finding one, lit a match and tossed it into the brush. Surprisingly, they caught fast and began to burn, slowly inching up the tree and spreading across the forest floor. He started crying. But eventually the fear of burning to death usurped his grief for his father. Pulling his shirt up over his nose, he tore the orange net vest to shreds and wrapped the pieces around his hands, then approached the drying bones of his father. Gulping and wiping vomit from his cheek, he grabbed the ribcage and began to drag the skeleton away from the growing fire, crying silently as he went.
Chapter 1: Rude AwakeningChapter 1: Rude Awakening Ironhoof Fortress, Equestria-Bleakmire Border Year of Celestia 4017 Approx. 1700 hours “My Lord!” The crack of a whip silenced the red unicorn as a dozen armored ponies sat gathered around a huge oak-crafted table. At the head of the table stood Princess Celestia, her hair flowing even though no breeze blew through the castle. At her sides stood Twilight Sparkle, her newly appointed scribe pony, and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, her niece. A dozen royal guards surrounded the trio, eyeing the black-armored ponies warily. Princess Celestia looked astonished at the sight of the unicorn that had just galloped in, and turned her attention to the dark figure at the far end of the table. “Lord? You call yourself Lord now, Onyx Blade? Is that how you see yourself?” An amused chuckle escaped the dark figure, who leaned forward, revealing his face in the torchlight. “My dear Celestia, you know better than anypony of how knowledgeable I am in the field of equine hierarchy. You call yourself a princess, do you not? Then why should a faithful commandant of her majesty’s elite guard not be honored with such a title?” “Don’t play games with me, Blade,” the princess growled. “And don’t mistake me for a buffoon. I know you have been conducting portal experiments outside of Equestria. Do not assume that the hostilities between Equestria and Bleakmire do not deter us from monitoring unusual events that occur in that region.” “Unusual events?” the black pony said with honeyed innocence. “What unusual events? And portals? What sort of nonsense is this?” “We’ve seen it,” Princess Cadence piped up. “The lights, the quakes, the magical fluctuations. All these signs point to portal activity.” The pony called Onyx Blade, a black equine with a mane of bloodred hair, leaned back in his thronelike chair. “And what of it? Say that I was experimenting with portals, which is obviously my top priority, other than to keep the changelings off of the Equestrian border so as to not have another incident like the one at your wedding, Princess!” “Don’t you dare!” the younger princess yelled, and a few of Blade’s ponies reached for their swords. Celestia held her back as Onyx Blade snickered. “Oh, I see. Still angry about the unfortunate position of your husband?” “That’s not relevant to what we’re talking about,” Twilight Sparkle said, though she was shaking with barely-concealed anger. “I don’t recall anypony asking for your opinion on the matter, scribe.” “You will address my subjects with the same respect I address you with, Blade,” Celestia said angrily. “Respect?!” Onyx Blade stood up and stared at the trio, his single red eye full of rage, the other covered by a patch. “You come here unannounced, drawing attention from all sides, from the enemies beyond this border, and you preach to me about respect?! My dear Princess, you would earn my respect if you would tell me what you are doing here, compromising the security of all of Equestria!” Tense silence followed the outburst, until Celestia finally spoke again. “We came for Shining Armor.” Princess Cadence and Twilight stiffened, but Onyx Blade narrowed his eyes. “Spare me. Equestrian law dictates that…” “I know what the law says,” Celestia interrupted. “I was there when the Law of Equestria was written.” “Then you know, Princess, that any pony found guilty of war crimes is to be punished at the expense of his commandant, following a chain of appeals that can go to the Royal Court. But, as you have already found out many times, you are a conflict of interest. Your niece is Shining Armor’s wife! Your court scribe is his sister! He is being held under my custody until his trial can begin. Now why are you really here?” “We are here for Shining Armor. The Canterlot Council has signed an affidavit for his release.” “Release?!” Onyx Blade screamed, his eyes going wild. “You would release a criminal such as him into Equestria?! After what he did at Trottingham?!” “There was never any evidence to link Shining Armor to that wildfire!” Cadence pleaded. “On the contrary, Princess,” the commandant sneered. “There is plenty of evidence.” “Enough of this!” Celestia snapped, startling both Twilight Sparkle and Cadence. “Will you or will you not release Shining Armor from this fortress?” “I will not. Not until he is found guilty—or innocent—by a jury of his peers.” “Then you violate the proclamation of the Council.” “To Tartarus with the Council! And to Tartarus to you!” “HOW DARE YOU!” Twilight screamed, preparing to fire a bolt of magic at the alicorn, but a look from Princess Celestia stopped and calmed her. “You will not escape punishment for this foolish decision, Onyx Blade. The Council will see to your removal from the Equestrian Guard.” “Will they?” Onyx Blade said, smiling cruelly. “Well, there may be no Council by the time they can come to a decision.” The three ponies had turned around to leave, but at Blade’s words, Celestia turned around and gave him a look of utter loathing. But she said nothing as the three of them exited the grand hall of Ironhoof Fortress. Blade’s smile vanished from his face, and he motioned for the red unicorn that had interrupted earlier. “What is it?” “My Lord, the Necromares are ready and the portal spells have begun. What are your orders?” The smile returned. The Necromares were ready. His red eyes glittered. “Tell the Robes to oversee the portal enchantment. Nothing must go wrong. Prepare the Necromares for invasion. We begin the attack today. All soldiers are to be dressed and geared for battle. The volunteers will not be armored.” “And what of Princess Celestia and her escort, sir?” Onyx Blade pulled an onyx blade from a sheath at his flank, forming a hand out of magic to grasp the evil sword with. His eyes, red with bloodlust, were cold. "Oh, I have plans for the princess. Don't you worry." 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C. April 9, 2015 1340 hours Agent Michael Gallagher shifted uncomfortably in his starch-stiff suit, breathing slowly as his chest expanded outward, the cold butt of his gun pressing against his undershirt. He should have been paying attention to what President Sheldon was saying as he spoke to dozens of reporters on the White House lawn. Security had been doubled since Sheldon had decided he wanted to hold the conference outside. He was an outdoorsy man, born and raised in Montana, but outdoors wasn’t the best place to be when you’re the president of the United States. That’s where the Secret Service came in. But Secret Service Agent Michael Gallagher was distracted by a dark cloud over the Washington Monument. A lifelong sufferer of ADD, Gallagher had been lucky to have even gotten into the army, much less the Secret Service. He could handle any gun and any situation, but small things often distracted him. Like the cloud. It was blacker than night and it hovered over the monument, not moving even though a gentle breeze blew through the air. He didn’t think it was a rain cloud, but the way it just stood over the monument confused him, captivated him, distracted him from the duty at hand. The President continued to go on about job growth and the recent turmoil in Latin America, and Gallagher’s focus switched from the cloud to the crowd, scanning faces and searching for potential threats. A call came over his earpiece. “G-2, respond. Urgent.” An urgent call in the middle of a presidential conference? “How urgent?” the agent replied quietly. “G-2, this is Nexus, we have incoming reports of situations rising in New York and Los Angeles. Acknowledge.” A cold shiver ran down Gallagher’s spine. “Acknowledged. What sort of situations?” “G-2, this…uhm, hold on. We’re having communication troubles. Electronics are going haywire back at Nexus. Richmond and Philadelphia centers are also reporting signs of…” Then static, so loud that it made Gallagher cry out. This started a chain reaction that culminated in the arrival of a dozen agents who swarmed the President as a few others broke off to join the crowd. Gallagher tore off his earpiece and addressed a nearby agent. “What the hell’s going on? This doesn’t constitute a full extract!” “New York and LA have been hit by something, and we don’t know…” Thooom. It was a sound like an explosion underwater, muffled but still violent enough to shake the world around them. As Gallagher looked for the source of the sound, a wave of energy pulsated from the black cloud, which had grown larger. “Nexus, say again! Nexus, what is happening in New York? Damn it!” “Everybody disperse! Right now!” “Priority One is in custody. Ready for transportation.” Sheldon had been taken back to the White House, where Gallagher imagined he was ranting and raving at his agents. The reporters were confused, and some of them screamed at the sight of the agents’ weapons. Gallagher was about to pull out his own gun when something caught his eye. The black cloud was no longer a cloud, but now a throbbing, energy-ringed hole in the sky. As the agents watched in horror, the hole grew larger and larger, so big that the Empire State Building could fit through it without touching the sides. Then, suddenly, a cracking noise, followed by another, and before anybody knew what was happening, the Washington Monument broke into pieces and started to spin around as if it were caught in a hurricane, sending chunks of debris down the Mall and even as far as the Reflecting Pool. An incredibly loud bellow escaped the hole, rattling the ground and the agents, who were transfixed at the sight of the Washington Monument torn to shreds. The hole contracted, and the pieces of the monument smashed together, forming a strange sculpture of quivering marble. Then, before anybody could react, something exploded in the hole and slammed into the place where the monument once stood, blowing up the chunks of the monument and sending its remains in all directions. A plume of fire billowed from the site where the proud monument had once stood, spreading across the lawn and throwing oily smoke into the sky. A piece of monument slammed into the White House, and as Agent Gallagher ran for cover, another explosion ripped through the afternoon air, knocking him off his feet and shattering windows and trees all around. A black sedan smashed and rolled down Pennsylvania Avenue, on a collision course with the Secret Service agent. There was no avoiding it. He covered his head as a mass of black steel and glass crashed down on top of him, silencing everything. Times Square, New York City April 9, 2015 1410 hours It happened even faster in the Big Apple. So many would later recall how much it reminded them of 9/11, with all the smoke, all the noise, all the fear and the pain and the uncertainty of what the hell was going on… Such was it for Alex Andrews, a cab driver who likened himself to John Winger from Stripes: lazy, unmotivated, hateful of his customers, and always quick with a snide comment or razor-sharp comeback. However, when he saw a wall of black smoke bearing down on his cab, billowing from the spot where the Chrysler Building had once stood, he had no words, no quips. He gunned the engine, throwing the cab into reverse and hitting several fleeing citizens along the way. He didn’t even look. He just kept backing up, hightailing it out of Times Square, desperate to escape the black cloud… And then, out of the corner of his eye, a bolt of lightning smashed into the Empire State Building, and from the massive tower of steel came a black fireball. Not red. Not orange. Black. But it was fire, Alex knew that. Even from Times Square he could feel its heat. Moreover, the black cloud seemed to have stopped. But Alex hadn’t. Before he knew what had happened, he was sitting in his wreck of a cab, parked very awkwardly on a subway station staircase. He heard screams, roars, and shots. Somebody was shooting. He stumbled from his wreck, tasting blood, and pushed through the smoke and haze, trying to find his way to the surface. Outside Ironhoof Fortress Year of Celestia 4107 Approx. 1900 hours The trio of ponies walked away from the fortress feeling as though they should have done more, Twilight especially. Her brother had been locked up in Ironhoof Fortress for months, and she hadn't seen him since. It was even harder for Cadence, not hearing from her husband in so long. Even the company of Princess Celestia didn't cheer them up. Onyx Blade's guards eyed them hungrily as they climbed into the royal carriage. "What will we do now?" Cadence sobbed. "My Shining Armor..." "Nopony can just take another pony and hold him prisoner! Even we don't have prisoners!" "That is because we don't have criminals, my faithful student," Celestia replied. The purple unicorn frowned. "But then, what do we do?" The princess looked out into the red evening sky, a grim look on her face. "I don't know, Twilight. I don't know." Ironhoof Fortress “My Lord, the princess's convoy has left.” “Good. And the portal?" "It has opened in many locations, my Lord. Strategic points that will weaken the humans." "And what of our...volunteers?" "They are ready. More than ten thousand strong." "Ten thousand will not be enough to crush the humans. What of the Necromares?" "They are ready as well, my Lord. They yearn for flesh. "Good. Their hunger will soon be satisfied. Unleash the ponies and the Necromares. Inform the Robes that they shall give no quarter. Let Earth taste the might of Onyx Blade.” “Yes, my Lord.”
Chapter 2: Capital PunishmentChapter 2: Capital Punishment Washington, D.C. Day 1 of the Invasion Agent Gallagher had been in the Persian Gulf. He’d served in Afghanistan. Very little could stop him. But a thousand-pound hunk of wrecked car had pinned him to the street as sounds of chaos and confusion rang outside. Shaking off his unconsciousness, he tried desperately to claw his way out of the wreckage. He heard automatic weapons fire. They were under attack. Muffled screams and boots on the ground. Something big was going down. Then, all of a sudden, the car was gone, blasted off by some unknown force, and Gallagher didn’t waste a second. He was on his feet within moments with his Sig Sauer drawn, trying to contact someone, anyone, via the radio. And then he saw the flying horses. Millions of them, maybe billions, emerged from the dark energy hole that hovered above the rubble of the Washington Monument. From afar, they looked like a large swarm of locusts. But as they neared, Gallagher could make out a horn, a pair of wings, and a set of hate-filled eyes in every horse that neared him. Then the world exploded. BOOM! The Secret Service agent tumbled backward as a tongue of fire leapt from an overturned Jeep in front of him. Recovering quickly, he took aim and fired. Each shot met its mark, felling one flying beast after another, scattering their bodies across the street. Taking a moment to reload his weapon, Gallagher observed the things he had just shot. They were horses, or aliens. A combination of the two. Gallagher barely had time to observe the bodies before three more aliens attacked him, shooting at them from their horns and from guns on their backs. The horses had guns. “This is G-2! Does anyone copy?! Over!” Nothing but static. Gallagher dropped the radio and fired until his clip ran dry. And even then, more of the alien ponies came after him. He wasn’t the only one shooting. As he ran for his life down Penn Avenue, he heard distinct Beretta and MP5K fire. The agent ran and ran until the ponies decided to target someone else. Only then did he stop running, stopping in the middle of the street in front of the White House lawn to catch his breath. He didn’t see the minivan careening toward him. WHAM! Metal met flesh, and Gallagher flew down the street and skidded along the asphalt, burning through the fabric of his suit. The pain was unbearable, but he didn’t appear to be badly injured. The minivan never stopped as it sped across sidewalks and grass trying to evade the hellfire from the sky. He got up gingerly, double checking that his bones hadn’t been broken, and then made his way to the Mall, where most of the gunfire was coming from. It was a grisly sight. Civilians, police, and Secret Service alike were all getting mowed down by the gun-wielding winged unicorns. But then Gallagher saw that at the base of where the Washington Monument once stood, wingless unicorns were charging out of the white light that had engulfed the monument. Gallagher dipped and ducked to avoid the beams of deadly light that the ponies let loose, finally taking cover behind a piece of the monument, alongside a police officer, a woman, and a sanitation worker. “Sir!” the woman yelled over the gunfire. “Sir, what’s going on?!” “Ma’am, all of you, stay down and don’t leave this spot until it’s safe! You, officer! Where is the rest of the President’s security detail located?” The officer reloaded his gun. “I couldn’t tell you, man. They all scattered when the shooting started. What are those things?” “I couldn’t tell you, man,” Gallagher replied, unknowingly mocking the officer. “You keep these people safe, alright? I’m with the Secret Service and I need to find the President. But you keep these people safe!” “Uh…yeah. Okay!” Unimpressed with the officer’s lack of confidence, Gallagher broke cover and ran for the Capitol. As he ran he passed Servicemen, police, and fleeing civilians, all screaming their heads off. The sky overhead was black with ponies, and he could see and smell smoke everywhere. At that moment, a blue unicorn took aim and fired. BOOM! The magic bolt went between Gallagher’s legs and hit the ground a mere inch in front of him, and the fireball engulfed him. He never had a chance to cry out, to see his murderer. He simply vanished in a vortex of flame. Canterlot Castle YOC 4017 Approx. 1950 hours Celestia could not believe what she was seeing. Even from her balcony overlooking Canterlot, the glow of the portal storm from Bleakmire was almost unbearable to look upon. Twilight Sparkle gasped at her side. They had been right all along. “Blade,” Celestia growled. “How could we have been so foolish to let him free of our grasp so easily?” “Princess…” “Twilight,” she said, turning to her pupil. “You realize what this means, don’t you? Blade has made for another world! But which one?” “There is only one other world I can think of, sister,” said a new voice from behind them. Princess Luna trotted up alongside them, shielding her eyes from the bright light of the faraway portal. “Luna! You don’t mean…?” “Earth. The land of the humans.” Twilight’s face twisted in confusion. “What’s a human?” “A human is a creature with no hooves or tails. They walk on two legs and have arms and hands. They exist in a world parallel to ours, Twilight. But what could Blade want with the humans?” “Power, perhaps?” Twilight answered. “The thought of conquering another species can drive anypony mad with the desire for power.” “Onyx Blade seeks to gain new power,” Luna uttered. “That cannot be done.” “Yes. With more power he may very well—” BAM! “DEATH TO THE PRINCESS!!” “What on…?” But Celestia said nothing else as a bug-eyed unicorn charged headfirst toward her. “Princess, watch out!” “Sister!” Celestia just barely managed to sidestep the crazed unicorn, but did not escape entirely unscathed. The unicorn’s horn sliced her flank, leaving behind a thin red line on her cutie mark. The unicorn slammed into the wall and tried to get up, but a dozen royal guards tackled him and held him down, and soon the room was a circus of chaotic ponies. “Princess Celestia! Are you alright?!” “I’m fine, Twilight dear. I am fine. But who is this pony? How did he get past the guards.” “Forgive us, Your Majesty,” one of the guards said, bowing. “Guard morale has not been well since Shining Armor was incarcerated. I’m afraid this intruder broke through our weak point in the line.” “Weak point in the line?” “The guard shift, Princess. We are fewer and fewer every day.” “But who is he?” “A rebel!” the unicorn suddenly shouted as he was pulled to his hooves and cuffed. “A do-gooder for all of Equestria! I am the hoof that holds the rag that will clean up this mess of a land!” “You will spend your days in the dungeon until trial,” Celestia said angrily. “Take him away.” The unicorn never took his eyes off the princess as the guards hauled him away. Luna went to comfort her sister. “Are you alright, Celestia?” “I am fine, sister. He nicked me. Nothing more.” “But you are bleeding!” “I am fine!” Celestia snapped, and Luna withdrew. Twilight walked up to her princess. “What happens now, Princess? I doubt you can just let what happened go. We need to figure out who this assassin is.” “I know who he is.” Suddenly Celestia’s eyes widened, and she went back to the balcony, gazing at the bright portal storm. “And I know what Onyx Blade wants. It all makes sense now. An eye for an eye, a hoof for a hoof.” “What is it, Princess?” “What does Blade want, sister?” Celestia turned to them. Her eyes were grave. “Chrysalis. He wants Chrysalis.” Times Square, New York City Day 1 of the Invasion 1400 hrs. Alex Andrews picked his way through the rubble of the collapsed subway entrance and reached the smoky surface of Times Square, only to find that the square was aflame. Fire leapt from every building, and he heard the distinct sound of gunfire and screams coming from all directions. As he coughed, a man burst through the glass window of a Burger King and hit the asphalt, sliding onto the street and leaving a bloody trail behind him. He didn’t move. Alex ducked out of sight. Cars were burning. Buses were blown in half. People were running for their lives from… From what? WHABOOM! An abandoned ambulance exploded thirty feet from the hot dog stand that Alex was hiding behind, and through the smoke he could make out a light haze that seemed to lead back to somewhere high above him. Tracing the haze, he finally saw what the people were running from. Ponies. Millions of them. Some dark as night, others brighter than day. All of them looked pissed. And they were all converging on the square. A bolt of light zipped past Alex’s head, and he saw that a pony had just climbed out of the broken Burger King window, his eyes red with hate. It was clear that these were no regular ponies, and definitely not the kind Alex had seen in Western films. These things were like little cartoonish killing machines, intent on massacring the fleeing refugees in Times Square. Alex ran for his life down the street, avoiding blasts and tongues of fire until finally he saw an open door and made a beeline for it. At last he was indoors, away from the fire, and he shut the door and barred it with a broken lamp. He was in a lobby that looked as though it had just survived an earthquake. Debris was scattered everywhere, and in the midst of the rubble, Alex caught sight of a flickering TV on a desk. Ignoring the booming noises coming from outside, he made his way toward the television and slapped it, trying to get the fuzziness out of the picture. Moving scraps of metal and Sheetrock away from the set, Alex let loose a breath of success as the screen cleared up, showing a female reporter at her desk, her face grim. “If you’re just joining us, it seems that the United States is under attack by an unknown enemy. Reports are coming in from all over the country of creatures destroying cities and killing civilians. Details are limited at this point, as we have lost contact with our head reporter in Manhattan. Wait, stand by…we seem to be having a probl—” And then the screen went back to fuzz and snow. The transmission had been cut. Alex had his suspicions as to why. The news channel he’d been watching was NBC. He changed the channel only to find more static, until he got to FOX News, where the screen showed Manhattan in flames. The story was the same. The country was under attack. By ponies.
Chapter 3: The NecromaresChapter 3: The Necromares From CNN “This is a CNN Breaking News Report. Good morning, I’m Linda Stark, and we have breaking news out of, well, out of many places around the country of an apparent alien invasion of our world. Unconfirmed reports are coming in around the globe of unidentified creatures attacking major cities. As of now, Los Angeles, New York, Baltimore, Atlanta, Richmond, Philadelphia, and St. Louis are all apparently under attack by what one witness describes as ‘alien horses.’ Folks, looking out the window right now I can tell you that Manhattan is in flames and we may have to move soon in order to avoid the crossfire. No report of any casualties, but with the extent of the damage that I can see right now, folks, I would not be— “Oh my goodness…if you’re just tuning in, that is the Empire State Building and it—my God, it is going down. The whole thing is coming down. We also have unconfirmed reports that One World Trade Center is on fire and that…yes, that military forward operating bases are being set up at the Statue of Liberty and in the sheltered areas of Central Park, but again, we are dealing with pure speculation at this point. “At this time, we are going to move to a new location. We are no longer safe. Stick with us, though, we will return once we have found a better spot…” From BBC “This is Paul Collins, and it is sixteen past the hour. We are continuing live coverage of the apparent alien attack on the Earth, and as you can see from this live feed these things, whatever they are, are tearing London apart. Fire is coming out of Big Ben’s faces, and it looks as if Parliament has been blown out. Are these things…Jim, do you think these things are attacking our government buildings or are they just attacking at random? I think that…my God, they’re coming for the studio. I think we have to lea—” From the Pentagon’s emergency alert system PREPARE ALL FORCES. WE ARE AT WAR. United States Army Forward Operating Base, Designate ‘Golf Bravo’ Empire-Fulton Ferry, Upper Brooklyn, NY Day 2 of the Invasion 0040 hrs. Overhead, the streaks and smoke trails of rockets drew an ashen lattice of crisscrossing lines in the sky. The roars and drones of F-22s and Blackhawks drowned out the groans of injured soldiers and buildings. Combat boots crunched broken asphalt, spent ammunition, and other bits of debris, and Marines found themselves ducking behind burnt taxicabs and in underground subway entrances just to avoid the deadly bolts and horns of their equine enemies. A few miles away, the radio operator of F.O.B. Golf Bravo wiped the sweat from his brow. His name was Jensen, and his ears were ringing, not from explosions or gunfire but from the endless barrage of static-laced voices coming through his headphones. The fuzzy computer screen didn’t help his eyesight either, but then again, this was barely an FOB. A pocket of Marines had managed to set up tech in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, and spray from the East River wasn’t helping anything. For Jensen, it was hard to process any thoughts with so much noise flooding his ears, adding to the low booms and cracks from the battlefield. “Be advised, multiple hostiles on Fifth Avenue, Raptors have taken aim.” “…coordinates…” “Choppers going down over Times.” “What the hell are those things?!” “We have reports of friendlies and civvies stranded on the roof of the Flatiron Building, acknowledge.” “Be advised, SATCOM is picking up a large group of hostiles converging on civvies in Central Park.” Such was the confusion, the frantic scramble for control of the situation. But Jensen didn’t feel in control, not when New York was being destroyed by flying horses. “Jensen!” A lieutenant approached the radio operator. “Yes sir?” “Do you have any contact with groups on Broadway?” “Negative, Wolfpacks Four and Nine have gone quiet.” “What about the other packs?” “All accounted for, sir.” “Did we pull out our boys from Fifth?” “Yes, sir, but word from Wolfpack Two is that those pony things have taken almost all of central Manhattan.” Suddenly a new, much more frantic report came in. “This is Wolfpack Two! Visual on enemies at Trinity Church! Repeat, Trinity Church! Wolfpack Three has gone dark and we’ve got men pinned down at the Stock Exchange!” “Wolfpack Two, confirm enemies in South Manhattan.” “Confirmed, base! Those things aren’t letting up! And…holy shit—what the hell is that?! What are those things?” Jensen tried to blink sweat out of his eye. “Wolfpack Two, what do you see?” “There are new hostiles! Repeat, new hostiles! I—my God, they’re everywhere! They’re not like the pony things! They’re…” Static. “Wolfpack Two, repeat! Wolfpack Two, come in!” The lieutenant hung his head and punched the desk on which Jensen’s Powerbook lay upon. “Damn it!” he shouted. “We’re losing Manhattan to a bunch of flying ponies!” “What if they’re not ponies, sir?” Jensen said suddenly. “What if they’re aliens?” “Shut up and give the following order, Private! All units in the Financial District, retreat to Battery Park. Units in Midtown, Gramercy Park, and Chelsea will pull back to the rivers, which ever is closer. What kind of air power do we have, Private?” Jensen checked the radar. “Raptors and Hawks are going down fast, sir, but we’ve got an A10 detachment coming in from Vermont, ETA 1 hour.” “Alright, we have to get those planes over the city to wipe those bastards out. Send orders to—” BOOOM! The explosion came from outside, and it was so loud that it shook the tent in which Jensen and the lieutenant were situated. The two men ran outside. It had begun to rain, but it didn’t impede their vision, and as they traced the screams and pointing fingers of the men around them, they saw where the explosion had come from. The Brooklyn Bridge was collapsing. Cars, tanks, and bodies tumbled from the falling bridge as a dozen winged ponies flew away from the carnage. Jensen watched as dozens of Marines and other military men plunged to their deaths. “Jesus,” the lieutenant managed. The rain picked up, coming to earth in torrents, but it would not put out the fires that decimated New York. The lieutenant turned to Jensen. “Where’s Wolfpack One?” Jensen shivered, and not because of the rain. “Wolfpack One, sir?” “Yes, damn it! These fuckers just took out the damn Brooklyn Bridge! We need heavy firepower and we need it now! Where are they?!” Jensen ran back to his computer inside his tent with the lieutenant hot on his heels. “Wolfpack One is awaiting deployment, sir. They got held up at Tilden. Sir, they’re on a no-go.” “What?!” The lieutenant gazed over Jensen’s shoulder. “Why the hell are they on no-go?! This is a national emergency!” “They’ve been temporarily decommissioned.” “Well recommission them, goddamn it!” “Sir, I don’t have the autho—” The lieutenant slammed his fist on the table. “Manhattan is fucking burning, Corporal! Dispatch Wolfpack One and any other units available! I want you to—” Suddenly the cry of “Watch out!” pierced through the battle-laden air, and fire instantly leapt up in front of the tent, as if something had just spewed a giant fireball and launched it at the F.O.B. Jensen fell to the ground, his back scorched, but the lieutenant got the full blast of the fireball. He screamed in pain, and when the heat subsided, the screaming stopped and Jensen hopped up, threw off his burnt jacket, and attended to his superior. “Sir? Sir, are you okay?” But he was not okay, not in the slightest. Half of his face had been burnt off, exposing scorched muscle and bone. He was dead. RRROOOAAUUGHHH! The roar came from outside and above. It was so powerful that it knocked the tent over, burying Jensen in cloth. Struggling, he cut through the fabric with his teeth and fingertips and, on instinct, relieved the dead lieutenant of his Beretta. Men were screaming and pointing, and the whole base was in flames. When Jensen finally looked in the direction that his comrades were pointing in, his blood ran cold. A dragon, black with bloodred eyes, stood atop the ruins of the burning Brooklyn Bridge. It was the size of a jumbo jet and had something around its neck that looked as deadly as its wearer. The dragon roared again, nearly shattering Jensen’s eardrums, and behind him the fires were battling the rain, and winning. Jensen, perhaps more out of shock than desperation, aimed at the dragon and fired three times. All three shots fell far short of their mark, and suddenly the dragon began to shed black clumps from its back, fuzzy and evanescent as if they were made of shadow. But they weren’t shadows. As they approached the remains of the base, Jensen realized they were aliens, and took aim again. The dragon took off, spewing another fireball that slammed into the faraway MetLife building, ravaging its floors with flame. In mere moments, the shadowy aliens were upon them, flying past and cutting soldiers down like locusts with sharpened wings of steel. Jensen fired until he had no ammunition left, then ran as the scythelike wings of the shadowy aliens cut deep into his skin. It was over in minutes, and every soldier at F.O.B. Golf Bravo lay dead or dying. Then the bombing run began, a series of purple explosions that incinerated some soldiers and maimed the rest, destroying what remained of the southern portion of the Brooklyn Bridge. Overhead, the dragon spewed fire into the sky that sent a whole squadron of F-22s plummeting to their fiery doom. All that remained of the A10 attachment from Vermont lay sinking in the East River. Gunfire, artillery, and lightning bolts streaked across the sky, forming a lattice of fire and smoke. The skies above New York were aflame, and the city was slowly burning to the ground. After the bombing subsided, Jensen looked up and saw that his foot had been blown off from the explosions. A bloody stump lay where his left boot had once been, but he was too shocked to feel any pain. Cuts and gashes, some as deep as two itches, were etched across his body and face, and he lay on the ground, dying. As his vision blurred, as the only colors he could see became the black of night and the orange of the fires that burned around him, a blackish-gray shape appeared from the flames. He aimed and pulled the trigger, but he was out of bullets. The shape became clearer: it was a craggily-horned equine with gray skin, black mane, and red snakelike eyes. It was winged and horned, and its wings were like black tempered steel, hell-bent on cutting down anything in their path. It looked rotten, but its eyes were alive and full of boiling hatred. It spared little time between seeing the downed soldier and coming over to him. “What…” Jensen gasped as his life faded. “What…what are…” His hand slackened on the gun, and he closed his eyes. He was dead. The equine smiled. “Puny human. We are the Necromares, and your world is from hereon forfeit.”
