Incursion

Prologue:

The same dream, always the same dream.

The desert seemed to stretch on forever, all but one cave.

The heavy armour on the paladin made the heat of this wasteland even less bearable.

The blood dripping from his wound sizzled on the sand.

We came to this place to share God with these heathens, damn shame they'd prefer to share their blades.

As the paladin neared the cave a bright yellow figure stepped into view.

"Hello, old friend, I've came to you, for one final favour"

Then there was nothing but sunlight.

This is a fictional story.

A story about redemption.

Of how when two worlds collide, and the only forseeable outcome is conflict, a ray of hope can stand for peace.

Of how a heart darkend by bitterness can still be taught how to forgive.

Of how a friendship can be forged in the tides of war.

And of course, of Ponies.

This is a fictional story.

But then again, aren't they all?

Wilson:

The sun blazed relentlessly through the crack in Wilson's curtain, seemingly able to catch his aching eyes from half the solar system away. He groaned and pulled the thin hotel duvet over his sickly green face. Why on Earth do I do this to myself, and more importantly, where did I leave that glass? A hand emerged from underneath the covers and fumbled for the pint of water that he had prepared before leaving his room the night before, eventually it felt the sharp coldness of the glass and grasped it without hesitation, withdrawing it back into the warmth of the duvet.

Gulp, gulp, gulp. Even the sound of drinking hurts, how bad was I last night? The empty glass returned from under the sheets, followed by Wilson himself, his usual large countenance looking considerably diminished this morning, who headed straight towards his small pack to begin his bi-monthly game of hunt the painkillers. This particular bout was shockingly quick, he found the white box in the first pouch he checked, and immediately threw three in his mouth. Let's see, any major mistakes yesterday? He thought to himself as the jumbled memories of the prior night began to seep into his consciousness, Went out, met up with Si, all good so far, went to the Miller's for a couple before going into town, oh dear, town. That was where it went wrong, The shots at Hexa...Until the thought of shots at Hexa, the local nightclub, Wilson's thoughts had all made sense.

After the shots though, it became a jumble of pounding music, flaming drinks, and loose women. Then people started to panic, there was screaming, running, and something else. Something purple. Wilson shook his head, as if to clear it of the confusing jumble of the night before, it'd come back to him soon enough, and if not, then it mustn't have been that important.

Wilson made his way to the window and threw back the curtains, allowing the warm light of the summer sun into the room. What time is it anyway, I've got to be on the train for five, Glancing at the clock on the table told him it was only midday allowing him plenty of time before he needed to make the trip back to his station. He eyed the laptop in the corner, Maybe Facebook can shed some light on things? Without a moment's hesitation he flipped the lid and opened his browser.

What was filling Wilson's newsfeed was entirely unexpected, lots of talk of aliens, some people claiming it's the end of the world, the young man felt some creeping memory begin to surface. Apparently it was all over the news, the internet, and anywhere else you could find information. Aliens had arrived on earth, around the globe, at exactly 2:14 AM, nobody knew where they came from, and what purpose they had, no sooner had they appeared, they vanished through great rifts in space. Wilson clicked a link, and saw a blurred image of one of the "aliens" next to a man around his build.

The memory stopped creeping, it had surfaced, and was starting to sprint.

That little purple horse thing.

I must have been spiked.

Like someone had tore open a hole in the sky.

It must have been a hallucination.

But it seemed so real.

It can't be real.

But it was.

Twilight something?

Twilight Sparkle.

The Unicorn.

The memory had reached it's destination, and Wilson was bombarded with the truth of what happened after the shots, first contact.

Wilson was at the bar, wobbling slightly and attempting to engage anyone in conversation, his drinks laid out in front of him, three lagers and chasers for the kicker. Halfway down the first of three pints it started.

A loud noise. less than a bang, but more than a crack, it could possibly be called a crang or a back, split the room, and then the screaming happened, people flocked to the exit of the dingy club, fleeing from some unknown terror. Someone knocked Wilson who span drunkenly round to confront whatever miscreant had the audacity to spill his alcohol, but was greeted instead by a great tear in the middle of reality. And something was coming out.

I remember the fear, I was frozen, all I could do was stare at the rip and pray that whatever horror emerged would find some other prey.

But it wasn't a horror that emerged, it was something small and purple.

"Hey there! My name's Twilight Sparkle, what's yours?" Whatever unearthly beast this was, it could talk English.

"Mine?" The thing from the tear was staring straight at the dumbfounded Wilson

"Well everypony else seems to be crazier than Pinkie when she's been in Sugarcube Corner's pantry for too long, so who else?" A horse, that's what this Twilight Sparkle was. A purple horse, I was afraid of that?

"I'm Wilson, ummm, what are you here for? Are you going to eat me?" Wilson's alcohol ridden mind could focus on only two things, his thirst for the remaining beers behind him, and not being eaten by the thing in front of him. Clearing his thoughts, and arranging his priorities, he turned and grasped the two glasses from the bar.

"Not unless you're made of flowers" The little horse laughed, putting his mind at ease.

"Beer?" offered Wilson, and the memory became hazy.