The Dragon King: The Eye and the Alpha

by Threni

It has been one year since the events of "The Dragon King" and life on Berk is a good as can be expected. And then one day they receive a message from a mysterious tribe ordering Hiccup to return to them something he swears he never stole. What follows is series of adventures and discoveries that will forever change their lives...and could also destroy them.

37. Chapter 37

I was going to post these two chapters yesterday, but the news made me so upset and so angry that I was not in the mood for Fanfiction.

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Chapter 37

The Battle on Ice

It was late in the winter afternoon. Large stagnant clouds hung heavily in the gray sky. The Vikings were still hard at work at their defenses, and everyone was on the alert. Several times a minute each person would look stop what they were doing and look around, anxious to see some sign of a dragon. The relief in not seeing any was great, but the strain of waiting was even greater. Most of them would have preferred to get the fight started then and there rather than have another week to build stronger lines.

It was freezing cold. From his position in the rear Scolder the Boulder found he could hardly see anything beyond their lines because so much breath was visible. It was as though a small fog cloud was hovering right over the army. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and shook the snow out of his boots.

"Where are they?" he demanded. Mogadon and the other Chiefs shrugged. "I'll bet they aren't even going to attack at all! They've probably just lured us here to have us die of boredom!"

"Perhaps they wanted us here so they could move against Grimmige Festung," one Chief suggested. "We should return there at once!"

"And suppose you're wrong? Do you think Viggo's going to be understanding when we come back with nothing accomplished?" Mogadon retorted.

Scolder spat in the snow. "Viggo, Viggo, Viggo. Are we his thralls?"

"You probably are," muttered Mogadon.

Scolder heard him. "I sided with him to avenge my tribe's defeat last year! What's your motive, Meat Head?"

"To share power with the strongest in the region until I can take it for myself. That's why we're all here and you know it." He turned away and looked at the horizon again. Nothing.

"Perhaps they're going to wait until night?" another Chief suggested, "Dragons are better suited for a night attack, after all. They can see better in the dark, and that Night Fury would certainly have the advantage of attacking by night."

"Is that Night Fury even here?" asked Scolder, "I haven't even glimpsed it."

"If Hiccup is here, the Night Fury will be here too," Mogadon said firmly, not removing his eyes from the horizon, "everyone knows those two are inseparable."

They watched and waited some more. Talking amongst the troops fell to a nervous minimum. A cold breeze rustled through their flags and stung their eyes, but that was the only movement not made by them.

"Where are they?" Scolder whispered impatiently, "I came here for revenge! Where are they?"

Then they heard a shout from a sentry. Everyone instantly stopped their work and looked up. Off in the distance there appeared a large dark shape that had not been there earlier.

At once the Vikings rushed to their defenses. Spearmen and archers would wait in front, with the infantry in the trenches behind them, and in the rear were loaded catapults. Eels had been placed on the flanks and dragon nip had been strewn about the ground a few meters in front of the front ranks. The plan was to let the archers and catapults fend off every attack, while the trenches kept the infantry safe, and once the dragons were tired, wounded, and hopefully dizzy from the Nip, they would unleash the infantry to finish the job.

The dark shape was growing. Bit by bit it stretched out, until it virtually reached across the horizon. And as the line grew horizontally it began to grow in thickness as well. There was no doubting what they were seeing was an army of dragons in the distance. Nobody could yet see what kinds of dragons were in this horde, but it was clearly a substantial number.

"Why aren't they flying towards us?" asked Mogadon to nobody in particular. "Why are they all on the ground?" He looked up at the air. Perhaps this was merely a feint and the real attack would come from above. But the only objects in the sky were clouds. He then looked around the flanks and at the rear, but there was nothing there and no signs that anything would be. "What's your little plan, Hiccup?"

What he did not know was Hiccup was not even there. The only human present was Valka Haddock. Waving her long staff in the air to spur the dragons on, she said calmly "All right, front ranks head in!"

The front ranks were made up of Boulder Class dragons. They started picking up their pace and came thundering like a herd of charging bulls towards the Vikings. The Vikings lowered their spears, aimed their arrows, and braced themselves for impact. It was all the men in the front ranks could to hold their ground and not instinctively run, as most people would if scores of dragons the size of small elephants were running right towards them. The most frequently order given at this point was "Steady!"

And then all of a sudden the dragons froze, broke, and ran like maniacs back to the safety of their own ranks. They had caught the scent of the eels.

The Vikings burst into laughter.

"Yeah, take that!"

"Stupid dragons!"

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little sea serpent?"

"Cowards! Come back and fight!"

Up on Cloudjumper Valka smiled. "I'd say the probe worked. Send in the Typhoomerangs."

Cloudjumper gave the order. Being a dragon, his voice could carry further than Valka's.

The Typhoomerangs sprang into the air, shooting high before turning downwards and landing right in front of the Vikings. Their flight had been so sudden and seemingly random that nobody had had time to fire anything. Grinning, the dragons opened their mouths, grabbed the eels covering the snow, and wolfed them down.

Scolder whipped about to face Mogadon, "You never told me they could do that!"

"You never told me! Fight, you fools, fight for your lives! Attack!"

Evidently the dragons thought he was talking to them, because they obliged him by shooting fire at the wooden war machines. Meanwhile, the Boulder class dragons were charging again, and this time there were no eels to stop them.

"Call me a coward, will you?"

"What's the matter, humans, afraid now that your little sea serpents are around to save you?"

With such cries and roars they slammed into the ranks of humans. For the Vikings it was like being hit by a brick wall.

Whispering Deaths flung spikes at the Vikings, or roared with such insane ferocity even the bravest shook in their boots. Evictus the Timberjack was having a great time living up to his name and 'evicting' people from the trench, which had turned from a defensive position to a death trap. Scolder even wondered if Mogadon had put rival tribes in there intending to let them be killed. A Skinkhard lost an arm to a sword and the Viking laughed, so the Skinkhard bite the man's own arm off.

"Hah! I can grow limbs back, but I doubt you humans can!"

But while it had become every man for himself, they had fought against dragons before, and knew some of their weaknesses. Several Vikings managed, mostly by sheer luck, to get close enough to Gronkles to hit them in their sensitive areas. Dragon Nip was shoved into their noses. Blind spots and shot limits were taken advantage of, and men pounded on their shields to disorient them. And the dragon's sizes and lumbering bulks made them fairly easy targets. But few dragons were actually killed outright—in the frantic chaos of the fight, most Vikings only had time to incapacitate a dragon before another target appeared which commanded their full attention. Of course, being Vikings, they knew where to strike to inflict serious injuries, and while many dragons were not killed outright, they were still injured too badly to be any more use in a battle.

After the shock of the sudden attack people were rallying and fighting back. It was rough going, Mogadon thought as he threw bolas at a Hotburple, but he felt they were holding their own. If this was all Hiccup had, they could prevail.

And then he saw a sea of green dragons sprinting towards their left flank. At once he rushed to the catapults on that section and ordered their missiles released. He had to shoot one himself to get the point across, since the men could not understand what he was shouting over the noise.

A volley of huge boulders was flung into the air, aimed to land directly where the Dragons already were. The ones in front would get through but the ones in the middle and back would be crushed, Mogadon thought smugly.

The dragons looked up, waited a few seconds, and then jumped right over the incoming volley while it was still in the air.

Mogadon's smugness was wiped off as surely as a rag wipes slime off boots. "How in the—"

"They don't call us Treejumpers for nothing, you know!" Shamrock laughed.

"At 'em!" shouted his Matriarch, in the front and keeping up despite her age.

The Treejumpers jumped over the pike men and into the midst of the enemy. From there on it was a free for all.

On the right, meanwhile, little had been going on after the Typhoomerangs ate the eels, for they had moved towards the trench and joined the melee in the army center. The men in this section watched the fighting behind them anxiously, but dared not shoot much for fear of hitting their comrades and dared not join in the battle lest the line would disintegrate. Then, without warning, Snow Demons, Snow Wraiths, and other white dragons burst from the snow like whales leaping from the sea, and engulfed the Vikings there.

If the Vikings had their tricks, so did the Dragons. One catapult crew was about to launch a projectile, only to discover Terrible Terrors climbing on the catapult and pulling the nails out of it. In another crew, one man went to get a projectile and found a Catastrophic Quaken eating it. When the man tried to drive the Quaken away she curled up into a ball, rolled towards him like a boulder in a landslide, and flattened the man.

The most useful trick for the dragons, of course, was their most famous one: shooting fire. Fires erupted everywhere, despite the snow. Catapults were burnt, supplies and tents were engulfed, and a group of Scuttleclaws decided to turn the Viking's makeshift forges into bonfires. Some Vikings threw snow and water but a fire brigade proved impossible to form, and if one fire was somehow put out five more were lit elsewhere.

The noise of the battle was incredible, with the shouts from every side, the clamoring of weapons, the screams of the wounded, the plumes of flames roaring through the air, the boulders being flung into the snow and into the masses of dragons, the thrashing sound of scales hitting armor, and the sounds of bones breaking. Orders given were heard by no one, not even the person giving them.

Midnight had crept like a wolf through the snow until the time was right, then she led the pack of Snow Demons from Greenland in their attack. The dragons may have moved like wolves but they were as large as full grown horses and considerably more dangerous. Yet despite the excitement of the battle; that thrilling rush of adrenaline that only someone who has experienced a death defying moment, she felt odd and incomplete without Camicazi. But that did not stop her from doing her utmost to whip the enemy.

On the other side of the battlefield, Shamrock fell into the snow, blood streaming from his neck. With a cry of pain he swung his tail at his attacker and sent them flying into a destroyed catapult. He clenched his teeth and looked around wildly. He then got to see all the casualties that littered the red snow. Men, women, youths, and dragons were lying in every conceivable position. Their bodies charred and mutilated and their faces showing the agony of their final moments. During the fighting he had not registered what had been happening to them. He had been running on adrenaline and had no time to think when he killed anyone. Feral instincts had taken over, to the point where he hardly registered what he was doing, he just scratched, hacked, bit, swatted, and breathed fire until there was nothing left to attack and then he would turn around and find a new target.

But now that he had snapped out of it, he looked around and felt sick. All of this death and for what? He knew why the dragons were fighting, but what on this earth could have prompted the Vikings have hoped to gain by being here?

And why were the dragons fighting? He had to ask it. Would it have harmed the Hatchling's plan if this battle had not taken place? Could they not have simply played around and stalled for time until Viggo was finished?

A Viking aimed his sword at Shamrock's neck and the Treejumper reacted instinctively. His doubts and questions left him, and his feral drive to kill and defend himself returned in full force, despite the neck injury. And as he fought he kept thinking of one thing: "We gave them enough chances to give up. This is on them! We gave them enough chances to give up. This is on them!"

All the same, when was accursed bloodshed going to end?

Whipping the opponent was becoming more than just a hope or goal, for the Vikings were breaking. The attack on the right was the last straw. Attacked on three sides by huge fire breathing monsters, their large weapons being smashed, their small weapons useless, and their ranks being weakened every second, they broke and ran for the ships, madly hoping that the dragons would be satisfied with their victory and permit them to flee.

Some Chiefs tried to rally them, plead with them, threaten them, inspire them, and anything else they could think of to try and get them back in the fight, but to no avail. So they gave up and joined the rout. Mogadon thought once they got to the ships they might be able to reorganize and counterattack, but a new sight stopped every human in their tracks. Trachyte the Eruptodon had landed between the Vikings and their ships and was spewing lava onto the ice underneath him. At the same time a horde of Fireworms slid into the rapidly growing crevasse and enlarged it even further with the heat from their bodies. A loud cracking sound was heard as the ice groaned and the island began to split apart.

"Impossible," Mogadon gasped, yet there was no denying what he was seeing was real. Now he understood why this island had not been on the maps. This island was nothing more than a huge sheet of ice. Somehow the Dragon King had made an island entirely of ice, thick enough for men and dragons to walk and fight on, and now that they were separated from their ships, a lava breathing dragon was splitting the island apart, cutting them off from their escape!

"What is he?" Mogadon exclaimed, "How could a mere human have found a way to do accomplish all of this?"

Up in the sky, Valka and Cloudjumper watched the battle with concern but were not unduly worried.

"Trachyte is cutting them off. Good. Then that means it's time for the final wave," she announced.

"If only we had the Alpha here today," Cloudjumper said. By Alpha he meant the Bewilderbeast, "He could crush this mob by simply sitting on them!"

"Sadly, Hiccup wanted him elsewhere after he made the island," Valka replied. "Are you ready for a fight?"

"I am," Cloudjumper said, "I intend to imagine these men are all Bludvist and pay them back for that spear wound."

"Whatever helps," Valka muttered. She waved her staff once again, and a new flock of dragons took to the skies. They had attacked on the front, left, right, and the rear. Now they would attack from the air and win the day.

From his bed of straw in the hospital, Snotlout groaned and writhed around in agony like a sidewinder. Ingrid continuously wiped away the perspiration from his face and gave him water—clean water this time—but she had never felt so helpless. Nothing she did seemed to make a difference. Doctors came by occasionally but they only gave her a few suggestions, warned her to take care she did not fall ill herself, and reminded her that there was little hope for Snotlout.

For Snotlout, this whole time was one of constant torment. His insides seemed to be full of garbage, his senses felt like they did when underwater, yet his mind and stomach were burning him alive, killing him with pain. He was hardly aware of what was happening around him or what he was doing. Food and water was shoved down his throat without him realizing it. People spoke to him and he heard nothing, or if he did, what they said did not register to him. When someone asked "How are you feeling," a rather dumb question, he did not seem to realize that they were talking to him. And then, as if to answer these questions, his stomach would hurt again and cause him to double up like a pill bug and plead for something or someone to make it all stop.

Leagues upon leagues away, Mogadon was resolved to go down fighting. His only other desire was to find the Dragon King and kill him first. He spotted a human on the back of a dragon and, not registering that the person's garb looked nothing like Hiccup's, he forced his way over to them.

Cloudjumper had landed on ice so that Valka could actually do some fighting. She was not about to let others risk their lives while she did not. It felt very much like the last dragon raid she had ever witnessed on Berk, where she was running up to Vikings to stop them from harming dragons. And if people had listened to her then, all of these calamities might have been averted. Cloudjumper meanwhile had abandoned all the self-restraint and was a complete monster, blasting his foes into cinders, sweeping them away with his four wings, and breaking spines and ribcages with his powerful tail, as if his bloodlust ration was overdue and he needed to make up for the lost time. This frenzy caused him to get separated from Valka, not that either of them really realized it until Valka suddenly found herself facing a charging Mogadon.

"Die, Dragon King!" he roared, rushing towards her with his sword at the ready. Valka nimbly dodged the huge man and laughed.

"Oh, I'm not the Dragon King! You could say you're looking at the Dragon Dowager!"

Mogadon, full of bloodlust, did not understand a word she said and hardly noticed the feminine voice. "No matter! I'll finish you all off!"

Valka's staff blocked his sword and she slid around him. "You and what army?"

"I have more men on my island!"

"Can they hear you? How do you plan to reach them? By swimming?"

He was becoming enraged now. "Once we've finished you all off we'll make rafts from your bones and sail back!" He swung his sword wildly, but Valka's mad laughter infuriated him so much that his blows harmed no one.

"You've lost and everyone knows it!" she taunted, "Look around you, you fool!"

"Then we'll all go down fighting!"

"Vikings," she muttered, "It's crazy how stubborn they are! I wish I could knock some sense into that thick skull of yours—!" And she slammed her staff into his head so fiercely it snapped and he saw stars as he fell into the snow.

And from there he saw that what she had told him was true. The Viking tribes were being torn to pieces. Without reinforcements that would never come they could not hope to win. Perhaps they had never had a hope of winning. Perhaps Viggo had known that and sent them out anyway.

Valka picked a sword up from the snow and pointed it at him. "Let this end now."

Mogadon swallowed and nodded, but he looked around and shrugged helplessly. How was he supposed to stop this much fighting?

Valka scowled at him. "Are you people really so helpless when it comes to stopping bloodshed? Cloudjumper!"

The Stormcutter heard the cry and flew over as quickly as he could. "What is it? What has happened?"

"Tell our side to get in the air and fall back."

Cloudjumper was aghast. "Fall back?"

"So the fighting can stop and these people can put away their weapons."

"Oh. So it is over?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes on Mogadon. "Tell him it's over. Let him hear it from your own mouth."

"It's over," Mogadon yelled bitterly, "It's over! Stop fighting, everyone! Drop your weapons! It's over!" he burst into tears. He had once had all kinds of plans for the advancement and glory of the Meatheads, and now he had succeeded only wrecking his own tribe. Perhaps it was just as well he had disinherited Thuggory, because now Thuggory had nothing left to inherit.

Scolder felt otherwise when he heard the word going around to stop fighting and surrender. "Never! No surrendering! Berserkers keep fighting! Our tribe must be avenged!"

Then Evictus sprang from behind a snow bank. With a casual swing of his large clawed wings, the Timberjack sent him flying through the air and into the crevasse the Fireworms had made.

If Mogadon's orders had not been enough to convince them to give up, Scolder's sudden end settled the matter for the Vikings. In quick succession they threw down their weapons and raised their hands, if they had not already done so. The Dragons, meanwhile, flew into the air and started hovering in a circular formation, their mouths opened wide and glowing with fires. The message was clear: try anything and we will roast the lot of you.

Valka and Cloudjumper were among the few from their side still on the ground. Valka eyed their prisoners with scorn and spoke in a commanding tone that amazed them. "Now listen up, all of you! You're our prisoners now, and all that you have belongs to us, including your islands, and we will use everything as we see fit. Anyone who objects gets thrown into the sea!"

"Will we not be allowed to return home?" a Berserker blurted out. That had happened when the war with Drago Bludvist had ended, after a huge ransom had been paid. He was clearly hoping History would repeat itself.

Valka glared at him. "No. Last time, Hiccup showed your tribe mercy, even though he had no obligations to, and you've repaid him by siding with Berk's enemies again. And we gave you the chance to give up before the battle and you ignored us. You've gone too far now to be allowed to just hop home as if nothing has happened."

"Then what's gonna happen to us?" Mogadon asked nervously.

Valka smiled unpleasantly. "Since you decided to side with those who shipped our tribe into slavery, we're going to do something similar. We're going to carry each and every one of you to random parts of Europe and leave you there, scattered and alone. What you do then is up to you. Consider it poetic justice." But first they had to tend to the wounded, so Valka had the dragons herd the prisoners away like a flock of sheep.

"Do not forget, the boy Thuggory asked us to spare his tribe this fate," Cloudjumper said. "He promised alliances and temporary tributes to Berk and your son agreed,"

"Yes, but I wonder if they'll let him be their Chief," Valka said grimly. She also wondered how much of Thuggory's tribe remained.

"Perhaps, since their current Beta has failed them, they will be willing to listen to a more rational one,"

"Or they'll just want revenge like the Berserkers and side with the next power that wants Berk out of the way. Some things don't change, no matter how considerate we try to be."

"What can we do? Kill everyone that does not belong to our nest?"

Valka smiled slightly, "Our nest? Are you talking about Berk or Greenland?"

"Well…em…"

Valka turned away from her old friend to tend to a wounded Gronkle.

In the hospital Ingrid had been nodding off when a doctor gently put a hand on her shoulder and startled her.

"Another table—can't they just give me a—oh, sorry," she said sheepishly, "I must've been dreaming,"

"It's all right," the doctor said, "I came to look at your friend."

He made a short examination of Snotlout. He was still in a lot of pain and twitching all the time, but even someone infected with cholera had to sleep sooner or later. He had been sleeping for a little while.

"Good," the doctor said approvingly, "What he needs most is rest."

"What do you think his chances are?" Ingrid asked tentatively.

The doctor's face grew lined and careworn. "It's hard to say. Those with cholera can die within a few hours to a week after contracting it. He's survived several days, yes, but that's no guarantee he'll survive the coming ones. If anything, the coming stages may be the worst."

"But if he makes it through them?"

"If he survives another three or four days, I would say he will recover. But few do. Don't get your hopes up."

The doctor left. Snotlout woke up soon afterwards. He seemed a little better, but that was like comparing a small storm to a hurricane. He still felt horrible. Ingrid told him the news, which seemed to please him.

"I'll make it," he said, looking more like his normal self, though still a mere shadow of it, "I'm good at defying the odds. I could blot out the sun if I felt it worth the time,"

"That's good to know," Ingrid said, forcing a smile.

"And when I get out of here, I'll never touch water again,"

"That's probably wise,"

"I won't even bathe,"

Ingrid frowned. Snotlout laughed hoarsely at her expression. "You know what I want most when this is over?"

"What?"

"I just want to find someone who'll love me. She'd have to be unbelievably hot, of course, but I—well, you know, I saw Hiccup marry Astrid, I think Fishy wants Heather, I've seen Ruff get all starry eyed over that Eret man, and then there's Thuggory and Cami—and, well, I've just been wondering lately, when is it my turn?"

"Consider yourself lucky you're not a woman," Ingrid said bitterly, "Here fathers just trade us off like cattle to the highest bidder. My father hasn't gotten rid of me yet only because he still wants someone to help around the inn."

Snotlout could feel the slight reprieve ending. "Yeah, well, I'd love to hug and kiss a beautiful woman and—hurk—not have her be repulsed and throw me off for once—I—I—" he rolled over and vomited again.

"Everlasting Ice," Cloudjumper said, shaking his head bitterly after gazing over the smoldering carnage of the battlefield, "I had forgotten how things are after a battle. Everlasting Ice."

"Not so everlasting, actually," cracked Trachyte, "I melted it pretty quickly,"

Cloudjumper scowled at him. "You think this is funny, do you?"

"No, but If I couldn't joke while seeing mangled dragons bleeding to death I'd lose my mind," he retorted as he licked the wounds of a Typhoomerang.

"Much obliged,"

"No problem, err—"

"Torch. I'm disappointed, you know. I was expecting it to be bigger!"

"Be grateful it was no worse," Cloudjumper snapped, "Even the greatest victories in history came with charred and dismembered bodies and grieving family members,"

Midnight nearly had a heart attack when she saw Shamrock's wounded neck.

"Oh don't go wailing like a hatchling, 'Night, it's not that bad,"

"Not that bad?" she shrieked. "It looks awful! Here—hold still, will you? I'm trying to clean it! Sheesh, you're as bad as Cami,"

Such exchanges were common for the dragons. They refused to acknowledge they were wounded badly, if at all. It was noble and pointlessly stupid, and it did not fool anyone. The Vikings, of whom there were a lot more casualties and a higher likelihood of fatalities, were less gallant, but there was a reason for it. They had lost. They had lost the battle, lost this war, would probably lose all their property, their homes, and friends, and now, when it seemed it could not get any worse, many stood a good chance of losing their lives. They felt they had every right to sink into self-pity and plead for their wounds to be treated before anyone else's. But there were others who were too proud, noble, or miserable to plead for help. They waited their turn, hoping they would reach Valhalla this way. Valhalla certainly sounded preferable to a hard life of exile and servitude.

Valka did what she could where she could, but it was still a fact that she was no healer. Indeed, there were no healers at all on this island. Evidently the Vikings had been so eager for battle they had never spared a thought to the need of medical supplies or people who knew how to use them. And now they were paying grievously for that oversight.

It all seemed senseless now. All this carnage, death, and loss and for what? Had they all just been pawns used by Viggo and Hiccup for their own ends, or was there a higher purpose behind this? Was this the dawning of a new, better, and wiser time in history, or would people mourn for a few weeks and then revert to their old lives until the next calamity? What was the reason for so many lives destroyed?

Ingrid left the hospital for a little to get some fresh air. When she returned she found Snotlout in extremely severe discomfort, but somewhat coherent.

"Something odd happened when I was outside," she said, hoping to distract him from the pain, if only for a few minutes.

"Yeah?" he rasped, "water…"

"Here—don't worry, it's been boiled, I've seen to it. Anyway, I was standing outside the building and I thought I was being watched. And I heard a sniffing sound coming from above me, so I looked up at the hospital roof and, I could swear it, I saw something moving up there. Something big and black. I could only make out the faintest outline."

"Could've been a dragon. Hiccup prob-ly asked someone to keep an eye on us…"

"It was pretty big, whatever it was. The sniffing stopped and I think it moved away. I tried to get a better look and saw nothing."

Snotlout gagged on the water he was trying to swallow. "Oh well. That's life, isn't it? You try for something better…and get…nothing…"

He gave her a smile.

The Dragon King sat on a large rock in the middle of the sea. He listened to the waves smashing into the nearby sea stacks. It reminded him of the dragon race they had held the day the Defenders of the Wing came into their lives. The day that changed everything. And through it all, these waves had crashed into the rocks, eating away at them bit by bit, completely ignorant of what the rest of the world was doing, like Time itself.

He stirred when Sharpshot arrived with a sheet of parchment. He glanced over it and held it up for the Terrible Terror to burn.

"So, Parts One, Two, and Five have been accomplished successfully. Unfortunately, Parts Three and Four are going to be the most difficult. Well, Bud, let's get…" he looked behind him and his smile faded. "Sharpshot, would you get Stormfly for me, please?"