Marshal worked to control his breathing as he tried to move through the last predawn hour and the slowly waking convoy. His left foreleg hurt something fierce. It seemed to have gotten better while sleeping, but it was still incredibly sore and tender. But he did not have time for that; they had to start moving soon. It was unknown how much time the raid the night before had given them.

"There you are! Stop moving so I can look at you."

Marshal did his best to cover the cringe of pain as he stopped what had been his three-legged, hoping to watch as a tired Kean came up to him.

"I'm fine, Kean. Save your energy for the more seriously injured."

Kean seemed to be having none of it as he came right up next to Marshal and grabbed the wind dragon's injured foreleg, which he had been holding near his chest. "You're injured enough that you're husbanding this leg. That's bad enough already. The fact that I wasn't able to look at it last night was bad enough. I'm not letting you go without checking it today."

Marshal pushed down a growl, one of mild pain, irritation, and annoyance. He could move, it was not the greatest, but he was not crippled. It had been why when Spyro, Cynder, and himself had gotten back, he had not brought attention to himself or his injury. Kean had already had his paws full, taking care of several others.

Kean moved the injured leg this way and that, even poked it in places. Most of his attention was where Marshal's proto-armor had been damaged. "You took a hell of a hit, Marshal. You know as well as anyone that any injury can be dangerous." He poked again and watched as Marshal worked not to flinch. "What even hit you?."

Marshal almost did not respond, but he decided the poison dragon would not give up if he did not get the answer he sought. So with a soft sigh, he responded, "The general's war hammer. Twice technically. Through the first one, I was able to block with magic for the most part."

Kean raised an eyeridge as he gave Marshal a dirty look. "You took a direct hit to the leg, with little protection, from a blunt weapon meant to counter armor, from a creature who has shown more than able to knock out most creatures with a casual swing. And somehow, the worse you have what looks to be heavy bruising?"

Marshal shrugged, almost hissing from the pain the movement caused, "It got better?"

Kean shook his head as he moved the injured leg around a bit before forcing it down to the ground, "Try to regularly move it and while on the ground, try to keep the pressure light. I don't understand how this could be, Marshal, but it is. Your leg should be at least broken, if not shattered from a hit like that."

Marshal tested the weight he could put on the injured leg as he responded, "I don't know. When I went to sleep, it hurt quite a bit, and trying to put any weight on it was asking for trouble. But now," He was pushing the ground just a bit. "Now, it still hurting, but more in that way an old injury does when you aggravate it."

Kean sighed again, "I just don't understand you. Maybe you're luckier than we thought. Or maybe you're sturdier than expected. Who knows. Just let me know if the pain gets worse."

Marshal looked at Kean then over the open plains the camp was bordered next to, "If we spin things right, there's a possibility we might be seen by people actually trained for this sort of thing."

Kean looked over the plains for a second as well, "I hope so too. But for now, if you excuse me, I'm sure I hear someone complaining about the taste of herbs again."

Marshal had to resist releasing a snorting laugh as the poison dragon started to move away. He stayed looking over the plains for a minute longer, contemplating what could or might happen before his brain came back around, and he moved to try and get the rest of the camp up so that they could get moving.

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Terrador had to resist rubbing his eyes. The sun was not even fully up, and yet here they were; guardians, city elders, and the city council, all sitting in a plaza in the middle of Warfang trying to make a practical decision about the schedule for the day. And for some reason, no one could agree on anything.

One elder wanted to concentrate on cleaning up the last of the rubble. Another wanted to talk about "the unacceptable sleep arrangements."

Meanwhile, three council members argued about the need/capability to restart the city's economy and which portion should be worked on first.

Another few of the council were making points about the "distinct lack" of the city's guard's so-called military readiness.

And that did not even cover the random conversations/arguments about what some wanted to do with the undercity. Said place was still primarily unexplored or reclaimed, and some wanted that situation changed.

Terrador had already toned most of the arguments going on, deciding real quick it was too early for this and way below his general give a shit. Instead, he looked to the other two guardians and the new temporary guardian they had managed to rope in.

The new male had earthy red scales, slightly more blood-red chest plates, dark brown wing membranes, short dagger-like fins running down his back to a paddle-like tail end, and a pair of horns which came almost straight back from the crown of his head and ended in short spiky bulbs. His magic ability was nothing to be excited over, but the male had shown he was willing to learn. On top of that, he had proven invaluable in a short amount of time in getting the scroll work figured out. Granted, he did get his mate to help most of the time, but she never went to meetings if she could help it.; liked sleeping in too much.

Either way, Having Jone help was becoming a significant boon. Not all of the refugees were listening to him, but he had this ability to make almost anyone a friend or at least be willing to listen. He also might have been the only guardian still paying attention to the arguments. Cyril looked bored out of his skull, and Volteer looked like he was fighting sleep. Jone, however, looked alert, or at least some version of it.

Terrador almost wanted to start a side conversation with the fire dragon, but something one of the council members said caught his ear.

"And what about those 'refugees.' over two weeks now, and they still are just lazing about!"

All four guardians, temp included, were immediately aware. Their attention focused. To Terrador, it looked like Cyril and Volteer were about to conduct a joint browbeat of the counsel member while Jone looked ready to interject. However, the earth dragon knew anything the three of them said would not help and probably escalate sententially.

So he raised his paw, signaling the other three to wait and catching the attention of the one who had spoken. "The refugees are being worked on. They have been helping, but there has been a lack of guidance from this body in how they could best be put to work."

The council member who had made the original statement snorted, "Oh really. From what I've seen, the majority of them have seen more ready to get into a fight than help."

Terrador made to respond, but Jone beat him to it. Jone's voice was average and usually carried a friendly tone, but right now, it was more unforgiving and carried a 'you're an idiot' type of tone. "A great many of the refugees, myself included, have been worried about our children. We have not heard nor seen anything indicating if they are alright. They can be motivated to help, but they have to know what to help with, or else they will go back to a general state of worry."

Terrador gave a nod of agreement and thanks to Jone. There was a reason the refugees had been under the care of the guardians. Then again, Terrador still felt they were suffering from Displacement Syndrome, which was a magical anomaly and thus automatically fell under the Temple's purview. Still, he was not about to let anyone else know that.

The meeting had fallen silent after what Jone had said. Bringing up the fact that there were possibly missing younglings tended to do that. It also seemed to make a few of the more headstrong members amongst them rethink what they had been saying.

Jone took the silence differently, "Since you have stopped bickering like children, maybe we can finally figure something out. We can't take care of everything at once, but that does not mean we cannot start. You complain about the 'refugees.' Then use us. I know for a fact we have a few members who would be more than happy to help the City Guard; they just need to learn. We also have some who are experienced in economics, construction, and many other things. Write up what could be done instead of just complaining, and maybe we can all see where we can support each other or where we can get support from."

The silence was the answer for a bit. And then, with grumbling acknowledgments, the meeting broke up to apparently follow through with the suggestion.

Terrador eyeridge raised and looked back at slightly surprised Jone. "Congratulations? Apparently, having a parent take care of adult younglings was what we needed."

Jone chuckled lightly, "Just don't tell my wife that. She'd swear I was still a child myself."

Terrador's rumbling chuckle was his response, "I think there's a bit of that in all of us." He looked to the other two real quick before continuing. "Either way, we got them moving; we should probably start getting some more creatures together so that when the request drop, we can hand them over quickly."

The head nods of the agreement were instant, and Jone spoke up, "I can probably work through the refugees or at least rope together those who would know who to talk to."

Terrador nodded, "Good. Cyril, Think you can help with that? Volteer, me, and you should probably get a jump start on the obvious. I'll handle getting some of the guard more ready to accept more help while you see if you can't wrangle up some moles to figure out what can be done with the undercity, or heck, even starting repairs on the dam. Ancestors know that they've been sitting for too long."

Agreements and nods of understanding, and another day began. Terrador just hoped it would go better than the last few. He could use some peace for a little bit.

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Cynder banked around the convoy, taking everything in. They were moving at reasonable speeds, despite all the injured being carried. It was almost mid-day, and they seemed to be making good time. Even though it was open plains, there were parts off in the far distance, which Cynder would swear looked familiar. They probably would not reach their destination for several more hours, but they would reach it before the end of the day. And that was big, it meant safety, it meant good food, and maybe it meant she could take an actual bath instead of just splashing water on herself!

But that was for later; right now, she had other things to worry about. They could not afford delays, so she was keeping an eye out for anyone having trouble. She was not the only one, thankfully.

SCREEEE!

Cynder immediately shifted to look behind the convoy. They were only just coming over the horizon, but there they were. The Ape Army was catching up to them.

The female member of the legendary couple did quick calculations in her head, but no matter what she came up with, there was no way they would be able to get away fast enough. The dreadwings were faster than those on the ground. While those who could still fly could probably get away, most of their injured would not be able to fly. And say nothing of the younger ones who were already too tired to fly after only a few hours.

Cynder was starting to curse in her mind; someone needed to do something.

The action was taken from when she felt more than saw Marshal rapidly come up to her.

"Cynder, get with Spyro and lead the convoy! The two of you are more likely than anything else to get everyone in!"

The Black-purplish dragoness turned to look at the older male. "And what about the chasing army?!"

"I'm working on it! Just, please make sure they can get into the city!"

Cynder wanted to shoot it down; she had a decent idea what Marshal might have been already planning. But her partner had arrived and had been listening, "He's right, Cynder! They probably won't even think about opening the gates without us there."

Cynder growled, "Fine. Just don't die; we made it this far."

Marshal let a shallow smile loose, "I've felt that pain before, no thank you. Now get moving, and see if you can't motivate everyone to move faster."

Cynder nodded and flew down to try and do just that.

As she was flying, she heard a loud call from Marshal, "Anyone who can still fight! Anyone who feels like they can fly harder still, With me! Every minute we can give them pause can gain everyone else several more to get away."

When he finished, Cynder looked back and watched as most of the Strikers and quite a few Snipers and Ambushers broke off to join Marshal.

It looked like several of the Brawlers almost went with it, but a call from Horhe stopped them.

"Brawlers, hold back! You're all too damn tired for this kind of fight! Keep close to the convoy make sore none of those bastards sneak up on anyone!"

Cynder could see the grumbling, but the brawlers headed the order. She also noticed that Horhe did not follow his own orders, however. In fact, he was not the only one.

All seven of the other Young Leaders were following Marshal. Cynder was shocked to see Kean going but figured the poison dragon had decided to get directly into the fight instead of just being a medic. Either that or he wanted to make sure any stupid idiot who did not wish to retreat actually did so.

Cynde had to admit, as shabby as it was and as beat up as several of them looked, the formation of easily 150 dragons flying to meet the large swarm before them was awe-inspiring. And the V-formation of the leading eight, one of each element, took up automatically, the rest of the numbers continuing the lines making the most extensive V she had ever seen, was something that strangely filled Cynder's soul with hope.

Eight Elements, charging into combat. Cynder had to smother her smile; she had a job to do. She was not about to let those brave fighters down.

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"So! What's the Plan!?"

Marshal looked to his right at Kean flying off that wing. The design's long line continuing down from him almost gave the wind dragon vertigo. He had in no way expected THAT many dragons to follow him. Especially after what he was about to say, "No Clue! I'm still making this up right now!"

From Marshal's left came the voice Harlid, "Why am I not surprised. We'll figure it out quickly, or this is going to be the shortest last stand in history!"

Marshal had to resist growling; he did not have the mental power to growl, fly, talk, and think simultaneously. "For now, let's not call it a last stand. It's very much a delaying action. Maybe rearguard if you stretch it."

Harlid snorted, "You're point?"

Marshal's head twitched as the idea ran across his mind, "Don't stop flying, hit from range, and whatever you do, don't let them get physical."

The voice of Stecra carried up the line, "So, We're kitting them? Like in a video game!?"

"Sure. Let's go with that. Could also try and equate it to cavalry raids, maybe? I don't know. For now, Just hit and fly away."

Georgia called forward, "There's more of your Strikers here than Carmeta's Snipers or my Ambushers, so it should work."

"Wait, really?" Marshal's head popped up to look at all who joined. At this point, he truly saw the massive line of dragons stretching on both sides of him. "Holy, Why the hell are we flying like this!? What air force flies like this?!"

After he quickly looked down the line himself, Kean responded, "No clue, we just sort of grouped up like this."

Marshal's head was looking over everyone there; he was also doing mental calculations as well, "I don't really care how; I'm almost positive that if we fought like this, someone is going to die!" He smirked in contemplation for a second before looking to his left and right again. "You know what, I got a dumb idea." He took a breath, laden his voice with magic so that it would travel down the line, "Strikers! Lead those near you into an Arrowhead!" He then let his voice lose the magic and spoke to the other leaders. "There's enough of us here that each of you can be leading a formation—line up behind me, Kean. I want you in the back. You won't be leading a formation which will leave you free to help or fill in as needed."

He got some nods and then watched as the new formation took shape.

At the back flew Kean; he looked to be keeping an eye on everyone flying in front and beside him.

In Front of him, Carmeta with six dragons flying on her wings, three on each side.

Next came Stecra leading twelve. Then was Luanda with 18, Horhe with 24, Harlid with 30, and finally, Georgia flew directly behind Marshal with 36. Marshal himself had the remaining 16 off his wings. All of the others had a mix of Strikers, Ambushers, and Snipers in their formations. Marshal had redirected a few to try and make it as even as they could while the formation was coming together. The 16 that made up Marshal's group were all Strikers, though; these dragons Marshal had specifically called up as they had shown the best at breaking dreadwing formations during the last few days. To these dragons, Marshal would give them the most demanding job of spacing out along the whole side of the formation with the responsibility to cover everyone else. Granted, the forward four were a bit more bunched up than the rest, but that worked as well cause, again, Marshal knew they would be able to help set the pace for the rest of the formation.

Of course, the entire time they were working on the formation, they drew ever closer to the army before them.

Not long after they had worked out the last of the kinks in their formation, they were getting close enough that Marshal would only be able to get out one final standing order before the fight began. "Stick to your formations! We'll probably split off as things go but let's try and keep that to a minimum. Remember, we're kitting them! Not getting into a knock-out brawl!"

Marshal could hear the hoots and hollers from the apes and the exciting screes from the dreadwings. He looked to the army, thought, 'he really must be crazy,' and then gave the first fighting order of what he could only describe as the craziest blitz ever. "BANK LEFT AND FIRE!"

On that order, the formation turned hard to run parallel to the arm's right flank and let loose with every long-range attack they could.

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With what they had managed by mid-afternoon, Spyro swore they should be coming in the range of their target soon. They had to. They had been darn near hauling ass for several hours now, ever since Marshal had taken the group of fighters with him to give them more time.

He could still see the fighting going on behind them. Heck, he could see the magical explosions even when they were at their furthest points.

If he had not been running for his life, he would have been entranced by what he could only describe as a dance of armies going on behind them. He could always tell where the dragons were, a small dot on the horizon unleashing multi-colored lights upon a wave of darkness trying to catch up to them. At times, that wave looked like a coiled snake trying to strike out at the annoying fly. But the fly was too nimble, too easy to respond, thanks to its more compact body.

Other times he would swear he saw parts of the wave thinning out, looking like more of the central mass was gaining on the convoy again. Only to have the fly break apart into smaller, more challenging to see dots, zoom past the wave, and harass another side of the blob of darkness to capture another wave in their wake as they reformed into one lump and restart the dance all over again.

The purple dragon was almost certain that had this been the first day of fighting, Marshal and those with him could have kept up this style of fighting for most of the day. But it was not, and as the hours went by, Spyro could see the dance become more and more delayed on the dragon's part. The delay from when the dreadwings broke away, realizing they had over-expand in their chase, then the dragons diving back in to catch their attention again, that delay was becoming greater and greater. Several times, parts of the formation looked to try and stay out of the group getting attention, only occasionally letting loose bursts of magic into the crowd doing the chasing. But that part of the formation was becoming larger and larger, while the attention grabber was becoming smaller and smaller.

They were also slowly becoming easier to see as the dreadwings were most definitely catching up. Slowly, almost painfully so. But it was happening. Spyro was confident that if they did not catch sight of the city soon, the fighting would become close quarters again. And given the general condition, creatures were going to die because of it.

A cry of delight from slightly above him caught Spyro's attention. He looked just in time to see Cynder coming down from where she had been flying less than a hundred feet above where the main body of the dragons had been flying.

"I can see it; We're almost there!"

The call went out. Spyro flew a little high and smiled; he could see it too. He looked below and called out as well. "Come on! One last push!" The looks of excitement were evident on everyone and every creature still moving started huffing just a bit more, calling up the last bit of energy they had. The end of their marathon was in sight.

Spyro looked behind them at the army and those trying to give them time. They had done enough; they needed to know. So with a breath, he swung around and let loose a might luminescent fireball, a flare, to signal, hoping they understood.

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Marshal worked to even his breathing as he looked at the formation behind him. They were shadowing the ape army by a reasonable distance outside of their easy strike range, thus not immediately chased. There was not much left in the dragons' tanks; most of them were only holding together through force of will by now. And he was not the only one to realize it.

Kean had flown up near him, "Marshal! Most of them are about to fall out of the sky! Even the other leads are having trouble calling up their magic by now!"

Marshal looked back at the leads; Georgia and Kean looked the best out of the other seven. Horhe looked like he was trying to fool himself otherwise, but the others looked like they were starting to fight the shakes, shakes gained from what Marshal knew was Magical Fatigue. The other 142 fighters were in full-on shakes; heck, the majority of them had only participated in the last couple runs with one attack before breaking into full-on heavy breathing.

Marshal was unsure how much time they had brought. He hoped it was enough. He started to nod when something bright caught his eyes ahead of them—a brilliant fireball, a flare, really.

Marshal smiled, "I think we brought enough time. I have a feeling that's them letting us know they see the city!" There were cries of joy and thankfulness mixed in with the heavy breathing. "Alright, everyone, get moving back to the convoy. And hell, don't stop there, as long as Spyro or Cynder is in front of you, keep with them! Let's double-time! Kean lead them off!"

And with a cry of acknowledgment, Kean took the lead of the formation. Marshal broke off, making sure to end up slightly behind and above; he wanted to ensure no one was left behind.

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Sitting up on the walls of Warfang, a glowing yellow dragonfly looked out over the Warfang Plains. There was not much to see other than darkened grass and the slowly rising patches of green trying to peek through the ashen and destroyed land. But it was not the plains to which the dragonfly was looking; it was the horizon beyond.

Every day he sat there, watching, waiting, hoping that his best friend, his brother in all but blood, would appear over the horizon. Ever since the world had pieced itself back together, he had sat there looking for signs of the return of the purple dragon he knew and loved.

"Another day, another time I find you sitting here, Sparx."

The dragonfly, Sparx, turned to look at the speaker, "You're one to talk, Jone. You've been doing it too."

Jone sat down next to where the dragonfly was watching the slowly sinking sun. "True."

There was a bit of silence before Sparx spoke up, "I've never asked, but why do you come to sit every day?"

"I keep hoping, distant though it is, that I might catch sight of my son or daughter."

Sparx blinked a few times, then looked at the Temporary Fire Guardian, "You have kids? There are more of you guys!?"

Jone chuckled lightly, "Yes. I have children, two. And I know there are a whole lot of others behind us with kids as well."

Sparx let out a "huh" as he put his head on a palm before responding, "I guess I should have expected it. It's just strange to think there are still more dragons like Spyro around, especially around our age."

"Do the ones already in the city not count?" Jone looked at Sparx with a questioning look.

The dragonfly did a 'waving them off' motion with the hand not supporting his head, "They don't count; there's hardly any that are the same age. Most are one/two years older or younger."

Jone hmmed in agreement. He was about to respond when something caught his eye in the distance. "Do you see that?"

Sparx looked to where Jone was pointing, "Yea, looks like a dust cloud. A big one too."

Jone squinted his eyes, trying to make more out, "It looks too small to be a dust storm. I wonder…"

Jone's head pulled back as something bright, fire-orange, it looked like, flashed above the dust storm. A dust cloud, Jone could also now tell, that was headed straight for the city.

Sparx's eyes widened, "That's not normal. That's distinctly un-normal. Almost like Magic."

Jone's eyes widened; he turned to look down the wall and saw a few City Guard who had spotted the cloud and the flare as well. But they were still staring, unsure. So Jone called out, "Guards! Raise an alarm! Something's heading right for us!"

Slightly shocked, the guards looked to Jone real quick, realized who he was, then back at the cloud, and then rapidly dispersed to carry out their orders. Rapidly, every early alarm bell on the city wall was ringing.

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Once the formation had rejoined the convoy safely, Marshal had risen as high as he could. He wanted to have a good bird's-eye (or was that dragon's-eye now) view. Not only of the convoy, which was hauling full ass now but also the encroaching ape army and the city laid out before them.

From his position, miles and miles in the sky, Marshal was currently the definition of "Well secluded; I see all." For he could see the entire convoy, a mere speck on the ground; the ape army, a giant blob screaming through the air; and the city that would hopefully offer the convoy safety, a mess of colors stretched across the horizon even from his height.

It was, quite honestly, a beautiful sight. This was even taken into account the quite frankly destroyed landscape below.

But the beauty was marred, for despite every calculation Marshal could run in his head, the dreadwings were still gaining. And they were achieving such a speed that the wind dragon was more than positive would be faster than the convoy reaching the city. He was out of options by now.

He could not call the convoy; even if they were physically able, they sure were not magically able. The Brawlers had been the only ones to not fight in the delay action, but every single one of them was already injured or just straight up too sore to put up much of a fight. Say nothing on their lack of numbers to even try and entirely stem the tide of death coming up behind them.

He hesitated to fly ahead and try to get help from the city. He was an unknown dragon to them; why would they fly out to help him. Suppose if Spyro or Cynder was there, maybe. But they were already going as fast as they could, and it was not fast enough.

That left Marshal with one last option. He swore he would do everything he could. He was sore, his left foreleg still throbbed, and he had not been able to recover all of his physical energy since this mess started. But he knew for a fact; he still had magic. The entire time they had been fighting, he had never felt like he was running out of magic, only using too much at one time.

He had plenty of magic, so why not try one last time to use all of what had to be a ridiculous amount of magic to do what he swore to do. No holds bar, go all out. He was going to be hurting, but it would be worth it.

So, starting to breathe heavily forcefully, Marshal began to gather all of his magic. Every last drop he could call on. But unlike before, where he would build it up, only to release at a point, as he called it, he released it simultaneously, willing the magic to do his bidding—calling up even more magic at the same time.

He was mildly surprised not to feel his body starting to burn from this; apparently, casting continually worked better than snap casting when doing something big like this. Good to know.

Either way, the effects of Marshal's efforts were revealed almost instantly as storm clouds started to gather around him. They gathered and grew, internal electricity crackling, waiting to be released. And as they grew, they began to cycle around Marshal slowly, yet rapidly, started to create the eye of a massive storm. So great was the eye that was forming that it was beginning to reach down, reach down and make a raging tornado.

Marshal noticed, smiled, and with a roar, launched himself in towards the apes. Down he dived, his wings tucked close to his body, rapidly spinning and in doing the streaks of wind coming off his guarding and creating the tornado behind him. Magic poured off him the entire way down; by the point, he reached the apes, Marshal WAS the point of the tornado. And he ripped through anything in his path like only a tornado could.

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Terrador had to resist cursing himself. He had wished for a quiet day and had obviously jinxed them. The evidence was before them as he landed on the city walls with every alarm bell going off. He had quickly spotted both the reason for the alarm and who had given the order.

He had to land next to Jone to be sure, though, "What's going on."

The fire dragon motioned towards the growing dust cloud and the small blob of something which seemed to be both in it and above it. "We saw that on the horizon, not long after seeing it, a bright glow seemed to originate from it. It's been getting closer ever since."

Terrador near growled, "Any ideas what it could be? Is it the enemy."

Before Jone could respond, Sparx, whom Terrador had not even realized was there, pointed into the sky, "Do you see that? That looks too high or sudden to be natural."

Every creature on the wall, a growing number of City Guard and all four guardians, as the last two arrived, looked up. Everyone was surprised to see what looked at first to be a growing storm. A storm that Terrador agreed was much too high in the sky to be any form of natural, let alone the fact that it was getting beggar unnaturally fast.

Volteer looked on in amazement as he rabble, "Much too high, must be. The formation is wrong, growing up down instead of down up. Can already make out sparks of electricity, but it's the wrong shape, too flat, and too pronounced on the edges shouldn't be able to see them already."

Jone stopped the electric dragon with an observation of his own. "That's not all; it looks like a funnel is forming."

Volteer looked to Jone, then to the cloud, his eyes widening, "You're right, but how it's much too...BY THE ANCESTORS!"

Volteer was not the only one shocked; they all were as in a manner of seconds. The clouds went from a forming tornado into a tornado, rapidly reaching the ground less than a minute after it started the descent. All the while, more clouds were forming around it.

While everyone's attention was the unexplainable tornado, which seemed to be defying every law of how weather operated, Sparx was instead squinting at the dust cloud. As such, he was the first to realize something important, and he realized it out loud, "Those are dragons! There are dragons flying in the dust!"

Many were torn between watching the tornado rip through the sky, more so when even as the tornado was going, it looked distinctly like it was trying to cover around in a horizontal direction and even back on itself, and trying to see what Sparx had seen. And sure enough, they could see shapes that looked like dragons, quite literally winging it as fast as they could towards the city.

It was Cyril who noticed the next item, "I say, there on the ground. I think I see dragons as well, but it also looks like there are bipeds with them, some of them riding not just mounts but also some of the dragons?"

Terrador, torn between looking at a growing blob of approaching creatures and the exceedingly confusing Tornado of death behind them, (oh and look at that it seems like a second tornado was forming!) the earth dragon was massively unsure of what to do.

Another cry from Sparx, though, brought everything back into focus, "It can't be, But I swear I see something Purple."

Laser-focused, Terrador looked hard at the approaching dragon and, with great joy, saw what Sparx saw, "It is. It's Spyro!"

Cyril, though happy, revealed a different problem, "If that's Spyro, Then who or what is the horde behind them!"

Looking now, every creature on the wall was indeed able to make out that it was a literal horde of dragons following behind Spyro.

Before anyone could contemplate, the sound of a colossal explosion seemed to tear through the air. And given the source, many could understand why. Said source being what had to be a half-mile diameter ball of wind, electricity, and fire; a storm in a ball if you will—a very, very large ball.

Terrador realized something at the sight of what could only have been a potent spell, "Someone, someones, or something, is fighting something else. The tornadoes (is that a third one growing) and whatever attack that was, you only need something like that if what you're facing is very powerful or very numerous."

Volteer figured out faster, "Numerous. Look closely, many darker shapes against the winds, some falling, some rising, others coordinated. Can't see origin points though it seems to be all over the place."

A paw raised to Cyril's chin as he thought, "A single powerful dragon most likely. One with either a lot of magic or a lot of knowledge to be able to pull that off and still going." Another explosion, much smaller but heralding a great many follow-on explosions, sounded almost as soon as Cyril finished.

Sparx, a little aggravated at the departing at the display, apocalyptic though it was, had more significant priorities, "If that's Spyro, why are we still here. We need to help him."

Terrador looked at the dragonfly, "Young dragonfly, he's probably fleeing here, trying to get away from whatever is happening out there. Us going out is not goi…."

Terrador was interrupted by a cry, the cry in a voice many recognized, "OPEN THE GATES! For Ancestor's sake, open the damn gates. Not everyone can fly over the walls!"

While they had been expecting to hear Spyro, no one had realized that Cynder had pulled ahead of the purple dragon, and she looked pissed. Specifically pissed that the gate was still closed.

Now closer, Terrador could see why the gates should be open. Many of the dragons were flying, looking tired, but everyone on the ground looked just as bad. And say nothing of the myriad of younglings he saw scattered throughout, some even being carried on the mounts the bipeds were using—bipeds who he could now see were foxes.

Deciding not to question why he saw fox kin for the first time in longer than he would like to admit and instead follow through with the suto-order which had been screamed at them.

Terrador turned to the guards and roared out, "OPEN THE GATES! Allies arriving under attack!"

At his voice, a voice which carried far, the city guard rushed into action. Of course, the first to happen was the closest gate being opened up, said gate thankfully being only a short distance away. The second thing that started to happen was that the guards began to man what few anti-siege weapons were left and staffed defensive positions along the wall.

Not that taking up those positions did much good as they could not see the enemy thanks to the large horde of dragons and foxes rushing past them. The flying dragons, younglings of one form or another, all of them, came in uncaring for those trying to help them as they worked to find the closest open landing spot and just collapse into the earth, a few even coming in on just this side of crashing.

From the now open gate came a stream of the foxes, of all ages. It looked like nearly all of the adults were riding a mount, and dange had it been a long time since Terrador had even heard of, let alone seen a Rhino Beetle. Meanwhile, the fox younglings were either on one of the buffer dragons, who were for some reason moving on the ground or riding in a cart being pulled by the rhino beetles alongside the youngest of the dragon younglings. It was mildly strange to see some adult foxes, the ones with what looked like giant boomerangs, jumping off their mounts and taking up positions by the gates to guide or help others into the city. A few of those boomerang-laden foxes and several others who looked like they were wielding bows or slings were also starting to work their way up to the walls to take up positions to help.

But to a tee, every dragon who had been moving on their own power as soon as they got into the city they collapsed. And Terrador could tell why every single one of them was exhausted. And from the looks of things, a few of them were even suffering from various degrees of Magical exhaustion. As he looked around, Terrador also noticed it was not just exhaustion; there were many injuries too. Most of them looked minor, but he could also see some who looked like they might be lucky to be alive.

The sound of movement next to him caught the earth dragon's attention. He turned to look and saw Spyro coming into land. A Spyro who looked more physically tired than magically but also looked like he had seen his fair share of close-quarters combat. Terrador also made a mental note to get the young dragon's armor replaced; it was probably causing more issues than helping with.

As he landed, he looked at the earth dragon, "It's good to see you, Master Terrador. It's been a rough few days."

Terrador had to resist smiling at seeing the young dragon, but he could at least respond. "I can believe it. You and the rest of these youngsters look like you've been through a war."

Motioned directed Terrador's attention to Cynder as she landed next to Spyro and responded to what Terrador had just said, "Four days of near never-ending fighting. And that was after the craziest aerial battle I have ever heard about. So yes, I think we say we've been in a war."

Terrador made a second mental note to get Cynder's armor replaced as well; her's looked as bad as Spyro's! Sparx, however, had a very valid question, "Bro! As grateful as I am to see you, who have you been 'at war' with!?"

Spyro first smiled at his brother, then frowned at the question. He started to respond, "Can't you see…." He did not finish as he turned to look at the aerial apocalypse going on.

The last of those seeking cover was getting into the city; everyone's attention turned to look at what was going on outside as well.

And what a sight it was. Where before there had been three tornados; now there were six. Each tornado was a different size, and even crazier was some of them were twisting and curving in the most ridiculous of ways. Terrador even swore one of them was almost entirely horizontal as it looked like it stretched between a pair of two other tornados. And even more nauseating was the constant thud-whumps airburst explosions being caused all around those tornados.

On the plus, or not so plus depending on how the earth dragon thought of it, he could now see who the younglings had been running from: Dreadwings and their Ape riders. He could see some dead bodies being thrown about simultaneously as many others trying to get and keep a bearing within the storm. If he looked close enough, Terrador could also see those annoying explosives the apes liked to use going off here and there.

Spyro's surprised voice brought Terrador's attention back to the youngling, "I...I knew he was trying something. But not that! I didn't even know he could do that!"

Terrador's eyeridge raised; if whichever dragon was surprising Spyro, then he must indeed be stronger than one would think.

Again, while everyone's attention was on display in front of them, Sparx asked the vital question, "And who is this dragon you're so amazed about."

Spyro's response of, "His name is Marshal." was almost lost as he seemed to be scanning the chaos. He was probably trying to find this dragon named Marshal.

Terrador noticed Jones's head snap to Spyro upon hearing Marshal's name out of the corner of his eye. But before the fired dragon could ask the question he seemed to want to ask, Cynder cried out, "There! The lead of that vapor trail with the trail of dreadwings behind it!"

Everyone's attention snapped to where she was pointing towards, and sure enough, there was a shape bleeding trail vapors while doing what Terrador could only describe as harsh high-maneuvering turns. The dragon was pulling near 90-degree arches several times in a row and say nothing of the mother of tight corkscrews he looked to be pulling when he wanted to ram through the pillar of dreadwings trying to attack him.

Cyril's voice revealed he was surprised at something that was not the dragon, "How many dreadwings is chasing him? I've never seen an army anywhere near that size trying so hard to attack one dragon."

Cynder's voice had a joking tone to it as she responded, "To be fair, Marshal has done quite a bit to piss them off. He's kind of been our heaviest of hitters since all the fighting started."

Spyro snorted lightly, even as they watched this Marshal do a complete 180 turn in mid-air and let loose a massive burst of magic which turned into what Terrador would estimate to be a quarter of mile-wide explosion. "I'm sure some would disagree with that, but considering he's not only led most of the fighting but has also been the one who helped a lot of others get away. I'm sure we can safely say he's been highly vital."

Terrador would have turned to show his middle disbelief at Spyro's statement. More doubt in that Spyro seemed to think this dragon had been fighting with his all, especially if he still seemed to have the magic to create a hellscape like the one before them and not have it be a Fury.

Before he could do it, a cry of "NO!" from Cynder brought his attention back to the fight. A fight that had suddenly changed as, from the looks of things, an ape explosive had managed to nail the dragon while he had been doing another high-maneuver turn. Thankfully, it looks more like he had been disoriented by the explosive than massively injured. Terrador's assessment was primarily based on the fact that it looked like even as Marshal was flinging through the air in an uncontrolled manner, he was still trying to move his limbs, just in a way that showed he was uncertain where they were.

The situation was made worse when Marshal crashed into a dreadwing that had flown into his path instead of regaining his equilibrium. Terrador was unable to determine the condition of either the dreadwing or Marshal as the both of them tumbled out of the sky.

Just before they entirely crashed, though, it looked like Marshal got the upper hand as the dreadwing was thrown in the direction they had been falling in. The dragon then looked to throw his wings out to try and slow his fall. When that happened, Terrador got his first good look at Marshal's wings and became both concerned and shocked at both the strange wing spine and their vast size.

There was little time to try and make more observations before Marshal crashed into the ground himself. His attempt to slow him down at least worked well enough not to have the crash cause significant injury. It was still a harsh landing, and the small divot in the ground was evident of that.

It was also at that point that Terrador realized that the magic that had been fueling the storm had been cut. He could tell because the tornados were starting to slow down and vanish. And with the harsh winds winding down, the air became clear. And with the air becoming clear, it became easier to see the army of dreadwings who were starting to regain their bearings and were pissed. Pissed enough that instead of going after the city or leaving as they should have with being so close to the town, they instead started to circle Marshal's crash site, more and more even beginning to land and scream at the recovering dragon.

A lone dragon against an army. Even a powerful dragon was at a disadvantage and probably would not have the time to cast a spell to prevent the army from rushing him and tearing them to pieces.

Terrador turned, ready to give orders for a foray out to try and help. Before he could give the first order a cry from someone, he had no clue who, sounded. "What is that idiot doing!?"

Terrador swung back around and what he saw filled his soul with dread. The young dragon, Marshal, had gotten up, saw the mass of death surrounding him, and had decided to try one last attack instead of trying to run.

Spyro figured out what it was just as fast as Terrador, "He's about to unleash a Fury!"

There was no time to try and stop what was about to happen. Marshal was already floating in the air and starting to glow from the build-up of magic. And even more worrying was that Terrador could already see the environmental precursors in the form of a ball of contradictory winds forming in an expansive ball around him.

So instead of ordering aid, Terrador instead turned and shouted at the top of his lungs, "EVERYONE TAKE COVER! FURY INBOUND!"

As the call went out, every creature grabbed any creature not paying attention near them and pulled down behind the closest solid object they could find. Some dragons even pulled moles off the top of the walls to ground behind it. Terrador heard the pleasing sound of the gates finally being closed, signaling that the city should hopefully be safe.

It was just in the nick of time too. Less than a few seconds after what looked like the last creature took cover, Terrador sensed the snap of magic. And then it felt, and sounded, like the world was ending, again.

Terrador could only see the smallest of bits as he hugged a parapet on the outer side of the wall. From his position, he could see what looked like a few tornadoes, but the majority of his sight was made up of a half-sphere of silver-grey energy, contradictory cloud-laden winds, and enough dust to bury a city. He also felt, more than he saw, the harsh winds raming up against the walls of the town like a flaying youngling throwing a temper tantrum.

There were also winds flowing over the walls, but that felt more similar to a typical storm's wind than an attack as it rushed over. That's not to say that anyone who had not taken cover sufficiently was not being blown over; one city guard of the dragon variety had done such a lousy job he was slowly being pushed off the wall even as he was using his claws to try and keep from being flung. That dragon at least fared better than a couple of near-empty boxes, which were picked up, bashed to pieces, and thrown deeper into the city.

From his position next to Terrador, using the larger dragon as cover and a grip point, Spyro had to yell to be heard over the apocalypse, "If this is his Fury, I think I know why Marshal has never seen to run out of magic!"

A part of Terrador's mind took into account the fact that Cynder seemed to have no problem contouring her body to Spyro's to take cover while she responded to the purple dragon's comment, "If his reserves are this big, I don't want to know what his draw-in is. The time it would take most to even build half of this would be way too long to be practical!"

From nearby, the voice of Volteer rang out, not that Terrador was able to see the electric dragon thanks to the ever-increasing dust and cloud-vapors obscuring the air. "The Phenomenal quantity is probably more indicative of the inability to maintain an equilibrium level!"

The cry from Sparx of "What!?" was drowned out from a shout of "ENGLISH DAMN IT!" from Jone, which caused Terrador to start to smile as he was reminded of good times.

And just like old times, Spyro clarified, "He's saying Marshal may have been overcharged and suffering from an oversaturation of Magic for some time!"

Cynder continued Spyro's clarification with an observation, "That would actually make sense; he's been overpowering every attack he's been casting since we joined up!"

Cyril's voice pumped out from somewhere behind Terrador, "There's a possibility the overpowering was being caused by a lack of control!"

Terrador decided to drop his own comment as his voice boomed over the chaos, "There's a good chance it's both! He might not have been able to learn control, so he has been relying on brute force when casting his magic. Even with that, his draw-in is probably greater than what he's been able to get rid of!"

Sparx, having enough of a debate in which he understood only half of it, shouted out, "That's great and all, but I'd rather know how much longer is this going to last?! My face feels like it's going to be ripped off!" At that point, Terrador became aware of where the dragonfly was: on the inner side of the wall being pushed up against a part of the parapet there. The little dragonfly could not fight the strong winds pushing him into the stone and thus could not move.

Resisting a chuckle, Terrador decided to answer the dragonfly's question. "It should start winding soon. I can feel the magic starting to run out."

As Cynder let lose a snarky comment of, "And let's not even talk about the fact that this entire Fury has just been all of Marshal's magic just sticking around instead of being continually injected." Terrador was proven correct as the winds and sounds of carnage started to decrease.

The drop rate was low, but it was going down. After another minute, the winds had gone down enough that Terrador started to stand up and look over the parapet. There were still some strong winds, but nothing the elderly earth dragon had not muscled through before. As he stood up, though, he got a great view of the dome of death, which stretched for as far as Terrador could see.

Standing up next to him now, Spyro's head was moving around, looking at the slowly fading dome. "I, is it even possible for something to survive a Fury that strong?"

Terrador noticed a twinge of concern in the young dragon's voice and decided to ease his fears, "There's a small part near the center of every fury that's usually unscathed. As you've experienced, it's the area closest to the caster. The magic needs a bit of room to be able to transition from energy into the spell. So don't worry, your friend should be fine."

There was silence on the wall now. No one talked, only watched as the dome started to disperse and gave a view to the carnage it had caused. And what a field of carnage it was. Terrador could not begin to count the dead scattered for miles in every direction. He could not count, not because there were so many bodies, but because there were so many tiny pieces he could not tell what went with what. On top of that, there were areas where it looked like no body parts had survived the destruction and had instead just turned to dust.

On the plus side, Terrador was no longer worried about having to try and clean up the plains of anything that remained from when the Dark Army had besieged the city. For as far as the eye could see, the entire plain had looked to have been whipped clean of anything larger than a piece of gravel and had instead been replaced with, no pun intended, windswept dirt. Terrador was now sure that they would be able to get crops to grow out there again without at least a little effort.

It had been a long time since Terrador had seen destruction on such a scale. Not since the worst days of the Ape Wars. A time, in fact, when some of the most powerful dragons of the time unleashed furries in much the same manner as Marshal had just done. The most significant difference was the affected area; it usually took multiple dragons to cause the amount of change before him. To Terrador, it just gave more credit to the oversaturate theory.

Looking over the titular plains, Terrador's attention quickly went to the cause of it all. And like he had told Spyro, there in the center was indeed the dragon in question looking whole and healthy, at least from a distance.

With the last of the visible parts of the fury fading away, the earth dragon was able to watch as Marshal slowly lowered to the ground, hind legs first. What surprised Terrador, though, was the instant the hind legs touched, instead of having the forelegs come down to allow him to stand, he instead spent half a second on his hind legs, wobbling. And then, like watching a once-mighty tree finally give in, the young dragon crumpled in on himself and collapsed.

Seeing this, Terrador heard Cyril sigh before he said, "Ancestors save us from overachievers. He put everything he had into that, holding nothing back to keep himself up."

Terrador let lose a light, good-hearted chuckle, "Either way, we should probably go get him. He's probably out cold, and we can't just leave such a mighty warrior sleeping in the dirt like that."

Even as he started to take flight, Cyril could not resist responding, "Sure we can. It's not like the young fool would notice. He's out cold; he'll probably sleep better than we will!"

Terrador's Booming laughter preceded him as he led the small but growing group heading out to retrieve the young dragon in question. The world had just got a lot more interesting, that's for sure. And Terrador was more than excited to see how the new arrivals changed the dynamics for the city.

00000000000000000000

Many miles away, an oversized wolf was distracted from organizing his plans as he felt the most powerful pulse of magic he had felt since the Dark Master had summoned the destroyer.

Shadowfang turned his great head in the direction of the pulse and growled. He knew of the only item in the direction of the disturbance, Warfang.

It meant he had lost not only an army, but he could be sure he had lost one of his few remaining ape generals. He was torn on whether he was more annoyed at the loss of one of the few, valuable and currently irreplaceable Ape Generals or the fact that the dragons they had been chasing had reached safety within the walls of the great Dragon City.

He could take heart in the fact that at least he knew the adversary was powerful. There was no other explanation; to be able to feel the magic from as far as he was, it had to have been unimaginably powerful.

Despite the setback, minor and annoying though it was, Shadowfang could not fight the grin as it spread across his face. A dragon of such strength would be a thrill to fight. He only hoped they would get to meet up and let the wolf test him out. But for now, Shadowfang had other things to take care of.

His forces already had their orders, and plans were in motion. It was only a matter of follow-through now.

AN: And now we come to another chapter I've been looking forward to typing for some time. I have had so many different versions of how this could have gone down. It was kind of ridiculous.

The formation flying...yes, it works in terms of numbers; I've spent way too damn long on an excel spreadsheet moving around shaded squares to make sure the numbers worked, damn it. And no, most of the characters talked about are not getting names; I have several thousand characters to move around; there's a reason the term nameless mook works for fantasy armies! That's not to say I probably could not figure out a background for all of these characters; I just have a hard enough time with the ones I already have and don't want to stack more than needed. Though there's a good chance we'll be seeing a lot more of the "nameless mooks" as I rethink parts of the story I had initially planned.

Much like the last chapter, I almost ended this several times. But I also wanted to, again, get the whole event in. I think it came out quite well. Granted, it turned into one of my longer chapters, but I can find no reason to complain about that.

In other news, Khan the Hammerfist is dead. He is deader than dead. Now the question is, did he die in the last chapter of the Mega-Tornado, or did he die in the is chapter at some point to Marshal's no-holds-bar attack? Not even I know! I'll let you decide when he did.

Speaking of Marshal, because I don't know if I'll be able to reveal it in the story, don't expect another hail mary like what happened here. The characters were correct; Marshal has been suffering from an extreme case of oversaturation/overcharge for most of the story and has truly not learned control. What happened here was the expenditure of every last drop of magic he had built up from before he even knew how to use magic. And this was made even worse in that even with the fighting he's been going through, he's been topping off the tank, so to speak, instead of draining the tank because of how quickly he can take in the magic. Some of this is down to biology; others do to *spoilers*There is a reason. Additionally, please note that Spyro/Cynder can pull off the same thing, except for the fact that they cast furries differently.

Do you know those lovely, pretty purple gems from the games? I equate that to a unique brand of magic separate yet similar to regular elemental magic. When casting an Elemental Fury, it naturally uses this reserve of special magic for most dragons; this can be overridden and include one's reserves of regular magic if one knows how but doing so is by no means common.

Because of what he is, Marshal can't process this unique type of magic and thus has to cast Furies with regular magic. And to top it off, once he starts, he has no off switch. Marshal's Furries are literally all-or-nothing attacks that use every last drop of magic he has. The chances of Marshal going years and years building up the level of magic for an attack like this again are next to zero hence why I say, if ever does let loose a Fury again, it won't be near as powerful as the nuclear-sized attack we saw here. Instead, it will be more equitable to something a bit stronger, the MOAB. It's still extreme, but considering it's generally a "weapon of last resort," I think allowances can be made.

I hope that cuts off any questions about that, but if you feel I missed something, please let me know, and I can hopefully explain in more detail.

Anyways, this chapter marks the end/climax of what I consider the First Big Arc of the story: Feet On The Ground, Wings In The Air. The next chapter will be the beginning of a Minor Arc with no real name (though in my head I want to call it: From Peace to Adventure, It Never Ends), and thus I have it tagged under the same group in my notes. I don't know how long this will go, so we'll find out together.

But now, that's all I got. So until we meet again, I wish you all Happy Reading!