i do not own any names or borrowed settings belonging to another.

Author note- I know this is a lot of words, but I hope you'll take the time to read them, as some things will be a lot easier to understand if you do.

Definitions-

Highlands- a large, remarkably fertile area in every Amihawkian nation, reserved for hunting and gathering. Amihawkian culture has never embraced farms or grocery stores, as the outlook is that hunting is far more satisfying and healthy. Keeping to that tradition, it is against the law to build any kinds of settlements or to modify a country's designated Highlands in any way. (Avalon is a rarity in that it's the only nation with four separate Highlands regions due to varied geography-Plains, Forest, Wetland, and Mountain Highlands. The story takes place on the Plains Highlands.)

the Seven Hells-the seven layers of the Amihawkian spirit world that are designated eternal punishment for those of evil. The lower the level, the more severe the punishments.

races appearing in story-

varon-part of the terradon race, lizard humanoids with colorful scales, hair, and pointed ears.

Felisar-cat humanoids with the facial features of house cats, tails, and fur in thousands of patterns and colors.

Kerion-another feline humanoid race, but resembling large felines like lions and tigers more, with broader muzzles, thicker tails, and larger ears.

verwolf-wolfish humanoids with bowed legs and stumpy tails.

komodo-reptilian swamp creature about the size of a large dog.

Hawktor- humanoid bird people with feathered heads and clawed talonlike hands. Wingless despite what they resemble.

Merbian-lanky humanoids, with narrow faces, catish noses and pointed ears. They have three toed feet and a large span of earthy colors from brown to green.

Nationalities appearing in story-

In this story there will be a more varied pool of people who come from other countries. In that regard, I felt I should put down some identifying traits-

Deltoran-the Deltoran accent sounds like a light English one, a sharp contrast to their rather battle focused and unruly culture. Many aspects of it are tribal, a lot like Native and South Americans from ancient times.

Morian- Morius is the resident Arctic continent and nation of Amihawk. Morians have an accent roughly akin to German and Russian, largely a blend between the two. Like many Amihawkian cultures they are once again tribal in culture even in modern times, although they can be more compared to the Inuit of old.

Wildemoor- the country of Wildemoor, one of the smaller countries on Amihawk, largely resembles the Vikings in culture and customs. As such, they talk with a speech pattern and sound close to the old Norse dialects.

Skyberian- Skyberia's culture can be largely compared to America's in attitude and speech, although their culture is different in a few key ways.

Atmosian-once again, inhabitants of Atmos largely speak similar to Americans. Their culture is often carefree and often fond of daredevil airborne stunts, with an emphasis on utilizing the powers of crystals.

Afrisia-people of this continent sound African when speaking, with a culture largely similar to Africa. They are known for powerful druid magic.

All the Lycanthropes are from Avalon, minus Lehvahk, who is Arurian.

DECEPTION

CHAPTER 1

DARKENED SKIES

"I say that we have soup."

"Who wants soup? That does not hold you overnight."

"Oh?" Levak waved the spoon under Somra's nose. She snarled, wrinkling said appendage. "I am the cook here, remember? And who needs a rock in their stomach while sleeping?"

"A rock?" Somra stared at the sniper, long and hard. "Good food doesn't feel like a rock. It feels wonderfully satisfying." Somra's expression drifted into a dreamy state, detached to the point where her eyes roved the empty space by Levak's head.

"Right..." Levak let the word linger. He could only imagine the many foods drifting through the weapon specialist's head, and reveled in riling her up-though he was risking his proverbial life in doing so. The brown verwolf waved the spoon again before tossing it into a empty pot. "Anyhow, this being a stalemate and all, I think a community vote is in order."

"Or I can force you into a headlock, and you'd need to do it." Somra's red eyes glinted fiercely from beneath her silver bangs. She tossed the rest of her hair over her shoulder and braced both palms on the table, leaning forward. Levak's eyes darted from side to side. Knowing she was trying to trap him, he began to slowly inch sideways.

The kitchen door sliding open was what stopped Somra's menacing advance and Lehvahk's tentative attempt to escape. A confused looking blue green varon stood there.

"What's going on here? Lehvahk, why haven't you started cooking?"

Levak paused, giving Fearon the most innocent, blue eyed look he could. "I swear, I would have started a while ago, if Somra hadn't started demanding that I cook what she wants-"

"All I said was no soup!" the midnight blue varon interjected with venom. "It's not filling enough. Come on, back me up."

Fearon's yellow and orange eyes narrowed, flitting from the silver haired weapons specialist to the brown furred sniper. Levak could tell he was trying to figure out who was to blame and what to do.

A labored sigh seemed to indicate he had given up on the first goal. The leader ran his hand through his ragged mop of black hair. "Okay, look. We need something to happen here, or nothing will get done. If you can't agree, we'll all vote. Of course, the whole scene could be avoided if you left Levak be..."

Somra snarled incoherently. "We'll all starve if you leave it up to him."

"No need to call us. I heard you already, and I brought Takar. Can't have a community vote without all of us, after all."

Brendon's level voice came from behind Fearon. He sidestepped further into the kitchen, twenty feet wide and ten feet high like most of the Strikeflier's rooms. It was a small spaceship compared to most of Amihawk's vessels.

Levak sighed, melancholy. No one ever liked to leave him to work his artistry with food. They always liked to hinder him.

Just once, just one time, Lehvahk wished they would leave it up to his imagination. He smiled ruefully as Fearon cleared his throat and raised his hands.

"Alright, I'm initiating the vote. Everyone say what they want."

"I don't need food." The ill-tempered grumble came from Takar. The kerion's brown gold fur was ruffled, possibly from a disturbed sleep. The scowl on his lionlike face was thunderous, and he attempted to leave almost instantly after speaking.

Brendon grabbed his arm when he tried. The half dragon verwolf was shorter and far more bony than the pilot-Takar had always slightly intimidated Levak with his six foot height-but the touch was still enough to bring Takar to a stop, if only for him to protest vehemently. "Don't stop me. I'm not hungry, I don't care about this...vote."

Takar glared down at Brendon past his lengthy hair. It was a dark brown that was nearly black, lanky, and battered, serving to shade the pilot's eyes effectively. It made for some highly scary expressions, and Levak instinctively took a slight step back.

The gray pelted verwolf met the pilot's gaze steadily. Brendon didn't have any of his blonde brown hair in his eyes as it was always cropped spiky and short. However, the piercing green glare of rebuke and concern, which Brendon was known for delivering, needed no enforcing.

"It isn't healthy not to eat, and you don't do so enough. As our medic, you should know that."

Takar fidgeted slightly. He mumbled something and began to move once more, only to be stopped again by Fearon.

"Hold on, he's right. You've got to eat with us at least a few nights of the week. That way we know you're eating enough to survive, at least."

"You aren't someone I need to listen to." Takar sounded acutely scornful. The glare in his red eyes was nearly as spiteful.

Levak raised a hand, still holding a pot in the other. How long had that been there? He frowned. He must have lost track.

Shrugging, the sniper quipped out what was on his mind. "You can at least tell us what your favorite food is. Maybe the rest of us like it too, or will at least be okay with it. Then will you be happy?"

The kerion stared at him. He averted his gaze to the sleeves of his trench coat after a few moments, seeming to bite his lip. Levak let a bright grin slip onto his features when Takar let out a grudging sigh of agreement.

"I don't think we have it, but I've always liked venison. I didn't get to eat it much, so...it was kinda like a treat."

Levak frowned, the answer making no real sense to him. "Really? Venison's from deer. We have that. We've been flying over the Highlands for a while, and Fearon went hunting yesterday."

The pilot twitched a ring pierced ear. "My...family never got to the Highlands much. And they didn't feed me well."

The brown verwolf thought of pursuing further, but Takar's withering gaze stopped him. He nodded meekly, accepting the mysterious fragment. "Well, then, everyone likes venison?"

Fearon licked his lips. "It is freshly caught, basically. Sounds good..." he started to stare off into a space, a wistful look in his eyes.

Beaming ear to ear, Levak opened the fridge and started to drag out several slabs of meat, cut courtesy of Somra upon Fearon's return from hunting. "Sure thing."

"Oh, this'll be good," Somra whooped. "See? No soup. This is far better."

"You can be far more clever than you look, Somra, our friend," Brendon murmured. "Even without it being intentional, you got a non-soup meal."

"Yep. Sorry for using you, Takar." Somra went to elbow the pilot teasingly, only to hiss in indignation. Levak looked up from where he was deciding how much meat to cook, spotting the empty space where Takar had been.

"He slipped away." Fearon sounded both resigned and slightly disappointed, possibly even a little angry-it was hard for Levak to tell. "I was hoping he'd stay a little longer."

Brendon's thoughtful gaze was pinned on the door as well. "Sometimes his tendencies worry me."

"Until he lets us help, there ain't much we can do." Shrugging, Somra turned to Fearon. "Want to play cards on the bridge?"

Fearon nodded, a soft smile lighting his features. "Sure. Maybe we can get a conversation going with Takar, too."

Somra dashed out. "You seem more eager to talk with me!" she called.

The leader ran after her. "Ah..maybe?"

Levak chuckled at that. Fearon couldn't have sounded more awkward. And he only smiled like that when Somra proposed an activity only between the two of them.

"I'm serious," he heard Brendon mutter. A chair scraped as he sat down at the small table bolted to the floor of the room. "I worry about him. So does Fearon, but we can't seem to break through to him..."

Having selected the cuts he needed, Levak put them on an oven pan. He frowned, thinking over what his friend had just muttered to himself. Deciding they might as well talk, he decided to start the conversation up. "What, is it really so worrying? So Takar's a night owl and antisocial. That happens to plenty of people, right?"

Yet despite his optimistic words, Levak could well remember the night when he had heard the pilot curse and scream at seemingly nothing but what was happening inside his head. He had seen Takar in one of his most vulnerable states, if briefly. He had tried to put it out of mind-with no success. Talking with him afterward hadn't revealed much to Levak, only that his bad tempered companion had problems he didn't want to share. Deep down, he knew Takar's issues with people were more complicated than simply being antisocial. But given that Levak didn't like dark topics, he'd been trying to cheer things up a bit.

If Brendon's still morose face was anything to go by, it hadn't worked. He turned his attention to the food. Eyes and hands focused on prepping the meat, Levak felt rather than saw Brendon's exasperated look.

"You can't honestly believe that. Ever since we entered and left the Shifting Sands, you've made it apparent that you are a lot more intelligent and capable than you seem."

Levak winced. Point taken, if given in rather harsh wording. He yanked the oven door open, then looked over his shoulder at Brendon. "Okay...yeah. I guess there are reasons to be concerned. Takar needs help, but let me guess...he won't let anyone give it?"

"Yes. That can't be good for him." A wry smile lit Brendon's face. "But then, I guess most of us are no better."

Sliding the venison strips into the oven and closing it, Levak knew the mage was right. It didn't take long in the team's company to know they were all hiding things. Of course, the severity of those secrets varied. "Heh, who knows. I bet eventually we'll all understand each other. Hey, would ya like to help me cook this?"

Brendon nodded. "How?"

"Well..." Levak smiled sheepishly. "I actually just want company."

The dusty gray mage smiled back. "Sure. You really don't like silence, huh?"

Levak snorted. "Seven Hells no, it's stifling. Makes it seem like there's no life in the world." He brightened even more. "Speaking of which, we should have music!"

Bounding over to the old radio bolted to the counter, he flipped it on. Compared to the rest of spaceship, most of it modified to current times, the thing was ancient-but most of the group had appreciation for the old things. Low bass classic rock streamed out. Levak leaned against the counter, one eye on the timer, snapping his fingers to the rhythm. He spotted Brendon eying him with amusement.

"I see I am cheering you up."

"You're definitely the sun on this ship."

"Yeah, and Takar's the clouds."

"Somra's the storm," Brendon muttered.

"And Fearon, um..." Levak thought for a moment. "He's blue skies, I guess?"

Brendon laughed. "Comparing our friends to weather...there must be some kind of online horoscope for that."

"Hehe, maybe."

Brendon raised an eyebrow. Abruptly he changed topic. "I always forget that you're Atmosian. You don't really talk like one."

Levak shrugged. "I ran away a while ago, remember? Generally didn't like Blizzaris, anyway." The brown verwolf allowed a sad smile to appear on his face, a rare expression for him. He didn't want to get into the exact circumstances under which he had left his home nation. He'd wanted to escape his parents and their forced plans for his future, only to be dunked into a far darker life. "I like daredevil, but they were a bit too overboard. And I didn't have as much control over my future as I wanted. I may have done some things, though…I'd prefer not to say."

"Yeah. I guess it's best to be more general." Brendon looked awkward. "Sorry for reminding you."

"Hey, it's fine. You apologized, right?" Levak crossed his arms, tapping a finger to the song on the radio. "But why the sudden interest in Atmos's culture? Are you part Atmosian? If so, I can see why you'd want to learn." Levak spun in place, striking a pose. "And I know tons of stuff-just ask me."

The dragon verwolf teen chuckled lowly, hugging his bony frame. "Well, no, I don't have any descendants from Atmos. But we are planning to travel the world. Sure, I've read about all of it, including Atmos, but it's always good to hear about it from someone with first hand knowledge."

Brightly grinning, the sniper began to oblige. "Sure. I know all the legends best..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Somra reached the bridge a good few seconds before Fearon came flying in after her. She turned, ready to face him, to see the blue green varon was already attempting to pounce on her.

Sidestepping, Somra aimed a loose blow at her friend. He grinned and blocked with one arm, falling into the familiar pattern of hand to hand sparring they had often adopted. The pair ended up circling in the narrow space between the holo-screen table and the opposite wall. Panting and thumping filled the small space.

Fearon managed to end it by hooking her leg out from under her. Somra fell backward, into one of the blocky flight chairs. The upper corner dug into one shoulder. She ignored the pain, attempting to move, only for Fearon to land beside her, somehow fitting onto the flight chair as well. He roped an arm around her neck, pulling her close to his chest. Had she been an enemy, he would have had her in a perfect choke-hold that would threaten her life. The seat rocked back from the impact.

Scout bolted away at the motion, startled awake. The scarlet komodo circled in a corner and ducked his nose under his tail, the lizard creature going back to sleep.

The other teen's heart was thudding powerfully. Somra could feel the rapid beat against the flat of her back. The two sat there panting, Fearon's grip loose, Somra allowing herself to slump against him. The thrill of battle was still fresh and tantalizing. A glance at the clock confirmed they had been at it for an hour or two, and a rest was demanded.

Cards sounded good as an activity now. Somra felt reluctant to move, though-Fearon's arm had slid down, and the two had shifted so they were snugly pressed side by side on the narrow space. The black haired leader now had his arm draped around Somra's slender shoulders.

Not that he was bulky. Fearon was remarkably wiry for a varon-the standard build was thicker-but it had always impressed the weaponsmaster that he was so fast and strong despite his leanness. Then there was just that she felt oddly safe and at peace around him, something few others could replicate.

"So how about those cards?" Fearon sounded both wanting and reluctant. His orange and yellow eyes were still fixed out the window, on the steadily darkening sky.

Somra nodded slowly. "Sure. Where are they again?"

"In the hatch on the bridge table. Where else would the damn things be?"

The grumble had come from the still figure of Takar. He had been on the second windowed level below the bridge during the sparing match, having left the Strikeflier on autopilot when it began. It was the level were the bedrooms were, and Somra suspected he had retreated there for to be alone. Somra had thought she'd heard him mutter something along the lines of, 'too bloody noisy,' as he did.

It had been tempting to try and drag the antisocial grump into the match too. Somra had nearly gone with that impulsive decision, but Takar had been gone into the Strikeflier's lower decks before she could. Mood soured by the pilot's grumpy remark, she glared at the back of his shaggy haired head. "You know, you could've set that in a less insulting way. Or not said anything."

Takar's ring pierced ear twitched. Both ears began to lay flat.

"And what would that have done? All I was doing was presenting my opinion."

"This is pointless," Fearon interjected, shaking his head. "Let's agree to disagree."

Takar snorted, stiffly straightening in the pilot seat. He grasped the flight controls, the Strikeflier lurching slightly as he freed it from autopilot. "Fine."

"You could be a bit happier. Levak's cooking something you like," Fearon remarked, slightly more sharply than he had intended.

Stony silence was the pilot's only response, along with a slight reflection of a scowl in the window. Before the bridge atmosphere became even colder, Levak barged in. The sniper carried in with him the strong smell of spices.

Somra pretended to gag. "What did you do, roll in your cooking materials?"

"Heh, at least I don't smell like smoke." Levak scratched his head sheepishly. "It took a lot of practice for me to make something that's pretty good."

She nodded vigorously. It could well be remembered that when the Strikeflier first came to be populated by a team instead of just one grumpy kerion who barely ate, someone needed to handle food. As it was, Levak had been the winner-not through vote, but since he had volunteered. No one, Somra included, had minded. None of them were cooks-and since Levak had shown interest, they'd been more than happy to let him do it.

At first the decision seemed like one to be regretted. Levak had burned several things to crisps at the start, sporadically making anything edible.

"Thank gods you actually tried to get better at it," Somra let out a huffing laugh. "We'd all have starved otherwise."

Levak nodded ecstatically, his auburn hair flopping into his face. "Yeah. But I actually came in here to suggest something. Why don't we spend the night at a bar after food?"

Fearon shifted next to her. He looked largely reluctant, although at first Somra wasn't sure why.

Then she remembered. Often it was easy to forget how young some of them were. Out of them all, Takar was twenty one, and the only one old enough to drink, besides Fearon, whose nineteen years were just enough. Somra herself was still eighteen, with half a year to go until her next birthday, Brendon was her age, and Lehvahk was the youngest-seventeen. Of course, she tended to drink anyway...just not in public, or in largely lawless places like Saborga, one of Avalon's outermost islands and home of outlaws. It was her guilty pleasure.

Saborga. It was where she, Takar and Fearon had first met, then set them on course to form this Sky Knight team.

Now we're one happy group of freelance military recruits.

"I...don't know that I like that idea."

"We could act on it, but then get in trouble with the law for underage drinking," Takar grumbled caustically. "Only me and Fearon can legally drink or even be in a bar out of everyone on this ship."

"We could try faking." Levak cheekily grinned. "I can be very convincing."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Takar retorted harshly.

Standing, Fearon turned fully to look at the sniper, crossing his arms. The young leader's voice was hard as he replied. "They'll ask for identification. There's no point in it when that makes it impossible to lie." Then he paused. Levak's hopeful eyes remained fixed on him.

"Maybe we could go. As long as you abstain from alcohol."

"Tell Somra that. She's the alcoholic."

Somra growled, showing her teeth. "I don't drink that much."

"Sure you don't. Four bottles in one night isn't a problem."

"Not as long as it isn't every night!"

"Haha, you admit it."

The weapons specialist lunged at him. "Insufferable little weasel! Get back here, coward!"

Levak jumped and made to bolt for the door. Somra's hand came within a hair's breath of his shirt before he had exited the bridge. Dimly she heard a beeping going off from the kitchen.

"Fearon, I'll take that deal!" Levak's voice echoed down the hall. "I'm just going to get the venison out!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Fearon grinned, fully satisfied. Levak was no five star cook, but he had done a fairly good job nonetheless. The team was now lounging around the bridge, lazily watching clouds go by in a rare moment of calm.

"So, what's around here?" Levak was slumped upside down in one of the flight seats, kicking the air with his feet and poking with one finger at a active holoscreen. "I'm ready to start partying."

Glancing at the clock, Fearon noted the nine p.m. flashing there in glowing white digits. He shrugged, passing the question onto Brendon with a gesture.

The dusty gray halfling's mouth gaped in a yawn, his white teeth showing against the pink. Lazily he stretched and reached for the maps. Then he paused, swiveling his chair and going for the spaceship's built in computer. The blue screen materialized before him as Brendon began to tap on the keyboard that had appeared below it.

"Why go for that?"

Brendon, busily typing, replied swiftly. "I'd rather do this quick. Might as well let web search find out for me."

Nodding, Fearon allowed himself to relax. Soon enough a comfortable lethargy had overtaken him. He tiredly scrubbed the back of one hand over his blind left eye.

Oddly, in the space of a few minutes the dark, starry sky had been swallowed up by dark, thick clouds. As the Strikeflier passed through them, they seemed to get thicker, as though grasping at the passing ship with wispy fingers.

Fearon fidgeted. The clouds unsettled him, and he wasn't at all sure why.

Brendon sighed. "We may need to put this endeavor on hold, guys. There's nothing around until we reach Broome."

"Let me guess," Fearon muttered. "We have no chance of reaching it tonight."

The mage nodded. "The Highlands is designated hunting ground for everyone in the country, all four of them. There aren't really any establishments on it. No roads, no cities, no towns..."

"Since it's not allowed."

"Yeah. Most people bring ships or just camp along with a companion. We're still a day's worth of travel from the Highland's easternmost border. I guess it was a stretch to expect finding anything within a few hours."

"Hey, at least we tried," Somra waved a relaxed hand in the air.

"Why does Deltora have four, and everywhere else only have one?" Lehvahk wondered aloud. Fearon guessed he hadn't known he was talking aloud, judging from the sniper's slight start when Brendon replied.

"Most of the other nations have only one environment, so they just rope off a really huge piece of optimal land to use." Brendon shrugged. "It's just how they do things."

"So...no party night?"

"I guess n-"

"Wait!" Fearon directed his sharp gaze back at the sniper, whom had darted over to the window. He was excitedly peering out, blue eyes suddenly alight again. "There's lights down there. Enough to be a town." Whirling, he shot a smug look at Brendon. "Looks like you were wrong, smarty pants."

Brendon's eyes were wide and dazed. Fearon frowned, nearly as troubled.

"No, there should not be any kind of buildings down there. It's illegal. So why would…" Shaking his head, Brendon began to pull out his huge collection of paper maps.

"He's right." Fearon was barely aware he was growling. "Nothing should be there. Something's off." Instinctively he tensed, slowly standing. The feeling of unease was back, stronger than before.

Somra, eyes narrowed in confusion, stood and made her way over to Lehvahk. She peered out the bridge window too, and Fearon saw her eyes go wide.

"The idiot's right." Somra sounded plain stunned. "There are buildings down there." She squinted at them again. "And they look really..."

By now Fearon had made his way over there too. "Close?" he offered, for lack of a better word. His own brain had effectively slowed down at the sight of what was below them.

"That makes no sense." Fearon didn't hide his bluntness. "This is the part of the Highlands based on the plains. How far from the ground are we?"

Brendon paused. He gained the pensive look that made Fearon know for sure he was thinking. "High enough to clear a city skyline. There shouldn't be any kind of elevation out here."

Narrowing his eyes, Fearon glared down at the buildings.

The scene below them was littered with several structures, none looking like anything Fearon had seen before. They were made of dark wood, almost comical in appearance with tapering, triangle roofs that curved in the middle. All were made of a dark, almost violet wood and rutted, brown metal that looked pitch black in the dark. Lanterns hung above each door, whether the buildings were large or small. None of them seemed to cast very much light, simply little pools of orange against a deeper black tapestry.

The light glinted eerily of the curves and lines of the buildings, like they were coated in oil. The oppressive clouds were at ground level, too, masking everything in a bleary fog. Objects further than a mile seemed to vanish-Fearon could only dimly make out the fuzzy shapes of more structures that could have been anything.

"Hey, bastards." Takar jabbed a finger at the communications interface on the Strikeflier's dashboard. The screen lit up with lights and colors, then collectively flashed a negative red. The meters and indicators for fuel and navigation seemed to fluctuate in turn, the holo-screens flickering in a disturbing way. Fearon glanced at them as they settled down once more, now flashing a plethora of colors.

It was as though both the technology and arcane side of the Strikeflier was starting have trouble. A disturbing thought that the leader didn't want to believe.

"What is it?" Fearon eyes didn't leave the scene below. This whole thing unsettled him on a deep and sublime level. There was no way the Highland's regular monitoring could have allowed a settlement…

"We have an incoming call. And this'll make you even happier-the line they are calling from is the only one we can assess." Takar poked the communications screen with an irritated finger. In green, a name flashed. "The other channels are all gone, from local to worldwide. No off-planet lines either."

Casting another wary look out the window, Fearon moved to look. "Shak'ora Delmu?"

Levak snorted in laughter. "Who names a city that?"

Brendon's finger shot up. "Skyberians. Fracasta names things in like that, with a comma indicating a pause between the name's two parts. Afrisia does the same, even though they don't have the same ties as Skyberia, given the land was geologically separated from Fracasta. The difference between them and the Skyberians is that they add a second, whole word after the first part of the name. The significance comes from when Skyberia was a colony of Morius-"

"Ookay, you should stop. My brain's getting overloaded," Levak stated in a matter of fact tone.

Brendon sighed. Fearon shrugged sympathetically. "We know you like to show your knowledge, but we don't have time."

Nodding, Brendon frowned again. "The maps don't show any city or town named Shak'ora Delmu, though." He gestured at the computer. "It's not even showing up on the planetary net. Nothing down there really resembles Skyberian architecture, either. It's all wrong -Skyberians like white, blue, graceful arches, towers. Airy things."

Somra tilted her head. "Does that resemble any nation's building style? It doesn't look that way to me."

"Nor to me," Brendon said slowly. He raked a disturbed hand through his blonde brown hair. "Believe me, I studied these things. You're right."

"To me," Levak muttered, "It looks like some kind of ghost town from a children's horror movie."

"That," Somra said with a shiver, "Is pretty accurate. This place seriously isn't on the maps? Or the planetary database?"

"Legally, and according to the eyes of scouts and higher surveillance from satellite, it shouldn't even be before us," Brendon responded. His hand relocated to his chin. "It's a mystery, and a disturbing one at that."

A resounding bang sounded. Takar swore from over by the flight controls. "Gods damn! I checked up on every bleeding thing this morning. Nothing should be godsdamned broken. It was all working fine!"

"Maybe you missed something? I mean, this thing is a two hundred year old crate." Fearon cringed as Levak blurted out what he was thinking senselessly, as was his habit. "Maybe we should retire the Strikeflier to a museum." Levak laughed at the end of his sentence.

Takar slowly stood and looked menacingly over his shoulder, red eyes gleaming with barely restrained fury. "Keep laughing and I'll tear your tongue out, feed it to vultures, and hang your carcass of the side of the fucking pontoon."

Lehvahk gulped. He raised his hands in surrender at the veiled threat. "Relax, huh? It was just a suggestion."

Takar's murderous look died down. Grumbling, he turned back to the flight controls and the communication screen. "So, what's the call here? Should we answer?"

Fearon gnawed his lip. "Well..." Uncertainly he glanced out the window. The ominous clouds and sense of isolation made his decision fairly easy, even though he still wasn't sure it was right. He had the uneasy feeling that if they tried to fly away, even directly upward into the orbit of space, the Strikeflier would just keep going in circles. "Okay, sure. Our choices are remarkably limited anyway."

Jaw twisting into a wry and cynical grimace, Takar obliged with a leaden flick of his finger. The fact that he didn't even try to argue or make a remark only emphasized to Fearon that his feelings were shared across the board.

The holo-screen flickered as the Strikeflier's communications opened the line, only a brief moment of frazzle coming through before a voice broke in. The voice was female, heavy with a foreign accent that Fearon at first struggled to categorize. He managed after a few words-the accent was distinctly from the northern country of Wildemoor.

"Falcon Squad ship Strikeflier, model Az-6 Harbringer, we request thy to land immediately."

Fearon paused, thinking on how to respond. The Falcon Squad title didn't confuse him-often that was the term used for Sky Knights outside of Atmos. Rather, it was the rest of the sentence that was worrying.

Somra hissed lowly. "She sounds really lifeless. I don't like it."

She's right, Fearon realized with a jolt. The caller sounded flat and completely emotionless, almost, if he had to draw a comparison, robotic.

Fearon leaned closer to the holo-screen, choosing his next words carefully. "Why? Wouldn't it work just as well for us to ask you for directions out of this area?"

A short silence was all he got. Then the speaker began again, still as flat toned and dismal as before. "You must land. We demand it. Or we will make you."

"Make us?" Takar sounded remarkably spiteful. "As if, bastirede. Legally, this place doesn't even exist. You don't own this bleeding land, got it?"

"That might've been a bit brash," Brendon cautioned. "We don't know what they have against us."

A low rumble proved his point, sending a noticeable vibration even through the floor of the ship. The drone was deep and mechanical, ruling out anything alive, and Fearon felt as though a rush of energy had just suffused the air. Glinting off starboard drew the eyes of everyone aboard.

"What are those?" Somra gasped breathlessly.

A faint outline, vaguely akin to a tower, could be glimpsed through the drifting clouds. Even as they watched it unfurled, growing taller and seeming to curve forward like the neck of a rearing snake. The gleam of metal and a single point of violet light, steadily becoming stronger.

"That's a flare turret," Takar muttered. "No idea why it's here...those are only mounted on Skyberian Air Fortresses. Or on the walls of holds on the seaboards."

"Wouldn't chance to be any of those around, huh?"

"The Skyberian military doesn't just let those drift around, bonehead. The only actual conclusion is that these bastards somehow built their own," Takar gestured impatiently below them, "by having military deserters help them. But the end point is that those things have plenty of power to blast us out of the sky."

"Oh..." the brown verwolf dejectedly looked at his feet.

Fearon set his mouth in a grim line and looked at each of his teammates in turn. "What do you guys think?"

"That there could be way to many of those turrets out there to flee," Somra said flatly, and grumpily. It couldn't be more obvious she hated what logic was dictating her to say. Every line of her seemed ready for action, a tangible fight to solve their problems. "And fast as the Strikeflier is, the firing speed of those turrets are a lot faster. I've read about them a lot." Somra's eyes became slightly unfocused. "Beautiful weapons, you know..."

"So the collective verdict is to give in?" Levak sighed disparagingly. "Some of ya might doubt it, but I really have outgrown just giving up."

Fearon motioned to Takar. The pilot's unreadable gaze flicked from the leader to the radio controls, then back to him.

"You sure about this?"

"Do you see any other way out?"

The pilot scowled. "No."

"Then start descending." Fearon turned his eyes back landward. "We'll just have to land and wing it."

third series installment of Lycanthropes here. Things about the planet itself are expanding now, and it feels pretty good to reveal bits of the world I have made. Amihawk's been the labor of many years.

in light of the changes to the Strikeflier, in many ways this has moved away from being a fancitcion. all i need to do to make this a original work is change some names and alter some histories. i can and am doing this in a seperate file on my laptop. the core plot, charecters, and general world won't change drastically as a result. the changes to the Strikeflier, making it a spaceship instead, are basically a way of easing into it. for now, assume Atmos is behind in technology.

Once again, this second part of the series took me a fair amount of time to write and then edit. Reviews and feedback are something I really want, both to improve and to feel better about my writing capabilities.