Invaders: A New King For Equestria

June 13th, 1902

Ponyville Equestria

The loud ringing bell of her alarm clock jolted Pinkie from her sleep, yet another morning at Sugarcube Corners. Pinkie leaped up from her bed and landed on the floor perfectly on her feet, hands stretched into the air. Pinkie was young with skin paler than most. Her figure was curvaceous with shorter stature to match, her hair was pink, curly, and bouncy, it seemed to change depending on how she felt. And like usual, today she felt joyous, ready for another day of making the people of Ponyville happy with sweet treats.

She slipped off her nightgown and grabbed a pink dress out of the dresser placed at the end of her bed and slipped in on. She left her room by going down an iron spiral staircase that led directly to the kitchen. The kitchen was large in size, it was a fair bit smaller in size with red brick walls on all except for the northern wall. Two white gas stoves/ovens were on the southern wall, a large island in the center with a dome-shaped dishwasher at the center between two white enamel sinks.

Pinkie was by herself at this time, The Cakes were now in Manehattan on vacation and had left their most trusted employee, and resident of the bakery, in charge while they were away. Pinkie was proving to be amazing at her temporary new job as manager of Sugarcube Corners. While harder than just baking and making deliveries it did produce its share of fun as well. It gave her the opportunity to decorate the waiting area outside, it looked like a party was being thrown every day.

The previous night, Pinkie had made two dozen cupcakes to be delivered across town to a birthday party. They were in a white cardboard box on the counter next to one of the sinks with a note tacked to them, the address written on it. She grabbed a leather knapsack that hung next to the door leading out and sat it on the counter. Laying open she placed the white box inside and buckling it shut, put it on her back.

After putting the sack on her back she walked out of the kitchen and into the waiting area just behind the counter. She rounded the counter and approached the exit. Pinkie then unlocked the door, but before opening it, she grabbed something leaning on the wall next to it. It was a pink pogo stick which was her preferred form of transportation. It seemed no matter how high she bounced that whatever confectionery she was carrying would not be damaged in the slightest, it was one of the great mysteries of Pinkie Pie.

She stepped out the door and jumped onto the pogo stick, now hopping along to her destination. Hopping down the dirt paths through the village, she spotted damaged buildings one after the other. A strange windstorm had swiftly ravaged the town, damaging houses, and buildings. Knocking the rooves off houses, ripping walls out, shattering windows, even knocking entire houses down, luckily no one was seriously harmed.

She continued on, passing a steam crane steaming along down the road, piston chuffing and big wheels turning slowly. She waved at them as they passed, and the men riding on it waved back to her as she hopped by, poofy pink hair bouncing. She continued on, going down different streets and roads, heading straight on to her customer. Until she spotted someone walking towards her down a westward-facing straight section of road.

This person stood out, she couldn't see their face since they wore a turned-down stetson-style hat. but, she knew that they were a man just by the bit of beard that was visible, and from his broad form. His clothes stood out as well, he wore a gray trenchcoat stretching past his knees, strange patches on the shoulder and the chest, both faded. His left arm looked normal, a gray sleeve with a black leather glove at the end.

His right, however, was strange, his sleeve had been torn off and an arm looking like that of a knight's steel armor was there, scuffed and beaten up but still holding up. Beneath his coat was strange armor, it looked to be a material that was matte gray in color, held together by black leather or something of that nature. His pants were made of an indiscernible gray material that was tucked into a pair of dark brown lace-up boots similar to combat boots.

People seemed to be afraid of the man, seeing as he was probably new to town and looked like some sort of wanderer it was no real surprise. Now Pinkie, being the welcoming person she was, bounced over to the man as he made long strides down the road. She slowed her bouncing down to a slower pace and managed to stay alongside the man, hopping backward next to him she introduced herself.

"Hello" she exclaimed cheerfully, to no response, she finally managed to get a look at his face though. It was aged with lines and wrinkles all over it, crow's feet were around his tired-looking eyes, and a gray and black beard covered his face.

"My name is Pinkie Pie, what's yours?" he ignored her still, Pinkie tapped his shoulder with one of her hands and she was met with a sudden shove from his shoulder, knocking her to the ground on her rear end. A scowl formed on her face and she caught up to the man "Hey mister," the man stopped and turned to her, emerald green eyes glaring at her "That wasn't very nice o-"

She was cut short as the man grabbed her by the forehead with his massive hand. He pulled her closer and then threw her far away from him. Pinkie landed on her back, crushing the box of cupcakes in her knapsack. She sat up and rubbed her head, now she was really angry. Before she could get up a man approached him, he was a militiaman in a blue uniform and soldiers cap with black laced boots and a large shotgun in his hands.

"Excuse me sir, but I'm gonna have to ask you to apologize to Miss Pie over there," said the young blue-haired militiaman to the tall stranger sternly. The tall man looked down at the militiaman, no emotion on his face. Like lightning, his left hand shot out and gripped the man's throat in its entirety, he then lifted the man up to face him as the soldier dropped his shotgun with a metallic thud.

"Who do you answer to?" were the only words that came from the tall man's mouth in an almost unnaturally deep voice, it seemed mechanical almost. The militiaman gave no answer, only choked gasps and splitters as he clawed at the tall man's hand. "I said, WHO DO YOU ANSWER TO!?" his voice echoed, seemingly shaking the ground. Again there came only choked gasps. "Useless" muttered the man now tightening his grasp around the man's neck.

His eyes began to bulge and turn bloodshot and his fair skin began to turn a pale gray as his gasps became more desperate. Then with a sickening crunch, he was dead. The militiaman was cast aside like garbage, he landed near Pinkie, blood drooling from his mouth, his eye blank, locking the pink-haired girl in a state of shock. The people of Ponyville stood shocked as the man continued his walk down the road.

The toll of a bell began to echo over the village, causing him to stop and look around as the people began to run away, except for Pinkie Pie, who stared at the corpse before her. It wasn't long before other Militiamen began arriving, all wearing the same blue with some wearing just normal clothes as well. They carried repeating rifles, shotguns revolvers, single-shot Rolling Block rifles, bolt actions, and even primitive caplock and flintlock rifles and muskets.

They all hurried, knocking over carts and market stalls to form makeshift barricades to protect themselves against the man. They ducked behind them, guns at the ready. The man stood facing down, still like he was just a mannequin, his hat concealing his face. The militiamen all stood up and aimed their numerous guns at him, the aggressor slowly raised his head to look at them.

"FIRE!" Shouted an older man with a thick white mustache and old revolver in hand. With that order, all of the guns began to fire. Thick clouds of billowing gray smoke-filled air as did loud thunderous cracks from all manner of guns. "CEASE FIRE!" the old man cried, followed by the ceasing of all gunshots. Silence crept over that road as all the militiamen stopped their guns. The men waited anxiously as the smoke settled, hoping that their gunshots had been enough to take the man down.

They were horrified when the smoke finally cleared and the man stood standing there unmoved. A massive wound was on his left cheek, a wound so big and deep that it looked like the entire cheek had been blown off. Blood-stained teeth and gums showed where the cheek should have been and blood stained the black hairs of his beard. Horrified the men watched as his face seemed to reform right before their eyes in an almost grotesque manner.

The muscles seemed to stretch from the top and bottom, meeting in the middle and connecting, this continued until the muscles in his face were fully formed. The skin followed the white fleshy form covered the muscle, and his face was returned to normal, not even a scar remained. The aggressor was now obviously angered, he swept his trenchcoat back with his right hand, pulling out a massive gun from its folds.

The weapon was entirely made from black steel, It had a stock made from steel shaped like a rifle butt that met a receiver with a massive chamber, a charging handle above, a closer look would show that it had small notches carved all over the sides of the receiver. The barrel was long with what looked like another gun underneath with a wooden pistol grip like the one of the main gun and a pump similar to a shotgun with a massive barrel. Beneath the gun was appeared the be a massive drum-shaped magazine, a leather sling around his neck held the steel beast up.

The tall, hulking aggressor gripped the gun in his right hand and pulled the charging handle with his left, chambering the firearm's massive brass cartridge. The bolt of the gun closed with a loud clunk, aiming the gun towards the barricades he squeezed the trigger. and a torrent of bullets rained from its barrel. The thunderous roar of bullets exiting its bore drowned out the cracking and snapping as the wood of their makeshift barricades was demolished like wet paper.

Dirt and wood splinters choked the air with thick clouds of shrapnel and dark brown earth. he continued until the drum magazine had been emptied into his opponents. There stood the obliterated remains of their barricades, in massive splinters of wood, and the gory mess of blood and guts that had once been the militiamen.

"Target Neutralized" were the only words to come from the tall man's mouth as pressed a button on the side of his gun. With a clang, the old magazine fell to the ground and a new one was inserted into the receiver from his coat. He pulled back the charging handle and continued forward. Snapping out of her shock, Pinkie jumped up and began to run in the opposite direction of the man. The aggressor turned to look at the running girl but turned away as she was not important.

He slowly walked past the carnage he had produced, stepping over the obliterated corpses and puddles of crimson blood. Shouting came from just ahead, causing him to halt in his tracks. Militiamen came running from just ahead of him, coming from the northeast behind a building. They all donned blue and carried similarly miscellaneous weapons to the last group. Only this time they were accompanied by a horse-drawn wagon, a water-cooled heavy machine gun mounted on its back.

The men manning this gun ready their weapons and began to rain down bullet after bullet on him. Thinking fast, the tall man concealed himself between two houses, keeping his gun tucked closely. He reached into his coat and pulled out a large bullet, it was stubby but was massive and had a pointed end. He pushed the pump of his secondary gun forward, opening its breech. He inserted the shell into the breech and closed it.

He grabbed the forward grip and slowly stuck the gun out, lining up the machine gun in his sights, then he shouted:

"ENGAGING GRENADE!" then he pulled the trigger. The gun did not make a bang as much as it made a sort of thumping sound, followed by a firework-like whistle. The shot made contact with the wagon and exploded, in a hail storm of shrapnel and fire, killing many of the men instantly, injuring others, and knocking them over. The man jumped out from his hiding spot and began to target soldiers as they stood up, shooting them with his massive gun.

The bullets seemed to cause his enemies to explode, shattering ribs and tearing entire limbs off in bursts of thunderous shot. Then he felt it, a bayonet had been forced through his armor and into his side. He felt no pain, rather it was more like an itching tingle, he turned to face his aggressor. He found himself staring at a young woman, her hair was long and blonde underneath a brown Stetson. For a woman, she was more muscular and was taller, she wore old farm clothes, dirty trousers, and a dirty button-down shirt.

Her bayonet was mounted on the barrel of a pump-action shotgun. With rage, she pulled the bayonet from his side and pointed her gun up at the man. With a squeeze of her trigger, shot blew from its barrel, scattering led over the face of this tall man. Her anger turned to horror as the smoke cleared, there he stood, the left side of his face blown off, revealing nothing but black bone, covered with flesh and blood, a green eye sitting unharmed in its socket.

What was left of his face displayed no emotion, as his face reformed itself, he wrapped his massive hand around his attacker's neck. Lifting her tall form off of the ground he said:

"Who do you an-"

He was cut short as he felt cold steel wrap itself around his neck, he dropped the girl and grabbed at the steel shackle with both his hands. Then there was pain, real pain as the familiar stabs of electrical shock coursed through the shackle and into his body. He collapsed to the ground, still gripping the shackle as screams of pain were cried out in a deep, thunderous voice. Then another shackle wrapped around his left arm as more pulses of electricity coursed their way through his body.

His left arm was yanked free as he turned to see who had done this. Above him hovered numerous winged soldiers in azure uniforms marked by golden lightning bolts, submachine guns hanging loosely at their sides, their faces concealed by masks and goggles. Another shackle wrapped itself around his right arm, which bore no feeling, but still, he could not fight the pain. The pain ground into him like an auger until he finally collapsed entirely. Knocked out cold, he lay motionless on the ground until the remaining militiamen picked him up and carried him away.