Fire of Youth
Chapter 38
*in exchange for the FUCKING INSANE WAIT (imsorryimsorryimsorryfornotupdatingforalmostayeardonthatemepleasepleaseplease) have the most hyped chapter I have ever been demanded to write. I partly blame you guys for the wait because I hyped myself up so much from your hype and the epic stuff I planned for it that my perfectionist brain full-throttle slammed me into a fucking wall again and again for almost a year. Special thanks to FrozarBurst for helping me get past the block. Much thanks, dude!
"And so to ensure your victory you must –"
"Oi! Get out of my spot!" wailed Catscratch.
"Or what? You'll throw a hissy fit, kitty cat?"
"More like I'll claw your bloody optics out, you flying bilge-rat!" the black she-devil yowled back. "Now scram!"
An annoyed, grumbling hiss escaped his neck vents. He was beginning to lose his patience with the little ones. The aerie was crowded enough when they were all present, running around under-paw and threatening to trip him he didn't pay attention, but it seemed the longer they were in the aerie together the more confrontational they became. Screech was by far the most obnoxious of them all. She would constantly goad Catscratch and her allies, and her voice was like talons raking across his audials mixed with the high-pitched wail of a siren. It was hard to focus on anything, much less Ravage's lecture, when that hoarse shrieking was going on.
"Screech. We're on the same side now," whined Moonhowler from his own corner. "You don't have to do this."
"Well, if we're on the same side now Cat should be open to sharing, eh, Moony?"
"Sharing a room with you! Not bloody sharing my spot! Now shove off, you twat!"
Screech craned her neck up, "Make me!"
"Oh, I'm happy to do that!"
Yowling, the black she-devil flung herself at Screech and the two became a roiling ball of hissing and shrieking, snapping beaks, and hooked claws. Somehow Screech managed to untangle herself from the fray and spread her wings to lift into the air. Catscratch, to her credit, was a pugnacious little she-devil. She did not let go. She kept biting at Screech's neck and clawing at her underbelly.
"Let go of me, you little pest!"
"Says the feckin' pest!"
Screech managed to dislodge her at last. Catscratch was unceremoniously flung to the floor.
Anger burbled in his throat. He rose with a snort and flared his wings. When that threat went unnoticed, one paw slammed down the way he had seen Ramhorn do.
"CEASE THIS AT ONCE!" he screamed.
The sheer thunderous noise was enough to draw their attention. Multiple sets of little optics stared back at him. Some annoyed. Some bored. One impressed. Two still angry and glaring at each other instead of him. Another stomp and inarticulate screem briefly took Catscratch's emerald glower off of Screech. Screech took the opportunity to lunge forward and snap her beak onto Catscratch's snout, earning another yowl. Snarling, and now thoroughly out of patience, he lunged, grabbed the offending Avioid by her neck and pulled her free to a fanfare of hoarse squawking.
Catscratch took the opening to bolt into one of the floor vents.
"Oi! Lemme go, you big oaf!"
"Did you not hear me the first time?!" he demanded. "I said cease, Screech!"
"You're not the boss of me! Now leggo!"
"No! Cease this and behave yourself!"
The aerie doors hissed open. Light footfalls approached him in a run, "Release her, brute!" came a horrid shriek of a voice.
CHANG!
"Drop her!"
He growled and ignored the Grey Flier.
"I said," he snarled, "drop her!"
CHANG!
Growling, he released Screech. The dirty green-grey Avioid squawked and flew up to perch atop one of the Faceless One's blinking red eyes that hung in the corner. He thus turned his attention to the Grey Flier who jumped and back-stepped, rod held out in a pathetic attempt to scare him. He reared up onto his hind legs, spread his wings, and summoned fire into his throat. The Grey Flier shrieked, dropped the rod, and fled for the doors. They shut just as the flames spewed against them, scorching the purple doors black.
He snorted and fell back down onto all fours. Perhaps that would keep him from more unwanted intervention for a while.
"Not bad," Ravage noted.
"Great! Now it smells like a ruddy chimney in 'ere!" barked Tag-Along.
"Good! Maybe now you'll stop complaining about every other smell for a while!" Floodshed whinnied.
Tag-Along gave a snarling bark in reply and lunged. One big paw swatted across the equine's snout.
He growled. It came out more as a visceral gurgle.
"Stop this! All of you!"
Tag-Along backed down. Floodshed tried to kick him with his front hooves but a another screaming threat elicited a mirror of Tag-Along's movement. They both moved out of the way when he approached them, and then walked past them to the edge of the aerie, where the launch bay doors lay. He lowered his helm and touched his mandibles to the floor, then walked backwards to the entrance Starscream had used. Scrreeeeeeeee. The little ones seemed puzzled, their gazes riveted on him, but at least the little ones were paying attention to him now rather than each other. Another scream and flared wings cemented that attention.
"Screech," he said, "your kind may have one side of the aerie. Ramhorn, your kind may have the other. Anyone who purposefully invades the side of the other will answer to me. This includes verbal attacks and goading. Repeat offenses will be directed to the Builder. Is that clear?"
Glares and glowers were begrudgingly shared between the little ones. Then they began to disperse – in the same direction. The tension between them spiked again.
He stamped. "Screech. Left side. Ramhorn. Right side."
"But my spot is on the left!" whined Tag-Along.
"Then find a new spot on the right," he snarled back.
With more glares and glowers, the little ones scattered to their respective sides. To ensure their good behavior, he lay down in the middle of the aerie, right on top of the line he had carved.
"Very well done," approved the black hound at his side.
Pride swelled in his spark. "Thank you. Can you continue your teaching now?"
Ravage nodded and padded around to his front. But before Ravage could begin, the aerie doors hissed open for a second time to permit a single Eradicon soldier, one hand behind his backstrut.
"Alright, what the frag is the prob –" He paused just inside the door. "Oh. You...guys seem to have sorted it out."
He craned his neck and screeched a greeting.
The soldier nodded, "Hey, fella. Heard Starscream gave you problems. Again."
He growled agreement. That was all the Grey Flier seemed to do.
"Would this make up for it, d'you think?" The hand behind his backstrut came out. In his strange jointed paw was held a bright blue crystal.
He screeched in delight, craned his neck, and (with great care) took the crystal in his maw where it was crushed in a single bite.
"Yeah. Thought it might," Killzone chuckled.
He bumped the soldier in thanks. How readily he would trade Killzone for the Grey Flier, even for a single day. The Grey Flier's animosity against him was unmatched by any other Decepticon. Even the other soldiers were never directly hostile to him. A passing insult was mild compared to a strike from that blasted rod. Killzone was a balm by comparison.
"I dunno what his real problem is with you," muttered Killzone. "You're not that bad. I think he's just insecure about his position. I mean, he's always been like this – y'know, mean and rude and overbearing – but honestly I think he's gotten worse ever since Shockwave got here. Which is so stupid," Killzone sniggered. "Shockwave's a scientist. He's never had an actual military rank. Yeah, sure, he'd probably be better at it, but he doesn't want anything to do with Starscream's job."
He screeched curiously. If his position was safe then why was he so insecure about it?
"I think he just doesn't like it when people don't listen to him. He's kinda like a cat like that."
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
He craned his neck and snarled at the bright green orbs peeking out of the floor vent on the left side.
"Wrong side," he warned.
The orbs stared back at him for a moment, then ignored him and kept stalking around the floor vents. Soon, the tap-dance of her little paws vanished deeper into the ship, lost to the low thrum of the engines.
He huffed. She-devil.
"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Exactly like that," Killzone cackled. Then he sighed, "Guess I better make sure she doesn't get anywhere she shouldn't..."
Killzone left them. His musings on Starscream made him wonder and worry though. Lord Megatron had a title, a name, and a reputation that made everyone beneath him listen. Starscream had the same but as he was lower in rank he was less important, and thusly insecure of his position. Without a true name, and without his title of Predaking, there was nothing to stop the little ones' unofficial leaders, and thus all below them, from ignoring him however much they liked – and that would only ensure future problems with them. Without a hierarchy, without a single, cemented leader among his beast kin they were under no obligation whatsoever to listen to him. Or, really, anyone. Lord Megatron would not like that. If he could show that he could control the other beasts...
"Ravage," he said, "I must challenge my opponent outright."
"Not without knowing the duel-dance, you aren't!" Ravage growled. "This is not some back alley brawl to throw yourself into at your leisure! There is procedure that must be followed. No proper procedure, no duel, no title."
He rose, "Then teach me."
Ravage's gaze rose directly up where a single red dot blinked beside a lens. He seemed wary of the Faceless One's watchful eye – one of many that dotted the warship. Ravege's four red optics seemed to issue a challenge to it. Then his attention returned to ground level and the bright glare of his gaze settled.
"Allow me to complete the lecture first. Then we can begin."
He lay back down. "Very well."
"There."
The red sparks from Ratchet's torch cut off. A hand was waved to clear the sour smoke.
Ribbondance held her arm up to examine her new stoic-faced mark. The red face, he decided, suited her, more than the garish violet mark she had arrived with the afternoon before.
"So cool!" cheered Miko. "We finally have another girl on the team!"
"Took long enough," Arcee agreed through a smile of her own.
Ribbondance shared her smile for moment. Then her lips flattened and her serious demeanor returned. "And now my teaching begins in earnest," she muttered.
She rose from the exam slab, thanked the medic for her new badge, and strode to the hangar's threshold. Her helm swayed from the left to the right as her visor swept across the desert base beyond. A few soldiers were out in the distance running drills, either led or followed by a single Jeep. He couldn't see Mark in the mix though. He wondered if he was still keeping up with his field training. Maybe he was on call somewhere else. The ups did seem to like using him as the errand boy.
"Infernus Prime," she said, "is there anything I might do on site to assist?"
Her infinitely polite tone and respectful half-bow made him a little uncomfortable – it was almost as glaring as Grimwing's address of him the day they had met.
"Um, nothing I can think of," he admitted awkwardly.
"Nothing?" she repeated, shocked.
"I mean, this isn't really our base. It's owned by the U.S military. We're just guests here. If you want to help with something on site – like, I dunno, defenses or something – you'd have to go through Fowler or Bryce and, um, no offense, they're probably gonna keep you on a short leash for a while. Just till they get the paperwork sorted."
Her mouth hooked into a frown, "They are vetting me as they would any foreigner. I see."
"They're not implying you can't be trusted," he insisted, hands up defensively. "Bryce had no problems when I debriefed him about you. It's just how things are done. Y'know. Bureaucracy. Yaaay."
"I see. So if I cannot assist on site without permission from the General or your liaison until their vetting is complete, what then can I do?"
He shrugged, "I mean, whatever you want really. There's nothing going on. Right, Ratchet?"
"For now," he said grimly. "You know that never lasts long."
He did a quick double take, "Wait, there's no activity around any of the tracker chip locations?"
"Not that I'm detecting, no. Which might be more troubling than if there were."
He balked and back-stepped, "You think they've gotten all the remains they wanted for their project. Collection phase is over."
"Even the Decepticons have limited resources," Ratchet nodded. "We had a late start into this race, and they have a database of who the chips were implanted in, so I've no doubt they cherry-picked which beasts to re-create."
"We cannot assume that they are finished, doctor. Megatron never stops at half-way. He would still endeavor to collect that which he does not have," Ribbondance snapped. "Send me to the site of any of these chip signals. I will secure it for you."
"Alone?" Wheeljack laughed. "Look, sweetspark, I get you're tough and all but you can't just –"
The burgundy warrior whirled on him and leaned into his faceplates. "You question my capabilities? My prowess?"
"What? No! No!" the white Wrecker nervously laughed. "I didn't – I mean – that's not what I was –"
Ribbondance leaned in closer. Her hands clenched. He intervened before things had the chance to get bloody. One hand was put on the burgundy warrior's pauldron and gently tugged. Ribbondance's lip-plates curled into a final threatening frown and then allowed the tug to pull her back. Her visor swayed between him and Wheeljack before deciding on the open air outside the hangar. She left in a huff.
"Well, she's gonna be fun," Wheeljack smirked.
"You're lucky she didn't take your hand off for that," Prowl noted. "Need I remind you, Wheeljack, if she is to remain with us we are to treat her with the utmost respect."
Ultra Magnus's frown said he had about as much hope of Wheeljack being "polite" to anyone as he was of Knockout not having an emotional uproar over the sight of a single scratch. And if he was honest with himself, he had to lean on the Commander's side for this particular argument. Wheeljack had gotten less standoffish during his tenure on Earth but he certainly hadn't improved in other areas. Being polite was a life-skill he wondered if the white Wrecker was even able to learn.
"Um, I'll go see if she's okay," Bluestreak squeaked.
He nodded him out of the hangar. If anyone could get Ribbondance back in an agreeable mood, Blue could. But to ensure victor, he sent Bluestreak a ping asking him to get Miko from the on-site housing first. He had every reason to suspect Miko would be the key to getting Ribbondance adjusted to her new home – and everyone in it. At the very least it would give her something to do while being confined to the base for the next week that wasn't just schoolwork. He knew how she felt about academia. Might as well put her cross-cultural savvy to use so she didn't get bored.
"Now as for you..." he warned as he turned to Wheeljack.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know," the white Wrecker drawled. "Be polite."
"No. I mean, well, yeah. Obviously. Work on that. But that wasn't what I was about to say. I have a better idea..."
Wheeljack fidgeted at the sight of his mischievous smirk.
"Train with her. Challenge her to a training fight. There's just one little caveat to it: if you lose to her, you have to be her butler and minion for a week."
The Wrecker's mouth dropped as Bulkhead sniggered. "You're not serious?!"
"Oh, I'm being perfectly serious," he grinned.
Wheeljack stared at him for almost a whole minute in silence. Then a strange frowning smirk appeared on his face. He trudged past him and growled, "I hate you...fraggin' punk..."
He didn't say anything back. He only smiled.
"Now this I have to see," declared Arcee in uncharacteristic mirth.
Ten minutes later and all three warriors, plus Miko, were back. Wheeljack had a nasty dent right in the center of his face and Arcee, Miko, and Ribbondance were all laughing. Wheeljack didn't look angry so much as delightfully embarrassed.
"Look, I get it. Okay?" Wheeljack grumbled. "I'll be nice to her. Just don't make her butler-minion! Please!"
"Alright. Alright," he chuckled. "Ratchet, can you fix the dent in his face?"
"I'm half tempted to let it stay there for a day," the medic growled.
"Ratchet..."
"Fine, fine. You," he snapped at Wheeljack. "Here."
"Do not take your failure personally, Wrecker," Ribbondance said. "Many have fallen to me. You lasted longer than most. That is testament to your own skill. Should the need arise, I will fight by your side."
He let out a soft sigh of relief. Things appeared to have been smoothed over.
Then the door to Fowler's office slammed open. "Prime!"
The look on his face said everything.
"Where?"
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Ash. Hot. Acrid. He couldn't smell anything else over it. It was all over the place, too. Particles of ash drifted by on light breeze and a ridiculous layer of mud and ash nearly forty feet deep sat beneath him, hard from the passage of time. All around and in the near distance, he could pick out the shapes of buildings that poked up through the false ground – a hint on what lay below, like the headstones in a graveyard. Farther to the east, he could see a plume of smoke rising from a peak that smelled worse than the ash. Sulfur.
[Ratch? This thing isn't gonna explode on me, is it?]
[Not likely.]
He still eyed the foul smelling plume with distrust. It would be just his luck if it went off.
[Do you see the anything yet? Any Decepticon activity?]
[Not yet. You sure there's something here, Fowler?]
[The local government detected an unregistered object in flight over the exclusion zone that didn't match the radar outline of a normal aircraft. They tried to hail it and warn it off but they never got any response. No human pilot is stupid enough to fly over the exclusion zone while the old sulfur chimney's smoking, Prime.]
[But Ratchet hasn't detected any 'Con signals!]
[All the more reason to keep your head on the swivel, son.] grunted Fowler. [I'm gettin' a bad case of deja vu here.]
[...Thanks for that paranoia spurt, tiny.]
[Good. Feel paranoid.] Arcee advised. [There's no way this isn't a trap.]
He spread his wings. [I'll see if I can get an aerial –]
[NO. You are bright white, surrounded by dark colors, and it is evening there. Stay low, Prime.] warned Magnus.
He lowered his neck and slunk forward towards the southwestern coast. But after twenty minutes of searching the ash-covered ruins, he came up empty. So he turned back towards the mud-ash and began a slow trek up its length. The farther up he got, the stronger the belching sulfur fumes became. He wanted to gag; the stench was unbearable.
Then, half way up the hardened mud-ash avalanche, he caught the glint of bronze and the glare of yellow lights against the dull grey-brown of the flow.
He froze and ducked as low as he could. [Oh slag. Slag, slag, slag.]
[What? What is it?] Fowler demanded.
[Bronze-y the Murder Dragon's here!] he hissed.
[What on Earth? Why?] wondered Ratchet. [There's no chip signal or Energon signal on the island. There's no reason for it to be there.]
He felt the yellow gaze lock onto him. He knew he'd been spotted. The Draconian didn't charge him though. His stance widened. His wings flared out and pumped twice, after which they began to flush crimson. Then things started getting…weird. The long bronze neck lowered and began to sway side to side, snapping at each opposite end of the pendulum. Five times he did it. Then the other beast's neck swung up from its sway into a smooth vertical arc, screaming as fire spewed from its maw into the air to form a great blazing fan.
Rage burned through the Matrix. 'Insolent brat!' snarled the Beast Prime.
He balked and back-stepped, lowering his helm even further. What? What was he doing?
'He is challenging you.'
For what?! Mating rights?!
'Kingship.'
"I'm sorry, what now?!" he demanded aloud.
The bronze beast continued in his display. Again and again the strange dance played out, ending in a spew of flame. Every time the scream seemed to get louder and, dare he say, more impatient. Finally the display slowed to a halt. The beast reared up onto its hind legs and held its flushed red wings wide.
"FACE ME!" the beast screamed.
Panic set in. What did he do? What did he do?! He had no idea how to respond!
'Ignore him!' spat Onyx. 'The brat has no right to challenge you!'
"FACE ME!"
'Ten bucks says he doesn't care, Onyx!' Amalgamous noted anxiously.
'Turn around and walk away, boy,' growled the Beast Prime. 'If you do not engage, the challenge is forfeit. He will win by default.'
He rose from the ground and did as suggested. Hopefully a default win would be enough to get rid of him.
"YOU DARE IGNORE MY CHALLENGE, COWARD?!"
He paused mid-step and swung his neck around to face the agitated bronze beast. "Look! Buddy! Take the kingship! I don't want it! Monarchy isn't my thing!"
He resumed a slow, careful trek down the mud-ash flow. He could practically feel the other beast's unbridled fury flowing down after him, hotter and hotter – and then realized what he was actually feeling. Almost too late, he leapt to the side just as a stream of fire flew past him. Then a heavy force struck him in the side and latched onto him, talon and fang. He thrashed and clawed back, swiping at the other beast. He tried to activate the phase shifter, but maw and mandibles latched at his leg and crunched down on the spot where the phase shifter was. Sparks flew. Another snap quickly found its mark on his neck, earning a screech and wild thrashing. He dug his claws into the hardened ash. They stumbled, tumbled. Once, twice. He tried to right himself and pull away only to scream at the piercing pain when his neck snapped taut and the mandibles buried deeper beneath his plating.
[Ratchet!] he cried. [Ratchet I need a 'bridge! NOW!]
He heard the bridge open. Behind him. Further up the ash flow. He pulled and pulled against the death grip until finally the grip yielded in an explosion of pain and a faint spray of blue.
Alerts went off in his processor. Loss of plating. Armor breach. Fuel line breach. Chemical line breach. Fire release not possible.
He closed them out, bit through the pain, and spun. The beast didn't jump back from his swinging spear-tail like he wanted, and the next thing he knew it was chomping down on his tail. He thrashed wildly but the beast would not loosen its death grip. It yanked and pulled harder instead, twisting its neck and helm. He could feel its fangs sinking deeper in. He thrashed more. And then, with another spray of blue and a flurry of alerts, his spear tip was bitten off. He took the split-second chance to spin again, slamming the stunted end of his tail against the beast and running past.
The portal drew a little closer.
Jaws clamped down again.
He fell against the ash flow.
True panic flooded his processor. He squirmed and thrashed. When the jaws began to pull him away from the portal, he dug his claws into the flow. All that came of it were furrows in the ash.
[HELP! SOMEONE! HELP!] he shrieked.
The beast yanked hard and slung him to the side. He scrambled up again and ran for the groundbridge.
"There is to be no fleeing, coward!" screamed the bronze dragon as it thundered after him. "You either defeat me or you die!"
Once more he felt the jaws clamp down on his tail. More breach alerts assailed him. Uselessly he dug his claws into the ash.
[HELP! PLEASE!] he shrieked again.
His claws dug more furrows into the ash, kicking up little wakes on their edges like a boat on the sea. That gave him an idea. He changed how he was digging. He flung his hind paws back sharply and sent ash-mud flying back into the bronze dragon's helm. Soon enough he felt the jaws open up. So he ran for it again. The thundering of paws was soon replaced by the thunder of wings, and fire rained from above.
"BURN COWARD!" the dragon howled. "YOU ARE WEAK! AN INSULT TO OUR KIND!"
He zigzagged to avoid the flame and then took to the air. He screamed and tried to spit flame only to cough and sputter. The alert from earlier popped back up.
Fire spewed his way and ignited the leaking flame fuel. The bronze dragon collided with him and locked his maw onto his neck again. They fell to the ground, screaming, biting, slashing, gnashing, his opponent making sure he could never stay above him. A hundred feet from the ground the bronze dragon pushed down hard against his body and sent him crashing into the ash flow. An alert sounded about a snapped right wing frame.
The bronze dragon landed atop him. Paws were planted to keep him from squirming. Not that he could. He hurt too much to move. The world was spinning.
"Die now, weakling!"
Flame burbled up in his neck. A claw readied to swipe.
SKREEEEE!
WH-CHANG!
Something big and gold struck the Predacon square on its helm so hard that it was sent reeling. Or maybe he was reeling. He wasn't sure. Something and someone had hit the beast though.
"Keep it at bay!" barked a stern voice.
Burgundy ribbons flowed past him. The bronze beast began to shriek as they cracked against its hide, combined with the repeated bashing of a large heavy object. A combination of cobalt, silver, maroon, and turquoise soon came into his field of view. It took a moment to clear into a familiar face.
"Infernus. Infernus. Infernus, can you transform?"
The simple effort of trying to get up made him feel like someone was hitting him with a war hammer on every point on his body. But survival instinct took over. He forced himself upright and and triggered the sequence. He had to bite back a howl of pain as damaged plates shifted and hit against each other. He fell forward. Magnus grabbed him before he fell. He vaguely registered the Commander hook his arm over his shoulder. His expression contorted into a grimace as Magnus started to walk him towards the portal. His whole body shook with each step.
A scream split the air. Two sets of wings beat against the air.
"Ribbon –" he gasped.
"Do not worry about her!" Magnus urged. "Focus on the groundbridge!"
One of his legs gave out.
"Bulkhead!" barked the Commander.
The hefty Wrecker came out to meet them. His other arm was hooked around Bulkhead's broad pauldrons, and the two warriors effectively dragged him the rest of the way to the portal. A ground-shaking thud from behind forced his focus backwards. He was able to get just enough of a glimpse to see that Ribbondance had bound the Predacon with one of her ribbon weapons, its wings wrapped tightly against its body. Like the worst Christmas present ever. He thought he saw another shape beside her, darker, like a shadow of the burgundy warrior. Gold clashed against the darker hues.
Then he was pushed through into the hangar.
"Smoke!" shrieked Bluestreak.
Wheeljack grabbed him and held him back.
"Get him over here! Here! Now!" snapped Ratchet.
He was lugged onto the sole exam slab.
"Close it!" came the burgundy warrior's voice.
"Close it now!" repeated, more familiar voice as talons skidded against the pavement.
"NO! NO!" came the infuriated scream of the bronze dragon. "I WILL NOT BE DENI–!"
The gentle roar of the portal ceased, and the bronze beast's screams ceased with it.
He took one shaky, labored cycle of air. The world flickered like a bad cable connection and he passed out.
Fire and fury bubbled within him as he lay coiled in the corner of the one of the bays. He had expected a duel of equals, or at the very least for his opponent to put up a fight. He had offered the proper challenge. But no. No, the coward had had the audacity, the sheer arrogance, to ignore it, to brush the entire challenge off as insignificant. He had wanted a fight to prove his mettle, his raw might, but had had victory handed to him by forfeit. A sham! A joke! An insult!
VOIP!
"Beat it, mutt!" Vigordrainer warned.
"Tag-Along!" he snapped. "What did I say?! No more of this nonsense in my aerie!"
"Oh, now it's your aerie?" scoffed Catscratch. "Look who's all high and mighty now, after losing his silly duel!"
He whirled on her and screamed. The she-devil did not flinch.
"For a wanna-be king you sure have thin plating," she hissed.
It took an inordinate amount of will not to grab her in his jaws and snap her in half. Catscratch flicked her tail, turned her back, and resumed her nap. He decided to mirror her and re-positioned himself with his back to the main hangar bay.
"You'll have other chances," growled Ravage from behind.
He grunted. Yes. Yes he would. He would hunt down that coward. He would hunt him down and challenge him every single time until he killed him and took his rightful name and title. Then – then he would be respected. No more ignoring. No more disrespect.
"But what if he flees again?" he wondered.
"Don't worry," Ravage reassured in a dark tone. "Next time, I'll make sure he can't."
He was thus reassured. His mind went back to the duel and picked apart, attack by attack, what he could have done differently to ensure his victory more quickly. It was then he realized something strange about the fight. Up until the enemy's allies had come, he had been facing a fellow Draconian. After they had come, the Draconian had vanished, replaced by a white biped bearing the same colors as the beast. Surely...No. Surely the Draconian and the biped were not one and the same?
Author's Note: I am so, so, sorry this one took almost a year to make it out, and I know it's not as long as some other chapters. D: I hope it's long enough and well written enough to forgive the wait for it!
Edit: I added in a tiny bit more at the end here with a big implication.
