"Fear a man who has nothing to lose, be terrified of a man who has everything to win."

- Muhammad Anugerah

Canterlot, Central Equestria. September 9th 2038. 0700 hours.

The golden rays of dawn crept into Twilight Sparkle's room, casting soft beams across the velvet curtains and polished wooden furniture. The faint chirping of birds outside her window contrasted sharply with the distant clang of armored hooves and the rhythmic march of Royal Guards patrolling the cobbled streets below. Twilight stirred in her bed, tangled in her sheets, her face half-buried in a tear-stained pillow. Her violet eyes blinked open slowly, red and puffy from restless nights.

She sat up, clutching her blanket, and looked around. This wasn’t her cozy, book-filled home in the Golden Oak Library. No comforting scent of parchment and ink lingered in the air. Instead, she found herself surrounded by the familiar, ornate décor of her childhood room in Canterlot. The lavender wallpaper, the bookshelf her father had built for her when she was a filly, and her old desk cluttered with star charts and scrolls—it was all still there, frozen in time.

For a fleeting moment, she wanted to call for Spike, her faithful assistant. But the cold reality struck her: Spike wasn’t here, he had remained in Ponyville. Twilight sighed and slowly pulled herself out of bed, her hooves meeting the soft carpet below.

Walking to the window, she gently pushed the curtains aside and peered out. The Canterlot skyline stretched out before her—majestic spires and white marble towers bathed in sunlight—but the streets below told a different story. Normally bustling markets, vibrant with ponies bartering and socializing, were now eerily quiet. Most stalls were shuttered, their goods requisitioned to support the military. The cobblestone roads, usually packed with carts and chattering foals, were now patrolled by stern-faced Royal Guards in gleaming golden armor. Their spears glinted in the morning sun as they marched in disciplined formations.

Further in the distance, the grand banners of Equestria fluttered solemnly from castle towers. The cheerful laughter of Canterlot’s citizens had been replaced with anxious murmurs and hurried hoofsteps. The city, once a symbol of peace and prosperity, now felt like a fortress preparing for siege.

Twilight turned away from the window, her chest heavy with an invisible weight. She trudged to the bathroom and turned on the cold water. The icy splash against her face jolted her awake, but it couldn’t wash away the exhaustion etched into her features. In the mirror, her reflection stared back—a tired, disheveled mare with tangled hair and bloodshot eyes.

She leaned against the sink, her mind replaying the events of the past weeks. The attack on Whinnypool. The chaos, the screams, the blinding flashes of light as strange weapons tore through Equestrian defenses. She and her friends had barely escaped the carnage, retreating into the cold embrace of the northern forests.

Ten long, grueling days they had wandered through the wilderness, their bodies aching and spirits frayed. They had scavenged for food, and struggled to stay warm during frigid nights. The memory of Rainbow Dash nearly flying off in a blind panic to rescue Fluttershy—who had been left behind in Whinnypool—still haunted Twilight. It had taken the combined efforts of Applejack and Rarity to restrain her, tears streaming down the pegasus's face as she screamed Fluttershy’s name into the empty sky.

Eventually, they reached the sleepy village of Coltsonville, where they boarded a train back to Canterlot. The journey was silent and heavy, each mare lost in her thoughts. Twilight had failed. Her carefully crafted plan to open peaceful dialogue with the ‘Hu-mano’ had collapsed into ashes, and war had become inevitable.

Upon their arrival in Canterlot, they met with Princess Celestia and talked for a while. Her normally serene expression was clouded with fatigue and sadness. She had insisted that Twilight and her friends take a break, time to recover from their ordeal.

Rarity, Pinkie Pie, and Applejack have returned to Ponyville. Rarity throws herself into helping refugees who had fled from Whinnypool and also feeding the animals in Fluttershy cottage, Pinkie Pie tried her best to lift spirits at aid stations by giving away free cupcakes, and Applejack returned to Sweet Apple Acres, working tirelessly to increase crop yields for the war effort.

Rainbow Dash, on the other hoof, had flown straight to Cloudsdale. With the Royal Guard mobilizing, the Wonderbolts had been called to active duty. For Rainbow, this was her moment—a chance to not only fulfill her lifelong dream of becoming a Wonderbolt but also an opportunity to do something about Fluttershy. Twilight could only hope that Rainbow’s reckless courage wouldn’t lead her into greater danger.

As for Twilight, she remained in Canterlot, not out of desire, but duty. Her expertise in understanding foreign languages, along with her experience dealing with the ‘Hu-mano,’ made her indispensable. Two prisoners—strange creatures who spoke in guttural, clipped tones—were currently in custody, and Twilight was tasked with helping them understand Equestrian culture and language. Perhaps, if they could communicate, some path to peace could still be salvaged.

Finishing her morning routine, Twilight dried herself off and descended the grand spiral staircase of her parents' home. In the warmly lit living room, her mother, Twilight Velvet, was setting the table while her father, Night Light, was seated in his favorite armchair, a newspaper levitating in front of him.

“Good morning, sweetie,” her mother said softly, offering a faint smile. “I made pancakes.”

Twilight managed a small smile in return as she sat down at the table. The smell of warm syrup and fresh batter filled the air. For a brief moment, it felt like nothing had changed—that she was still a young filly waking up to her mother’s cooking before a day of studying at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. But the illusion was fragile.

The headline on her father’s newspaper shattered it entirely: ‘EQUESTRIA AT WAR’. The bold letters screamed across the page, accompanied by grim photographs of Royal Guards marching into distant fields.

Twilight swallowed hard, her appetite fading as she stared at the paper. Would they win? The memory of the ‘Hu-mano’s’ strange weapons—those loud, destructive tools that could punch through magical shields—flashed in her mind. She had seen their technology, their discipline, their cold efficiency. Could Equestria’s magic truly stand against such things?

She shook her head, trying to banish those dark thoughts. Equestria has waged many wars in the past, wars between other nations such as the Griffonian Empire during Merediterranean crisis, the Crystal Empire at the time when King Sombra a thousand years ago, and the invasion of Queen Chrysalis several months back. Each time, they had emerged victorious.

For now she enjoyed her meal and probably took a week off before returning to Canterlot Castle to continue her research on the new species. Her mission now is not to prevent war, but rather to bring back peace to Equestria. She would study, she would learn, and she would find a way to end this war. Whether through diplomacy, magic, or sheer determination, she would not let her home fall.

Who knows, if they managed to understand their language and defeat them in battle, they might be able to get the 'Hu-mano' to surrender or at least put them on the negotiating table.

Twilight took a deep breath and focused on her pancakes, savoring the fleeting warmth of home. Outside, the distant sound of marching hooves and clinking armor continued, a grim reminder of the storm on the horizon.

Evergreen steppe, Northeastern Equestria. September 10th, 2038. 1600 hours.

The golden light of the setting sun bathed the rolling hills and sprawling meadows of the Equestrian countryside. Shadows stretched long across the dirt road as three massive Royal Guard Legions marched in unison, their disciplined hooves striking the earth in perfect rhythm. The air buzzed with the synchronized beat of thousands of ponies marching as one, the cadence of their movement filling the otherwise tranquil evening with an ominous sense of purpose.

Each Legion was a formidable force, split into ten cohorts, each cohort further divided into three maniples, and each maniple separated into two centuriae. Around eighty ponies formed each centuria, creating tightly packed square formations that advanced with mechanical precision. The heavily armored Earth Ponies marched in the front, their gleaming bronze armor reflecting the dying sunlight. Behind them, the Unicorn units walked with regal poise, their horns occasionally glowing faintly with arcane power. Above, pegasi glided in formation, serving as aerial scouts and messengers.

The Legatus of each Legion rode on atop of large/heavily armored chariots pulled by two muscular Earth Ponies. These chariots bore tall blue banners decorated with the golden sun of Princess Celestia and the crescent moon of Princess Luna. Behind the standard-bearers, Signifers carried the sacred standards of each Legion, adorned with ornate golden alicorn, intricate carvings, and enchanted gemstones that hummed softly with magic.

"Left! Right! Left! Right!"
The commanding voices of Centurions boomed through the air, their helmets adorned with horizontal crests made of dyed horsehair—red for senior officers, black for lower-ranked centurions. They walked alongside their units, occasionally tapping a hoof on their soldiers' shoulders or adjusting the alignment of a pony whose formation faltered slightly.

Behind the marching soldiers, dozens of wooden carts rumbled along the dirt road, pulled by auxiliary ponies clad in lighter armor. These carts carried everything necessary to sustain an army on the march: barrels of water, sacks of grain, crates of medical supplies, tools for siege equipment, and even mobile blacksmith stations. A few carts were more lavishly adorned, bearing velvet curtains and fine Canterlot-crafted woodwork—they carried the higher-ranking officers and nobles who were too 'valuable' to march alongside common soldiers.

Inside one of the largest and most ornately decorated carts, Prince Blueblood lounged on a cushioned seat, flanked by other nobles-turned-generals. The interior was filled with luxurious purple drapes and golden candlesticks mounted on the cart's corners. A small table stood in the middle, maps and tactical diagrams scattered across its polished surface.

"It should be my Legion that leads the charge," declared General Gallant Glory, a stout Earth Pony noble from House Glorymane. His gilded armor gleamed even in the dim light filtering through the cart's curtains. "My ponies are equipped with mobile ballistae and catapults. We will bombard the enemy into submission before they even see us!"

"Preposterous!" Prince Blueblood snapped, flipping his carefully styled mane. His pale white coat practically shimmered under the lantern's light. "Your wooden toys are slow and clunky. My 2nd Legion possesses the most skilled Unicorn battlemages in all of Equestria! With their shields and attack spells, we could dismantle the enemy fortifications before your ballistae even set up!"

A third voice interrupted them—a sharp, authoritative tone that belonged to Sky Marshal Aetherius, commander of the Pegasus Airship Fleet. He spread his wings slightly for emphasis, his polished silver-blue armor reflecting the orange glow of the setting sun.
"Both of you are shortsighted. My fleet of airships and pegasi squadrons should strike first. We have mobility and the advantage of elevation. While your Legions trudge through mud and debris, we can rain down destruction from above!"

The argument grew heated, with raised voices and hoof-stamping echoing inside the cart. The scent of expensive wine and nervous sweat filled the confined space.

Seated near the far end of the table, General Crimson Armor, commander of the 3rd Legion, remained silent until the bickering subsided slightly. His voice was low but carried the weight of experience.
"Enough."

The others turned toward him, silenced by his calm authority.

"Do you fools forget the lessons of the past?" Armor continued, his gruff voice cutting through the tension. "During the Crystal War, under King Sombra's dark reign, Princess Luna herself devised the strategy we know today as Combined Hoof Warfare."

The younger generals leaned forward, their arrogance temporarily replaced by curiosity.

"In the first stage, a vanguard force of around ten thousand ponies attacks at dawn," Crimson Armor explained, tracing a hoof across the map. "They probe the enemy's defenses, test their strength, and weaken their resolve. Casualties will be high, but the survivors provide invaluable intelligence on enemy weaknesses."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"In the second stage, the main assault begins. Earth Ponies with heavy spears and shields take the frontlines, forming an unbreakable wall of muscle and steel. Unicorn mages deploy magical shields and bombard the enemy from range, while pegasi squads and airships launch devastating attacks from the skies."

"This…" Crimson Armor concluded, his steel-gray eyes scanning each officer in turn, "…is how we achieve victory. Not through petty squabbles over who gets to claim the first charge."

For a moment, silence reigned in the cart. Then, one by one, the generals nodded. Prince Blueblood cleared his throat. "Very well. We shall use this tactic. Let it not be said that the nobles of Equestria are incapable of cooperation."

Sky Marshal Aetherius smirked slightly. "Agreed."

Outside, the sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold. The Legions continued their steady march, their polished armor catching the last rays of daylight.

Some ponies in the ranks exchanged nervous glances; others stared forward with grim determination. Their flags and banners fluttered in the faint evening breeze, carrying the sigils of Equestrian pride across the twilight sky.

The ponies did not yet know the true scale of the storm they were marching into. They felt pride in their polished armor and disciplined formations, unaware that their shields and swords would soon be tested against steel, fire, and lead.

But for now, under the glowing orange sky, they marched on—toward a fate none of them could fully comprehend.

New Washington, Northeastern New Pangaea. September 10th, 2038. 1900 hours.

The sky above New Washington was a blanket of indigo, dotted with countless stars shimmering like scattered diamonds. The moon hung heavy and bright in the sky, casting a pale silvery glow over the sprawling colony below. Despite the clear and peaceful night, an atmosphere of unease lingered, like a heavy fog pressing against every soldier and worker. It was the calm before the storm—the silence before the chaos.

The perimeter of New Washington was alive with activity. Soldiers in combat fatigue scurried about, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of floodlights and vehicle headlights. They carried crates of ammunition, stacked sandbags, welded steel plates and barbed wires, into makeshift barricades. Their voices—quick commands, low murmurs, and occasional laughter—blended into the mechanical hum of heavy machinery working tirelessly.

On the outskirts, colossal M1150 Assault Breacher Vehicles (ABVs) rumbled forward, their armored hulls gleaming under the moonlight. These heavily armored beasts, nicknamed "Shredders," were equipped with massive plows and explosive line charges designed to clear minefields and debris. Their engines growled like predatory animals as they pushed aside boulders, uprooted trees, and flattened uneven terrain to create stable defensive lines. Sparks flew from their metal blades as they tore through obstacles with unrelenting precision.

Beside them, Tesmec Trenchers chewed into the earth, their mechanical arms fitted with sharp, rotating blades digging deep and wide trenches. The whirring sound of the trenching saws reverberated across the night air. These trenches, layered in three defensive lines, were becoming formidable barriers. Each layer was carefully equipped:
- Front Line: Machine gun nests reinforced with steel plating, barbed wires and draped with camouflage netting, positioned to create overlapping fields of fire.
- Second Line: TOW anti-tank missile launchers strategically hidden behind sandbags, their launch tubes aimed at potential choke points.
- Third Line: Mortar teams ready with high-explosive shells, positioned to rain destruction upon any approaching enemy.

Soldiers dug their own foxholes, creating small, hidden pockets in the earth shielded by sandbags. Camouflage netting was spread carefully across certain positions, blending them with the terrain. Meanwhile, engineers worked with disciplined efficiency to connect the trench lines via underground tunnels, creating channels for troops and supplies to move unseen by the enemy.

Further back, heavy war machines—M1A2 SEPv4 Abrams tanks and M2 Bradley IFVs—sat nestled in their own protective trenches, their imposing silhouettes partially hidden by the dark earthworks. The barrels of the Abrams' 120mm smoothbore cannons pointed outward, ready to unleash devastation on anything foolish enough to approach.

Artillery batteries had also been carefully placed at strategic points along the perimeter. M777 and Paladin Self-propelled howitzers, their long barrels aimed skyward, stood ready to rain destruction kilometers away if needed. Behind them, anti-aircraft systems—MIM-104 Patriot missile batteries and M163 Vulcan Air Defense System—were stationed with their radars sweeping the skies for any sign of aerial threats.

Above the colony, MQ-1C Gray Eagle drones buzzed softly, their silent watchful eyes surveying the forests and meadows beyond the perimeter. Occasionally, the whir of UH-60 Black Hawk and AH-64 Apache helicopters could be heard in the distance as they patrolled the colony's outskirts.

Within the walls of New Washington, the colony itself was a hive of activity. The military had taken over large sections of the civilian areas, turning empty lots and open spaces into:
- Barracks: Rows of prefabricated structures, with warm lights glowing inside.
- Command Posts: Housed inside large mobile containers stacked like LEGO bricks, with communication wires snaking out in every direction.
- Supply Depots: Warehouses brimming with crates of ammunition, rations, and medical supplies.
- Tent Hospitals: Rows of white tents, their interiors filled with cots and medical equipment, prepared to handle incoming casualties.
- Mobile Kitchens: Stainless steel food trucks worked overtime, filling the air with the scent of warm stew and bread.

Civilians, though restricted from leaving the colony, were seen assisting soldiers—carrying supplies, digging small fortifications, or cooking extra meals for the troops. Children peeked from behind windows, watching the endless activity with wide, curious eyes.

Not far from the colony, engineers worked tirelessly under floodlights, setting up a temporary airfield for the US Air Force F35s. Bulldozers and compactors leveled the terrain, while others poured concrete onto vast stretches of ground. The airstrip was being built with urgency, knowing that air superiority could determine victory or defeat in the days ahead.

Communication towers rose like metallic sentinels, blinking red lights in the dark. Their signal dishes pointed skyward, maintaining vital connections with the other colonies established during the second wave of colonialism—New Boston and New Philadelphia. Plans for future roads to connect these colonies physically were already in motion, but those would take time—time they might not have.

Deep in one of the fortified trenches, Lieutenant First Class Joe Cooper sat inside his M1A2 Abrams tank, his gloved hands gripping the control stick as his eyes scanned the Commander’s Independent Thermal Viewer (CITV) screen. The thermal imaging painted the outside world in shades of gray and black, with faint white blips indicating wildlife scurrying through the meadows beyond the defensive line.

The air inside the tank was stuffy, and the faint hum of the electronics filled the silence.

A sudden knock on the tank's hatch broke the stillness. Cooper sighed and pushed the heavy hatch open. Standing outside in the cold night air was Sergeant Adam Hampton, holding a steaming tray of food.

“Figured you’d be too stubborn to come grab a bite, sir,” Hampton said with a grin, passing down the tray.

Cooper smirked and took the food. “Appreciate it, Hampton. What’s on the menu tonight? Something gourmet, I hope.”

“MRE spaghetti and mystery meatballs. A five-star meal, sir,” Hampton joked.

They chuckled lightly. Hampton leaned on the side of the tank. “Why not head to the barracks? They’ve got heaters set up now, and some of the boys managed to rig up an old TV. They’re watching reruns of Top Gun.”

Cooper shook his head. “I’ll head back in a bit. Just wanted to keep an eye on things here for a while longer.”

“Well, don’t wait too long, sir. Marcus and Caleb were talking about doing a dogpile on your bunk if you’re late again.”

They laughed again before Hampton gave a mock salute and hopped off the tank. “See you soon, sir.”

Cooper settled back into his seat, tray balanced on his lap. As he chewed on lukewarm spaghetti, his eyes drifted back to the CITV screen. The meadows remained still—no movement, no sign of the alien Equines.

But his gut told him otherwise.

The silence was too perfect, the night too calm. The storm was coming.

And when it arrived, New Washington would be ready.

For now, all he could do was prepare for the worst—and hope for the best.

Author's Note

The fic finally reached 100k words! Yay ^^