Ach Scheeiße, jetzt geht es wieder los.

Prologue

March 26 5015 - Spearhead

There was something about sand that fascinated Spearhead. It was many of the grey and yet so depressing features on this horrible island. Even with that nasty ash residue though, it still had that warm and soft feeling that he always got from sand. Spearhead had to admit, I love sand. I can't really understand the dragons that don't like it though. It has so many uses! You can rub things smooth with it. You can use it to clean your scales, even when it's this black. And I just can't understand how the typically narcissistic idiots of my tribe can't understand that.

Those who really did have a deep hatred for sand had at least some decent arguments. They complained about the sand being too grainy and coarse. They said it also could get in between their scales and give them nasty rashes underneath. And they really complained that it got in their bags when they were frisking around, not paying one mind to where their belongings fell. At least Spearhead had the intelligence to set down his belongs gently, so the sand didn't get inside everything before he began thrashing around in the sand like a ninny. In general, it seemed like most RainWings were like that. Fools.

Only the older NightWings had any stomach for anything "oppressive" or "cruel." They were real fighters, for they could withstand things that even Spearhead couldn't. They had indeed adapted to one of the most treacherous and hateful environments. They had managed to get used to the oppressive smokey air, which even Spearhead could not withstand for that long. And they had lived there for hundreds of years too, knowing only this wretched island and the once dormant and now foreboding volcano. Even though it had only been a few years since its eruption, none had dared to test their meddle here again.

They had lived in this place until a few years ago, when they left in panic, swearing loyalty to the new Queen. She had just barely been a dragonet then, and by Spearhead's standards was still one. Queen Glory was one of those enigmas that had mystified him at the time. But he and the NightWings accepted it, for her rule was better than what had been in place before. Deep down inside, this was most likely one of the biggest reasons he was still alive. It had drove a new era upon his tribe—which he had never considered himself part of until then.

That was three years ago! Spearhead thought as if it were a scientific concept that was nearly impossible to grasp. It had felt like so long for Spearhead. The most exciting things had happened since the beginning of the trio. But it had certainly not been that long in reality. In quite the opposite manner, Spearhead had watched ten years of his life pass by quicker than a shooting star. And that was ten years for moons sake! That had only been his childhood too. He had many more years of his life, but neither seemed as important as the last three, and the ten of his dull childhood.

Yet he was still here thinking of how three years had been an eternity. It was as if he were suffering from one of those diseases that effected those of old age. But he was only four and twenty years of age, too young for one to get the beforementioned illnesses. But most likely that was because there were dragons he could relate too, talk too, and empathize with. He even had a family now for moon's sake. Not the stupid breeding program (which he had already contributed in copious amounts), but one with a partner he could live with and a fierce and beautiful daughter.

That didn't make him fit into the toxic and ashy air the smothered his lunges and stung his eyes. The bleak dunes and deserted basalt flats that surrounded him didn't want him one bit too. It was like they resented his very presence, summoning the worst residues out of the earth around him. It was horrible, yet the strangeness of the place lured him further and further out each time he came here. But this was only the edge of the cliff. There were hateful lava flats too, which were covered with the bones of dead dragons and animals. There were also treacherous mountain slopes too, and a cruel beach side with crags of lava stone that would shred his talons to pieces.

However, it was the smoke that troubled him most. As a dragon who frequently started fires to satisfy his craving for cooked meat, he could say that it was horrible too. Every breath was liking sucking in the air inside of a smoke plume multiplied by a hundred. And then you could feel it slowly coursing through your throat and into your lungs, scratching your insides rawer than a fresh cut of meat. And it even affected his eyes too, which flared with a little bit of pain every time he blinked. Even when he held his eyes open, they stung with pain too. It was quite unfortunate.

Nothing could top the stab of misfortune that was coming towards Spearhead though, for there was something big and black on the horizon flying fast in his direction. Not realizing how unfortunate whatever the thing was, he lay low, head facing the horizon, and tried his best to shift his colors to match those around him. He stayed completely still, not daring to take a breath. It seemed for once that his reckoning was coming, for he began to hear the unusually rapid womping of a flying dragon.

Soon it got faster, and faster still until the strange flying object obtained a clear outline in the sky. It was a strange object, with an elongated and round body. It had a little round black nose, and there was a reflective material on the very front above it. Then even farther up there was a growth that supported a whirring blitz of wings. He didn't know how large or many of the wings there were because of how fast the thing had them spinning. Then as its angle changed slightly, Spearhead was exposed to another side of whatever it was.

Instead of having only one set of shirring wings, it turned out the creature had two. From the front to the back there were these little circular panes of reflective material too. They were spaced perfectly apart from each other. Even more perfect than what nature could muster, which confirmed that it most likely was not anything living, but more likely something that was not. Continuing to the back, which curved up at a sharp turn, there was another raised limb. It was like the trunk of a tree, but it lacked the roots of branches. It there ended with another set of the freakish wing type, which was significantly higher than the one in the front, for they otherwise would have clashed and torn each other to shreds.

Then as it even further neared him, it began descending to the ground. It was ever so close, becoming louder and louder. . .

Phoomp.

Phoomp phoomp.

Phoomphoomphoomphoonp.

It was nearly upon him, and deafened Spearhead in the act, for its stirring and flapping crushed and warped the wind a thousand times more than a SkyWing. The air stirred into a tornado and the sand and dust around him became a whirlwind which smothered the object's shadow in the just rising morning sun. It was glorious, but at the same time terrifying. There was a chance he could get squashed or hit by the monstrosity's wings, which would cut and stab him in a million places. That was because it looked to have wings of metal, and he knew sharpened metal was unforgiving to anyone in the vicinity of its presence.

Spearhead covered his head in fear and tried to bury himself in sand, desperate to hide from whatever had just landed before him. He struggled to keep his focus and remain the same color, his brow warped with determination and focus. I have a family. A daughter named Python. I need to survive. The gods were on his side, and Spearhead managed not to die. But it did not stop. The infernal noise didn't stop. It only slowed and slowed and slowed until he could hear a bizarre high pitched noise come from the machine.

Slowly, the dust faded away. Spearhead opened his eyes as the sand and ash settled. In front of him, blotting the dark and sooty sky, was the machine. The metal it was made of was polished to perfection and even though there were a few scratches, looked like a masterpiece of engineering. It sat still now, and he stared at the blades topping it. He had been right, for there had not been wings, but instead three black sheets of angled steel that sagged through the air. And there was the early morning sun shining right behind it, giving it an unnatural glow.

Spearhead gasped, letting all the stress and fear flow out of him. He had been blessed, for no other dragon may even get the opportunity to see such a marvel. His blue eyes stared right back at him, reflecting on the lower edge of the glass that adorned the front of the thing he had no name for. But seeing how it moved and torn the air with its blades had inspired him. It was not just a thing. It was a chopper, which was a perfectly suitable name for a machine that chopped the air. It was quite convenient actually, and if Spearhead wasn't the only one seeing this, then word of the chopper would spread fast.

But he didn't want that. He wanted the chopper all for himself. While it might have been a selfish thought, Spearhead didn't see why it would be that bad if only he had seen it. One one talon, no dragons could get chopped up by its blades or get squashed, but on the other talon, the chopper could be holding something completely terrible, like a group of angry scavengers. He hoped not, for then he'd be in some trouble. Only a little though, because they were only scavengers. It's not like those little creatures could harm anything.

He was so wrong. With another mystifying noise something in the back of the chopper lowered, and he could soon hear angry little voices. There was a ramp leading out of the back, and at least five scavengers covered in desert sand-colored cloths. The patterns were perfect, and on top of their heads they wore helmets with the same pattern. Along with those they head little chest and back covers filled with equipment of unknown purpose. But the scariest thing were what they held in their hardened paws.

They held what at first appeared to be fattened spears. But it turned out to be a little different, with strange modules attached to a body that sat on top of a metal frame, which eventually turned solid and ended in a hard triangle-like shoulder-rest. The weapons were a sleek black, and seemed to have a menacing purpose. One of the scavengers shoved a banana-like object into the bottom of one, and then pulled something back with a deadly shhhk-shhk. Flying machines with metal blades of death? And now scavengers with weapons of unknown purpose?

Finally all nine clambered out, and Spearhead closed his eyes as soon as one turned to look at him. Then they began speaking, but not in the squeaks and yibbles that others had described to him. No, the scavengers in the beetle-like gear were speaking dragon.

"Hey!" One of the creatures hollered into the chopper. "Tell that apache to blow this place. I swear I just saw a pair of goddam blue eyes staring at us. And the suckers were floating!"

"Yo, shut the hell up Dick," another said in a more angry voice.

The first scavenger lowered his voice and growled, "Goddammit Jack, I'm going to have to cite you if you pull any more crap like that."

"Yes s-" The rest of whatever the other was about to say was cut off be a fit of ragged coughing.

If there was any more of the conversation, it was blotted out by a few more bursts of coughing. Then silence eclipsed over the area. Spearhead could hear that whispering noise, but not much more otherwise. It was probably because those creatures were making a plan. Whether it was about killing Spearhead or doing whatever the scavengers were there for, he had no idea. But he knew that his likelihood of surviving their attempt to kill him was low. Even with well placed shots of acid wouldn't do the job right. There were just to many, and then if he did succeed, that "apache" thing would just come and blow him up.

The best course of action would be to wait, and then to observe from a safe distance where none of those little freaks would be able to see his eyes. About those. It was not like he could just squint too, for they'd see right through his scheme and use whatever those weapons they had to kill him. Remembering past experiences, Spearhead had been easily able to locate other RainWings because of their eyes. They revealed everything, not just what they wanted, but also where they were.

And when he had seen those scavenger eyes, he knew exactly what they wanted. They wanted to leave. And he knew dragons could go to the most desperate bounds to get what they wanted, even when it defied all logic. He hoped scavengers brains were just like dragon brains, because otherwise he'd be incorrect. But he was surprised to see that their eyes were just like his. And even more astonished by the sheer weight of the fact that they could speak dragon.

Spearhead once again stiffened, for their were the padded steps of the scavengers passing by his left. He could tell from their steps that there were nine of them, and he could hear their labored breathing when they came close to his ear. They said not a word otherwise, and remained dead silent. Just as silent as this cursed island was meant to be. But it did not last long, for there were other objects to be reached.

The chopper once again raised its ramp with the same out-of-the-world noise until he could hear the sound of metal against metal pressing against each other. Then its great blades once again began to spin as a roar that slowly grew loader and louder escaped from it's top. Sand and ash began to sweep around as it span faster and faster until it matched that of a dragon's wings, and then grew even faster. After a bit, it peaked, and audibly lifted of the ground and banked to the right, fading into the grey sky at his last glance.

He was alone. Safe. But still not satisfied. What would he do now? Could he chase after the oddly geared scavengers, or should he make a beeline for the tunnel? Each had their pros and cons, yet the decision seemed so far from decided. This was no small matter, and Spearhead thought it would be better to weight each of his options and their possible outcomes.

One one of my talons, I could leave, and make way to the tunnel as quickly as possible. But the scavengers would be right underneath me, because they're heading in that direction. And if they spot me, who knows how I'm going to die? I could be hit with a thousand spears, and impaled with a thousand spears is something I really don't want to be. She wouldn't approve, and I'd probably end up dead or crippled. I don't want to go through those odds.

One my other talon. . . if I stalk them until I get close enough to the tunnel to escape sneakily, my chances of getting impaled are going to be lower. It's still risky though, and hanging back would be the smart thing to do. At the same time though? Why are these scavengers here? Are they from the future? Am I from the future? Why are they dressed so well? Huh. I can only find out if I stalk those little things.

And so Spearhead went, looking at his enemy and getting close enough to overhear their talk. It was a difficult task, especially since they were walking so far. They hiked over the sandy grey dunes over and over again. It went on that for what seemed like endless days and days. It felt like an eternity, especially since Spearhead had to focus so much on walking, staying invisible, and keeping his eyes out of sight, while at the same time covering his talonprints and fighting the urge to take off and leave.

After all that, the old NightWing fortress finally emerged into view. Spearhead had never been inside of it, and he wondered if it would safe or not to venture inside of it now. It was most likely safe, because of the strong rock and sturdy tunnels it was said to have. But in the meanwhile it could have falls and cracks from the eruption, which had malformed many of its features. The former were folded over each other and mutilated by the lava's heat. He had heard of what it looked like in the past, but still was impressed by its might.

His thoughts were broken by a spitting sound that came from the head of the scavenger group. Spearhead sneaked a glace at this scavenger, who he didn't recognize from earlier. This one had a clean white face with just the tinier hint of brown. Many of the features were unfamiliar to Spearhead, other than the brown fur that showed underneath the creature's helmet. It was only on the top of the head though, and no more showed, other than what bordered his ears. His eyes were just like Spearhead's own though, with a pure black iris with blue ringing them, surrounded by white. Those eyes were stunning even in the weary light. No other scavenger he had ever seen had ever had eyes even close to his own. It was strange to look into his own eyes for once.

In the middle of this, a conversation found its way into the group. In the middle, two of the individuals were talking about something Spearhead couldn't quite grasp.

"Jack, what does anomaly mean?" One asked with a strange drawling accent Spearhead was unfamiliar with. It was a strange softness to the voice, which seemed to warp the "what" into "whart."

Next came the response, which was from the second scavenger Spearhead had heard next to that huge chopper thing. He guessed his name was "Jack." With another glance he could see the creature lifting his shoulders just slightly, and then replying with, "You seriously don't know what an anomaly is?"

Spearhead didn't, so it stuck to him for a moment. What is an anomaly? He wondered. Maybe it was the opposite of "omaly," which he also didn't know the meaning of.

The conversation continued, the other scavenger saying, "Nah, I always slept in English class," in a sardonic way.

"Okay, give me a moment," the second said. "Huh. It's sorta like a weird thing that scientists can't understand or doesn't make sense. Sorta like how you don't know its meaning."

"Screw you, and why'd you take so long?"

The other one laughed. "Screw you too. It takes a bit to pull answers for your retarded questions out of my head."

"Shut the hell up," the very first scavenger Spearhead had heard hissed at the two that had just been talking.

None of the two bothered to respond, instead remaining silent and vigilant. The barren terrain passed by, eventually to the point where they were closer to the abandoned NightWing fortress. Thoughts about the words and expressions the scavengers had expressed whirled in Spearhead's brain. They used different curses, and some even had different accents. Among that was the fact that their group was segregated. There was not one female scavenger to be found, and only males were present.

Then the one scavenger in the lead whistled, shouldering his weapon and gesturing to the others. Spearhead observed from a rock above, next to a extremely strange bush that forced itself out of the cracks. The bush was flowering, but looked wilted and torn. But it was blue enough to hide his own eyes, and Spearhead examined every scavenger as well as he could through it as they circled up. The leader, the one with Spearhead's eyes, squatted down and reached into the pack that covered his back.

Inside there were many things, most of which Spearhead found to be completely foreign to him. Then the scavenger took out a map and quickly examined it, putting it back in his pack afterwards. Then he began to draw something in the sand, which Spearhead could barely make out at his angle. It appeared to be a large square, detailing an area. Then the scavenger drew an arrow pointing towards what appeared to be a building, and then started another. Before Spearhead could see where though, one of the troopers moved a bit and blocked the sketch with his left shoulder.

The head of the group began speaking once again, describing a plan. "Okay. Me, Richard, and his fireteam are going to explore the inside of the structure. Mark, you and your fireteam are going to establish an overwatch to the entrance and the approach leading to it. You need to keep your eyes out, especially for anything strange, like floating blue eyes. If you encounter trouble, radio base, but do not radio them under any other situations."

"You all," he continued, gesturing to a few other of his comrades. "We're going inside of that rock heap. Keep close, and keep your flashlights on. We're probably going to see some weird crap, so keep it cool."

"Yes sir," the whole group responded in unison.

The scavengers split up, one team begging their hike up to the entrance. It looked like they were having a difficult time, especially due to the near-toxic air, but they forged on without pause. It was only about an hour until they reached the pile of boulders leading up to the hallway. The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds, and Spearhead was beginning to panic about how he was going to get into the NightWing stronghold without being spotted.

Spearhead waited. It took about ten minutes for them to get to the top of the clump of rocks they were climbing. Several of them seemed to be taking short breaks whenever they could, but still seemed to make it. Then they all stopped at the top, just below the actual tunnel entrance. One by one, the five scavengers clambered into the tunnel. They disappeared into the darkness, until they were illuminated once again by the bright lights they wielded. After another minute of waiting, they were deep enough inside to where Spearhead thought he could get in unnoticed.

After finding an angle where the other team of scavengers would have a more difficult time seeing him, Spearhead leaped from rock to rock, lunging into the tunnel. Then he stopped to slow his breathing, for it could give him away. Afterwards, he began creeping up to the group, which was still moving. He had covered nearly two thirds of the floor in between them when all of a sudden the five stopped. Spearhead stopped too, freezing in place and ducking his head to the point where he was staring at the oddly smooth surface of the tunnel.

Moons, I hope they still can't see me

He held that pose for a little more time, and then peeked up. The five were gathered around and staring at something metallic, and one dipped one of his fingers into the little metal container. Out it came, seemingly unchanged, until Spearhead realized that it was headed straight for the mouth. The group then seemed to radiate collective disgust, the one guilty appearing to either not care or be oblivious to it. Whatever the reason, it still didn't justify the dipping action again. Even more discomfort appeared thereafter, for the scavenger had not just dipped his paws into the can two times, but three.

After following the scavengers for the rest of the time inside of the NightWing fortress, they only found a few dead NightWings and some stale tunnels. At one point some of them commented about this, and one even used his weapon, filling the tunnels with a loud crack that echoed and echoed throughout the passageways. From then on, Spearhead kept his distance. He couldn't afford getting close anymore. It was too dangerous, and he saw what those weapons could do to that dead NightWing's face.

Eventually they left the fortress. The scavengers regrouped, and headed towards the tunnel that lead to the rain forest. Spearhead got there first, lifting away when he was far out of sight, and gliding there without alerting the scavengers. It's what he should have done in the first place. He had a family waiting for him, and waiting for the scavengers to lollygag around the tunnels was one of the fastest ways to prolong it. There also was a chance he could be forever prolonged. When he finally felt that fresh rain forest air, a wall of relief hit him. He was home, away from the thrice cursed ash.

\/ /\ \/

The strangely equipped scavengers had just recently exited the tunnel, and were headed into the one that led to the desert. Spearhead did not follow. Nor did he get any closer. The tunnels were a great place to get trapped, and he could end up stuck behind the group when they were digging through the sand, only to hit a pebble that wasn't supposed to be there and alert them all. Then Spearhead would find himself dead, filled with little holes. His family sure wouldn't appreciate that too. He had already risked it a little, and wasn't going to try that kind of danger any longer. That was the kind of danger that killed queens.

Furthermore, Spearhead was really tired, and couldn't focus enough to keep his colors right. He really needed some sleep, even though it would be around the "sun time" that he hated so much. Spearhead wasn't going to be restricted by the way they slept. He got to sleep however he wanted to. Otherwise, at least his hunger was satisfied. There were plenty of edible animals around in the rain forest, although half of them were considered "pets." He consumed, whether it was someones "beloved" pet or not. While he was trying to get that nasty fur out of his teeth, something broke out in the hole by the waterfall.

A loud explosion rang out, and he could hear the sounds of yelling and many more of those loud cracks. Soon it faded away, leaving the tunnel silent. Later, a different group exited, numbering at four. They were equipped with greenish colors, and covered their faces with black coverings which only exposed the eyes and mouth. On top was a fern-green helmet.

"Huh," he said out loud by accident. I wonder what happened inside of there.

Author's Notes:

So this one was quite a monster, but I did manage to get it out i a timely manner. Expect me to release a finished chapter nine sometime later, and then to go back and improve chapter one. That one needs a little more flare, and a little more about the character's past. Other than that, Spearhead WILL be back eventually.