FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

[b][u][center]Galactic Enlightenment

Chapter 5: A Shattered Grip

For Txeptirea

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

Zephyr put his foot down, hard. While it only made a slight thump inside of the scout ship, it echoed through the Mindgrip mesh that kept him connected to the rest of the Metal dragon flight outside.

[i]I said no! Hold positions. We’re here to talk, not to destroy.[/i]

Their complaints filtered through his head like a hundred buzzing bees, but he forced himself to listen to them. As their Flightmaster, he couldn’t hold back. Ignoring any of them could make them turn on him, as the old Flightmaster kept trying. The human closed his eyes, leaning on the pilot’s panel of the ship as they growled into his mind.

It was the same complaints as ever. The dragons wanted to raid the world, not speak to it. They wanted to break the defenses, wanted to rush forward and destroy the various satellites that orbited the planet Chryssa, and then fly down and set it ablaze. Just as they had done to the other worlds they’d hit.

All that held them back was his will and his commands…and he wasn’t sure how much longer that would hold, at this rate.

[i]I am the Flightmaster, and I’ve spoken. We wait for them to speak to us.

This is not the dragon way.[/i]

Groaning at the previous Flightmaster’s interjection, Zephyr turned his head to look towards the side of the forward view panel. The complaining dragon floated amidst the stars, visible more by the power-denying boots and collar that he wore than anything else. They were off, now; Zephyr didn’t dare drag his flight through space without giving them every tool possible to survive.

Not after his panic attack when he hadn’t even properly left the atmosphere.

Shuddering at the memory, he looked down at the planet again. Chryssa was one of the flowering garden worlds of the Agglomerate, covered with golden fields that could be seen even from space. It was surprising to see such a different color, compared to the deep blue of his homeworld, but it was still a beautiful sight.

He was determined not to have it ruined by the dragons out there. All the raiding, all the attacks that they’d made on the outer worlds of the Agglomeration, had done more damage to their image than it had to the Agglomeration as a whole. Zephyr knew that the humans were waiting for a chance to destroy every dragon, and were building up their money so that they could produce sufficient fleets and armaments for that. The only reason his mercenary company had been hired initially was to buy time.

If he didn’t find some way to change that image that the dragons were putting off, then the Agglomeration would eventually wipe them out. Dragons were too terrifying to them at the moment, too deadly, too animalistic to be perceived as people. If he could change that…

The pilot console beeped, and he took a deep breath.

[i]I am talking to them now, everyone. Do not make any sudden moves. I want us to look as peaceful as possible.[/i]

The collected snorts and sneers in his head told him what most of the flight thought of that. Not the dragon way, indeed; but the dragon way was what had gotten them into this mess, so…hopefully he could convince them of that. He pressed the button.

“This is Private Zephyr, formerly of the mercenary company [i]Harland’s Rockets,[/i] piloting the scout ship currently orbiting around your north-eastern continent. ID code, HRSC-43325. Requesting a diplomatic meeting with someone with Agglomeration authority.”

“Private Zephyr, your ID code is received and is being processed. We’re getting a number of shimmers on the scanner. Were you followed?”

“Willingly. Who am I speaking to?”

“Commander Elias of the Chryssan defense force.”

“Right, yes…Elias, I am here to speak for the dragons. I –”

“Speak for the dragons?! They’re animals. They don’t talk.”

“I assure you they do. And I’ve been talking with them for weeks, now. I even –”

“You brought them here…we’re a peaceful planet, and you brought them here?! You idiot! They’ll burn everything, slaughter us all.”

“No, no, that’s not – let me explain, I –”

[i]Click.[/i]

Zephyr desperately started tapping at the console, trying to get the channel back, but the commander wouldn’t pick up. He shook his head, trying to send out hailing channels to anyone else on the planet, but no sooner had he started than the whole cabin filled with static.

[i]…They’re…they’re jamming me…[/i]

He took a step back from the console, feeling numbness spreading through him already. He looked up, saw that the satellites around the planet were starting to turn, rockets boosting them in different directions to bring other sides to bear. Weapon after weapon was aimed at his ship.

[i]They wouldn’t…I’m…I’m one of them. I’m trying to make peace. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go![/i]

Beating on the panel, he felt tears running down his eyes as he strained to get someone to answer. He shouted for the commander, for the general, for the Chancellor of the planetary assembly. Someone, somewhere had to listen to this. Why were they throwing away a chance for peace? Couldn’t they see it? Couldn’t they see that he –

“[i]Warning. Incoming missile.[/i]”

The computerized warning drew his head up from the console again. Three missiles had been launched from the satellites nearest him, only visible from the bright lights shooting out the backs of them.

Zephyr’s mind raced, coming up with the facts before he could stop himself. Armed satellites were stocked with missiles capable of creating an explosion ranging from fifteen to forty meters in diameter. The ship itself was barely more than ten meters across, and the dragons were clustered very close to him. Even if it was the smallest –

[i]Scatter away! Get out of the way![/i]

He shouted at them, and the glittering feeling of the dragon flight around him shattered. They moved off in many different directions as he reached out towards the missiles. If he could just…stop them…maybe…

The Mindgrip came to him, and he reached out, straining as he gripped for the three separate missiles. His touch gave him an all too clear picture of how big they were, how much they would explode if he missed even one. They were almost as big as his ship, and felt so heavy to his touch.

Zephyr squeezed, pulling at the boosters at the back of the rocket. All he had to do was shift them…change their course…

With a grunt, he wrenched one apart, the new imbalance of thrust sending that missile careening away. He reached out for the other two, panting as they got closer and closer, feeling them getting nearer and nearer.

It wasn’t made any easier by the dragons shouting in his ear, telling him that they needed to attack. He held them back, forcing them to stay in space with the Mindgrip as he strained for another one. Another missile, another rocket, another booster –

CRACK!

Another one down, but the third one was almost upon him. Dripping sweat, Zephyr turned his attention on it, holding out both his hands as if the gesture would actually help. He strained, pushing against the very tip of the missile, trying to slow it down, give the semblance of air resistance, something…

But it was too late. The tip of the missile punctured his viewscreen…and the world turned to fire.

#

Flashes.

Cast among wreckage, and caught by strong arms.

Falling, falling, falling for far longer than he should.

The sound of bullets and explosions.

The heat of the sun.

Darkness.

Awakening again, the smell of blood. Human and dragon.

A glimpse of Einar ripping a human’s head off.

Darkness again.

#

When he woke up again, Zephyr realized two things. One, he wasn’t in space anymore. Two, he didn’t have his armor.

[i]But I still have…yes. Yes. Some. Enough.[/i]

The Mindgrip was still there, still just present enough to allow him to reach out and listen. He spread his mind out through the room, feeling for what was around rather than opening his eyes.

A bed. A hospital bed, or something very like it. He wasn’t tied down, but he was wrapped up in blankets at this point. Was he injured? Captured?

No. There were dragons around him, and they wouldn’t have put dragons in a hospital. They were planetside, then, probably still on Chryssa…but why would dragons be allowed here, if not for –

[i]Bullets and explosions…blood…[/i]

The images came back, and it was all he could do not to spasm and shake. The separate images came together like a clip show on fast-forward, shooting through the scenes of a war. A bloody, dangerous war…

He opened his eyes, turned his head to the side. One of the dragons was familiar. A red one, named Jon, one of his stronger and more loyal dragons. Zephyr groaned, clearing his throat, before pushing his mind into the red’s.

[i]What…happened? Where are we?

We are on the planet. The humans tried to destroy the Flightmaster, and we killed them.

All of them?

Not yet.[/i]

Zephyr shuddered, remembering the first fight against the dragons, of the way that Einar had ripped through a highly trained mercenary squad without even trying. How he had popped heads with the Mindgrip and stopped bullets, how he had whipped people around through the air with ease…

The population of Chryssa didn’t stand a chance.

And yet…

As he sat up, he couldn’t bring himself to feel grief. He wanted to, wanted to say that this was wrong, that the dragons shouldn’t have fought…but he couldn’t.

[i]They don’t…they don’t want peace,[/i] he thought. [i]The Agglomeration doesn’t want the dragons to be intelligent. They don’t want to think of making peace with someone else. All they want is this…this threat ended.[/i]

His hands bunched into fists, his anger spreading the more that he thought about it. Did they even know what he had done? How hard this had been? No. This ‘commander’ Elias and everyone here just wanted the dragons gone. They wanted them killed, erased, so that they didn’t have to think about this little deviation from their daily lives.

They didn’t care about him. They didn’t care that he’d held them back, that he’d done everything that he could to make it peaceful…and they had fired the first shot.

[i]Jon. Go find Einar, Geir, and the old Flightmaster. We…we have things to do.

Yes, Flightmaster.[/i]

As the red stood up and walked out, he gestured to the other two. They knew the gesture; everyone in the flight did. After all, he had made it clear when it was feeding time.

#

When his requested dragons arrived, Zephyr was quite refreshed on the Mindgrip, having drained the two dragons with him most thoroughly. So he was very open to the thoughts of his companions as they came in.

Geir was as angry as ever, though he was rather flattered that the gray dragon was more disgusted at the humans of this planet managing to launch a surprise attack than anything else. Apparently, having someone beat his Flightmaster when the Flightmaster had beaten him was a keen humiliation for the gray dragon.

The old Flightmaster was…annoyed, more than anything else. Apparently, he’d tried to take his position back during the chaos, and the mind-warped dragons had refused. Even…

Zephyr blinked, turning to the black dragon.

[i]You stopped him?

It was not the time for a change in leadership. You were unconscious, not dead, and it was not one of us that had taken it from you.

But I was not one of you when I took it from him…

You had the powers. That was different.[/i]

He nodded slowly. It seemed that Einar had been rather more loyal than he’d expected…He’d have to remember that.

[i]Alright…Let me hear it. What is the situation out there?[/i]

The three of them looked at each other, and then gestured for Einar to speak. The black dragon stepped forward, shrugging.

[i]We’re winning. We have driven humans off of all but one of the continents, where they have dug into the ground through a number of tunnels. They push out thoughts of hiding until we leave. It would be a viable thing for survival; all the things we want are on the northern continents, after all.

How many survivors?

Perhaps fifty times the number of our flight.[/i]

Their flight. The Metal flight was around four hundred dragons, after collecting every dragon on the other planet and several others on the path to Chryssa. That meant that the survivors…numbered about twenty thousand.

Twenty thousand. Chryssa had been a garden planet, true, and it hadn’t been filled to capacity the way that the central worlds were, but to see a planet’s population take such a nosedive from almost a billion to less than half a million…It was astonishing.

[i]How long was I out?

Two days. We brought you here after examining several humans for where they take the injured ones. They seemed rather…unwilling to deal with you. We killed one, and the others were willing enough.

Are they still alive?

Yes.[/i]

Zephyr nodded. That was something. It would explain why any of the machines were still running at this point. They must have been terrified, though. He half expected to be dead when he woke up, and not entirely from the explosion in the ship.

He would fill in those blanks later, though.

[i]Alright. We have a new plan, now.

There is no plan, Flightmaster. We raid, and we go.

There is now.[/i]

Zephyr took a deep breath, and slowly pulled himself over the side of the bed. Standing up hurt, but he needed to. He needed to make this point.

[i]I had every hope of doing this peacefully. I wanted to make an accord between human and dragon, to give people the chance to see what I see. I wanted to spread the powers across the galaxy, to let people feel this connection…

But if they don’t want it, then I can at least remove the people that lord it over others, and who’d kill you.[/i]

He gestured out the window.

[i]Chryssa will be the start. This will be our base. From here, we make our stand against the Agglomeration. From here, we will rain down fire, and ruin, on everyone that seeks to wipe us out. From here, we will make everyone know the true power, the true terror, of a dragon flight that has nothing to lose.[/i]

If they wanted a war, then a war they would have.

#

Time passed quickly on Chryssa, and the next two years brought many changes to the far eastern edge of the Agglomeration. Other dragon flights, in curiosity and in summons, came to the planet to see what had happened. One and all, they joined, submitting their numbers to the Metal dragon flight.

The planet was purged of humans, with Zephyr leading squads all over the final continent, using the Mindgrip to feel through the earth for the hiding places of everyone left over. There was mercy, then. Ships were found, and they were sent off-planet, rather than suffering the ends that so many of the fighters had.

That was the end of mercy, however.

As the Metal flight grew, so did the raids that were sent to the many neighboring planets. Chryssa had been a crossroads, a place where people would stock up on food for many planets and systems around. With it under dragon control, many planets were forced to deal with them, or die from starvation.

The Flightmaster wielded this power with an iron will, breaking down the resistance of other planets, forcing them to surrender their Enlighteners to him before handing over food. Those that refused were forced to rely on shipments from elsewhere in the Agglomeration to fill their bellies and their silos, while those that tried to take it…

Chryssa soon became known as the steel-ringed planet, due to the vast rings of wreckage that circled it. Any ship that attacked was immediately assaulted by the dragon patrols that circled the planet, and the Mindgrip was as deadly a weapon as anything that the Agglomeration could use against them. Fighters, destroyers, even one Agglomeration battleship was sent to try and break the blockade.

None survived.

And on the planet, Zephyr, the Flightmaster of the ever-growing Metal dragon flight, grew harder and harder…

#

It had been over a year since he bothered wearing any armor. Zephyr didn’t need it anymore, his body as armored as a dragon’s through his constant use of the Mindgrip. The human had learned much in how to use it as armor, keeping a flickering field of it at the ready at all times. A simple thought was sufficient to catch even a bullet heading his way, and there had been many of them in the time since he’d taken over Chryssa.

Instead of his thick armor, he wore the dead scales of his flight. Dragons shed regularly, and as the scales left the body, they formed the characteristic hardness that most of the Agglomeration thought was the usual in dragons. Bullets, blades, even explosions had a hard time piercing it, and it made him look like some barbarian chieftain out of the old stories.

He enjoyed the look.

Tugging the scale boots on, he walked to the edge of the old Chancellor’s palace. Chryssa’s government had been erased, abolished, and replaced by what he’d come up with. The Metal dragon flight was ruled by him, but he had commanders, sub-flightmasters, that took care of the day to day business. It made it easier for the tensions between the different flights that had joined him not to spill over and cause war between them.

He looked down at the assembled dragons below him. They were gathered to hear his plans, dressed in armor similar to his. Their dead scales had never been used this way before, but as he started using them, they did the same. It had made an immense difference in training; no more surprises like the one that had felled Einar and left the black dragon vulnerable to him would happen.

Zephyr laid his hands on the railing, clearing his throat. The sound echoed through the metal courtyard, the many-colored dragons standing out against the iron walls and steel pillars.

[i]In three days time, we will be leaving this planet.[/i]

The dragons were silent. As ever, they were willing to accept his words and plans. They knew that he’d cleared them with the flightmasters already, and that this was an announcement, rather than a conference.

[i]The Enlighteners have sent two battlefleets to Iraklis. Two battlefleets. That is more soldiers than there were people on this planet, when we first arrived, with more guns and more missiles than we’ve ever seen. The Agglomeration wishes to see us all dead, after we’ve defied them for this long.

I say…We will see them dead, instead.[/i]

Zephyr lifted his hand, pointing towards the heavens.

[i]In three days, we will launch our attack. The fleet will be in transit between Iraklis and us. We will come at them from the darkness, sweeping in before they can see us. Their greatest fleet, their brightest minds, will be there…and we will crush them. We will bury them in the stars, and show the Agglomeration that we will not fade! We will not disappear! We will stay here, because we…are…-

DRAGON![/i]

The shout as they joined him rattled through his skull, and he smiled to himself.

[i]We are dragon! And we will burn brightly for as long as we live. Go. Prepare yourselves. We leave in three days.[/i]

They took to the skies as he turned away, the multitudes of them heading off to their homes. There would be short talks, brief arguments between other soldiers who didn’t want to work together, but they’d be solved. There’d be sadness between them and the egg-tenders that had to stay here, but that would be lived through.

[i]Three days…[/i]

Zephyr walked into his chambers, directly adjacent to the balcony, and sat down on one of the many surviving couches in the room. His eyes flicked up towards the ceiling, looking over the many murals of human civilization, the painted images of wonders and majesty, and could only shake his head in disappointment.

Where was the wonder and majesty when he tried to make peace? Where was the civilization when he wanted to bring someone else into it?

Where was the civility of one human to another, when he just wanted to talk?

He growled, forcing himself to look away. It didn’t matter anymore. Ever since he’d taken charge of the flight properly, they’d fallen in line. Even the old Flightmaster, the blue he’d displaced, approved of him now. Power and wealth, food and glory was all theirs. They had a planet that they could keep, now, rather than just a husk that could be raided again and again. Egg layers had come and made it their home as well, and the population was growing.

Even if he had the skin of a human, he was something better now. He was a dragon, just like everyone else that actually mattered.

There was a mental knock at his awareness, and he turned his attention to the archway leading out. Seeing the flicker of black that always came with his oldest follower, Zephyr smiled.

[i]Come in, Einar.[/i]

The black dragon walked inside, shaking his head. Einar still didn’t wear the armor that so many warriors did, but Zephyr didn’t force the issue. Particularly as the black wasn’t a warrior anymore, or a Flightmaster.

He came closer as the human crooked a finger, standing precisely one pace away. The Mindgrip came to him again, and he started stroking the dragon’s shaft with it, squeezing it in the same ghostly way that he always did to encourage it to rise.

[i]You do not need a feeding right now, Flightmaster.

I know. But this sooths me.

I understand.[/i]

The dragon was still as he kept fondling that shaft, bringing it up with squeezes and teases. He rolled invisible hands over the cock, then down under the balls, making them slide around and roll against each other with his Mindgrip touch.

[i]I will miss this, in a way.

Miss what, Flightmaster?

This life, on this planet. When we leave, I will have made a choice. A choice that commits us irrevocably to war. There will be no going back, and the Agglomeration is very, very big. No matter how hard we fight, it will take us decades to finish the whole thing if they don’t surrender. And I don’t think they will.

Dragons are made for war, Flightmaster. This is what we do.[/i]

He smiled. Einar had been at his side ever since the start, though it was only in the last nine months that it was this willingly. He wasn’t sure what it was, and he wouldn’t do the dragon the disservice of reading it from his mind.

So he kept stroking, instead. He let himself focus only on the dragon rod in his Mindgrip, only on the soft scent that came from it, only on the reward that came with working it over again and again. He watched as the flesh depressed, squeezed tight by ghostly grips, watched as the scales were pulled along by his slow masturbatory strokes. It was almost like watching a piece of art, in a way, and the dragon was certainly good enough looking to qualify.

He leaned back, watching as the pre-seed drooled down that shaft. The room almost constantly smelled of dragon lust, due to how he worked those, like Einar, who were most loyal. Puddles of pre, drippings that soaked into the floor itself and could never be entirely washed away, left this place...different.

Even now, the little ripples that came from a dragon’s sperm interacting with the Mindgrip were filling the room. Zephyr was no closer to understanding it now than he had been when he saw it years ago, back on Markos, but it was still so fascinating. How so many brainless cells had some ability to reach out, to alter reality, and did it with and against each other…

[i]How can I use this?[/i]

He asked himself that so many times, these days. How could he use the anger of the dragons to focus them more? How could he lure human fleets to a place where they could fight and win? How could he use dragon sperm in and of itself as a weapon?

There were so many questions, so many things that he could do, and there was no way that he could do all of them.

[i]Flightmaster.

Hmm?

I...am close...would you mind -

Heh...of course not.[/i]

It had been interesting to get to know the dragons more personally. Some of them had different tastes, for this. Most loved the feeling of getting their cocks sucked, or of having their balls fondled. Geir, it turned out, enjoyed the feeling of having his feet stroked while he was being milked, and Olafur rather liked the sensation of getting his balls tugged and dragged around. Einar, on the other hand…

Zephyr pushed the dragon’s tail up rather forcefully with the Mindgrip, and slid two invisible fingers inside. The black dragon gasped, groaning as his cock twitched and throbbed in the human’s grip. Chuckling, he forced the dragon further, delivering one jab after another into the dragon’s prostate, nudging it again and again.

He pulled the shaft down with his grip, pointing it at his mouth as he opened it. Stroke, stroke...stroke, stroke…

Until it finally blew. The seed, the mystical link to the Mindgrip, poured down his chin and over his tongue...and for a little while, he felt happy again.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]