Chapter 28: A Life Worth Preserving
Lord Torch soon recovered from his injuries, much to Blaze’s relief. Her stint in the role of honorary Dragon Lord had come and gone without further incident, yet for the first time, she had found how heavy the mantle of rulership was to bear over so proud and bull-headed a people as the dragons. Always, Blaze had to keep an eye out for quarrels. Grown-up dragons were about as fond of fighting as their whelps were, and whilst for many a drake, whatever small grievances lay between them would easily be satisfied by a playful tussle, the duty of a Lord was to spot when the smallest ember might flare into the fires of an outright feud.
Admittedly, the source of most disputes came down to fair trade, a matter on which the priesthood would oft be called upon to help cast judgment. Whether or not this dragon or that dragon had found a precious gem first. Whether an armorer had been paid their rightful due for what they’d forged. Or whether the armorer’s work was subpar, and thus deserved no full payment. In fact, before Torch had become Dragon Lord, he himself had once been at the heart of just such a dispute, regarding the armor he so proudly wore nowadays. The court had split the difference; Torch and his armorer would let out their bad blood in a fight, which he won readily, but he owed the other drake the full price.
Afterwards, Torch had graciously admitted the armor was great at deflecting his opponent’s blows.
It said a lot that a Dragon Lord usually need only command a pair of quarreling dragons to fight once and be done with it, after which the two would be best of friends again, as if nothing had ever happened. And thus Blaze only felt sadder to think that the Ironscales and Steelspines might never get the chance for such a reconciliation now. Would the two clans have escalated into a full-blown feud, managed to work out their differences, or perhaps just ignored one another? With the Steelspines whittled down to the last child, none may ever know for sure.
When Torch returned home, nursed back to health by Topaz, Blaze decided to apologize for underestimating the work he did in maintaining order. She was smart, but intelligence could only go so far without the strength to back it up. Nevertheless, hers was a quiet apology. Seeing how much trouble he’d gone through in these last few months, she thought it best to show him some form of kindness. She had not yet fully forgiven him for using the Dragon Lord’s Voice on her, much as she may have wished a couple times she could tap into that power while acting as his regent. But she knew Torch’s devotion to Ember, and that counted for a lot to her. Torch was merely happy to be reunited with his family; his beloved mate and daughter.
However, in the years which followed, the Brightcrests were not the sole denizens of their cave.
Whereas the dragons had grieved for the Steelspines following the loss of their egg, that initial sympathy had almost wholly dried up, ever since the incidents at Sardior’s Pit and Squires Gate. While general opinion still held the Equestrians accountable for starting the bloodshed, many dragons agreed the Steelspines had disgraced themselves by not only escalating the violence, but also by attacking a Dragon Lord. Of course, there were still a number of dragons who only saw the latter as a minor issue, and the former as an active good.
The Sunwings granted Slicer shelter for the time being, mostly because their daughter was fond of him. Yet there could be no doubt that Slicer’s time with them was to be short-lived. Already, some were whispering that it was inappropriate for the two whelps so close to one another to be living under the same roof. However, Torch wasn't hasty to find new accommodations for him. There was a risk of someone taking the lad in, only to feed that fiery rage likely growing in his heart.
Both Torch and Blaze gave the matter much thought, before reaching a decision.
Perhaps, deep down, Torch remembered his meeting with Amber Ironscale, when she’d presented him the infant Heathspike, whom he’d handled so poorly. Be that as it may, the irony was not lost on either of the Brightcrest parents when they chose to take in Slicer, an orphan of their own.
Torch was not without misgivings, nor was he without compassion. It was foolish of dragons to blame the wrongdoing of a parent on a child. What worried Torch most wasn’t that Slicer may still want to wage war on Equestria, it was a dragon pushing him to make on another foolish attack and getting him killed. While he couldn’t read the minds of his subjects, he knew himself and his mate. They could steer him in the right direction.
Thankfully the boy seemed calm about it now. So strangely calm. Against his better judgment, Torch let it go. If Slicer had lost his hatred, then there was no sense in getting him to recall it. Or maybe Slicer was simply less exacting than his father, and considered Torch suitably punished; even with Topaz’s art of healing, the damage inflicted by Kalamet had left its mark.
For the rest of his days, Torch lost sight in one of his eyes. He kept this hidden under either a patch, or a new metallic piece to his crown that obscured the wound. Dragons, especially teenagers and youngsters, began to call him One-Eyed Torch. Fortunately for the Dragon Lord, the addition of an eyepatch to his crown and the scars left by his attacker only served to enhance his mystique. It made him look intimidating, which was Torch’s favorite thing to be. But, having consulted with Blaze, Torch also gave words of reassurance to his people.
Thanks to his account of the last fight at Sardior’s Pit, which carefully made no mention of him the fiery Princess Celestia, but emphasized her partially healing him, as well as embellishing his and Kalamet's fight, many dragons decided to forget about the equine, viewing the creatures as wastes of time. In a hundred years, no pony born today would even be alive. Why bother with grievances towards them? After this much death, would it not be justice for dragons to just choose to live?
The shared experience of bringing an orphaned whelp into their fold also brought Amber Ironscale and Blaze Brightcrest closer together, as did the latter’s accounts of the challenges she’d faced during her brief time on the throne. Not everything was the same; even Amber’s maternal nature felt put to the test by the thought of anyone adopting the son of a clan who’d nearly killed her family, least of all Blaze. Her feeling sorry for Slicer, when so many had given up on him, only went so far.
The generosity shown by Torch in taking Slicer in had warmed her to Blaze’s mate. At the same time, it made her wary. He likely assumed that, even if Slicer were to someday act out of line after all, a lone clanless drake posed no real threat.
Males did not think long-term. There were things they did not see.
While part of her was thankful Slicer did have a friend to call his own, Amber was well aware that Scales Sunwing once had an eye on her eldest son. Despite her personal indifference for the Sunwings if, for some reason she couldn’t hope to fathom, their clan had proposed a betrothal, Amber’s would reject it on very simple grounds; ‘it will not work out between them’.
There was nothing abnormal about Scales. Yes, she could be a bit of a brat sometimes, but so could Smolder, Ember, Spike, Garble and any other child when they were so young. The worst she could name in recent memory was the embarrassment Scales had caused by hounding Slicer at a gathering, the same gathering when Smolder made friends with Ember. The issue was what Garble seemed to like in girls. He liked Ember, and that was because she had grit and determination, and a certain level of intelligence, which was tempered by her impulsiveness. While, Scales seemed to possess a devious mind for her age, but she never liked to push herself all that much. That seemed to be a deal breaker for her eldest son.
She cared for Blaze as a friend, truly and deeply, yet she also understood convenience. And so it was that one day, while the two were lying by a river of lava on a lazy afternoon, dipping their forepaws into the bubbling warmth, Amber asked a question seemingly out of the blue.
“What do you think of a betrothal between our children?”
Blaze stared at her friend for a few seconds, before finding her voice. They had been discussing Ember’s latest escapade with Smolder, so her mind was on her daughter then, but the shift in topic had slipped in hard enough to catch her off-guard.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Garble and Ember, what do you think of a betrothal between them?”
“Amber, they are ten!”
Amber shrugged her shoulders. It would be far from the youngest betrothal there was in the Dragonlands. And it wasn’t as if they'd be forcing their children into anything. Parents hedged their bets. If the pair still had feelings for each other once they grew older, a betrothal would allow Garble and Ember could shorten their courting time down to less than a decade. If they couldn’t stand each other, they’d go their separate ways and no-one would speak of the matter ever again.
“Selena and Ring were five when they were betrothed,” said Amber, “and they’re on their fourth child by now, are they not?”
Blaze wasn’t going to engage. Likely Amber had memorized countless examples of such betrothals which ended in happy families. By comparison, Blaze could think of only maybe three courtships which had ended up for naught, and each of the mismatched couples still remained on speaking terms. But the thought did occur to her that more went on between cave walls than was polite to admit. Dragons were meant to mate for life, after all. And if she had one example of how the measure of a successful marriage went beyond a good courtship, the rough patches in her own relationship with Torch sprung to mind.
She tried to remember if Smog Ironscale, the eternal bachelor, had ever got betrothed by his parents, before giving up on that line of riposte and cutting to the chase.
“Why are you bringing this up?”
“When a young dragon cries, how do dragons typically respond?” Amber asked.
This did not answer the question, but Amber sometimes acted roundabout like that. True, it was a habit that would get on Blaze’s nerves after a while, yet she could play along for now. “They’re mocked.”
“So, what does it tell you when a very strong drake, the pinnacle of what a growing whelp should be, comforts a girl who refuses to leave him alone and attacks him on a near-constant basis? Better question, what does it tell you about said drake when he stands up to your mate on her behalf? In fact, what does it say that she gets pouty whenever she isn’t able to spend any time with him for a day?”
Right. So that was it. Sound enough logic, by Blaze’s estimation. Garble and Ember had an unusual relationship, but they also cared for one another, it seemed, in their own way. Still, a betrothal was not a mother’s choice alone. It was both parents’ choice.
“I see your point,” Blaze sighed. “Counterpoint– my mate will say no. Every time.”
“It’s just food for thought,” Amber said with a smile.
It was the last time for a long time that a betrothal was brought up directly, but when their children played together, Amber would wear a knowing look on her face, and glance at Blaze every so often.
Before anyone knew it, three years came and went.
Garble grew, over a head in height, tall for a drake of his young age. Even wingless, still recognisably a whelp yet to molt, the signs were there already of the strong and muscular dragon he was bound to be. Smolder grew too, though rather differently from her older brother. Contrary to him, she remained short for a dragon, what a pony might have cutesily called “petite”. She never voiced it out loud, and it was one thing her brothers never dared tease her about, yet the family knew she felt self-conscious about it. Ember, of all dragons, had experienced a growth spurt. Smolder hoped she might still catch up one day. At least this was something else on which both girls found common ground.
But most importantly, Spike grew. The little drake was able to blow a steady stream of fire now, and best of all, he fought. Not as intensely as his brother nor sister, yet still. He was above average, in terms of strength and skill. Amongst his peers, little Jade Spiketail thought him the greatest. They grew closer over the years, and though Jade’s affection could be irritating at times, Spike could admit he would rather have a friend around than not.
Today was like any other day when Flare stepped into his family’s cave, where he noticed all three of his children huddled around a ceramic case.
Inside the open case was a familiar-looking egg. A phoenix egg, to be precise. He recalled that the only time dragons interacted with phoenix eggs was during egg raids. He’d heard that other races would regard such practices as barbaric, but Flare considered those races to be spoilt. For dragons, whelps especially, egg raids were a necessity.
When a whelp reached puberty, anywhere in the range from thirteen to fifteen, they typically underwent their first molt. As a right of passage, they left home for two weeks to survive on their own. Although girls may sometimes be shadowed, unknowingly, by a family member or a friend, boys had to make do on their own. Food was sure to be scarce and a whelp might need to fight over it with another dragon, a fight with far more serious and life-threatening stakes than the constant tussles of youth.
Even though they were small, a young dragon was a force to be reckoned with. Only rare and powerful beasts like the roc, the tatzelwurm or the hydras would even consider attacking a whelp, attracted to them by the pungent scent of their molt. Other beasts, should the whelp’s claws, fangs and fire breath not suffice to scare them off, instinctively knew they ran the risk of a whelp crying out and drawing in an extremely protective, furious mother not far off.
Phoenix eggs in particular provided a good meal for a whelp in a dire situation. Doubly so if they managed to catch a full-grown phoenix. However, phoenixes were tough prey for dragons, with the parents matching their predators in protectiveness. Not to mention, the fire-birds were some of the few creatures who had nothing to fear from a dragon’s flame. This was why every so often, whelps would be nudged by their parents to go on egg raids. They would get practice, and should they succeed, a snack to cook for themselves.
However, the question now was just why Spike had an egg secured in a very fancy case.
“Spike, what have you got there?” Flare asked.
“I got it on an egg raid with Garble!” Spike chirped.
Flare squinted at his youngest son. Despite the upbeat tone, there was evidence of tears on his cheeks, glistening against purple scales.
Why had Spike been crying? He turned to Amber, who silently motioned towards their firstborn. She did not look angry, yet there was a hint of disappointment in her face.
“Garbuncle, come with me,” said Flare. “You and I need to talk.”
Garble groaned, but he appeared to have been expecting this, getting put on the spot by his father.
He got up and followed Flare outside, walking behind him until they had reached the foot of their mountain home. Then Flare rounded on him.
“You took your brother on an egg raid,” Flare said, in a quiet voice. “Care to explain why Spike brought home an egg intact?”
Garble’s shoulders were slumped and he was having trouble looking Flare in the eye. He remained silent for a good long while, until finally he sighed.
“He couldn’t smash it.”
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Flare asked. He waited, but Garble looked away. “Why didn’t you make him? Garble, there are times you need to go easy on Spike, but this is not one of them! He needs to be able to make these choices! What if he were to molt tomorrow?”
“I know, I know,” Garble said, taking a step back, trying hard not to stammer. “B-but, he was there, Dad, he saw that egg the ponies broke, remember? And– and I think it’s keeping him from doing it. You weren’t there, you didn’t see how he looked when everyone else smashed their eggs!”
Flare felt ready to bark at him, yet he managed to stay collected.
He often forgot that his eldest was still young, too young to instill this kind of lesson in Spike. Garble himself had similar reservations once. Amber was a fine mother, but she wouldn’t be able to force this type of lesson on them.
“Go up to the cave, and send your brother out. He’s to leave the egg with you and your sister. Tell your mother we likely won’t be back until tomorrow. Understood?”
Garble nodded and did as he was told.
Soon, Spike came pattering down the mountain. “Garble said you wanted to talk?” he said, with a hint of nervousness in his voice.
Flare nodded, and lowered his wing.
“Climb on, Spike. You and I need to take a short trip.”
Hours must have passed. Spike clung to his father’s hide as they soared through the air, feeling a mounting anxiety, the longer they flew in silence. The sun was just starting to set, and the forest they were flying towards cast an eerie shadow, in his eyes. Despite Flare calling this a “short” trip, judging by what Garble had told their mother, they weren’t returning to the cave for the night.
Part of him was excited. He’d never slept outside the cave before. However, any excitement was soon overtaken by his uneasiness.
“Dad, is everything–”
“Garble told me about the egg raid.”
His father’s voice was stern, lacking most emotion, and Spike had never heard him speak like this before.
“A-are we going to try again?” Spike asked, almost in a whimper. He saw the forest fast approaching. Realizing they were soon to land, the anxiety within him tightened his guts into a knot.
“No. We’re here for something else.”
Flare went silent, purveying the woods below them. He could feel Spike’s grip tighten as time went on. However, in a clearing, he saw what he was looking for.
“Hang on,” he told his son. Flare nose-dived towards the woods, only to narrowly avoid crashing into the ground and flying back up. It did not matter. While Spike may not be able to see it from where he sat, Flare’s dive had got him what he wanted.
Shaking his head, Flare found them another clearing, where could let his wings spread.
“Off,” he told Spike.
Spike did as commanded, landing on all fours in the soft grass. He looked up at his father. And he noticed that the great dragon carried something between his claws. It was a boar. The beast struggled in vain to escape as its cries echoed through the woods. It tried to gouge his father’s flesh, kick and bite, but its tusks and teeth could not pierce scales.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
Spike’s apprehension had faded, yet what was left was no better, a pervasive, icy discomfort he’d never expected to feel in his father’s presence. Not when he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Somehow, this just made it worse, especially as Flare stayed silent.
“I– I think you’re scaring it,” Spike said in a weak, frightened voice.
Flare spoke at last. “I’m sorry, Spike,” he said, still in that cool, emotionless tone. “But this is something you need to learn. Garble had to learn it. So did I, so did Smog, and my father, and his father before him. Even Furnace. Are you hungry, Spike?”
Spike could not understand, or perhaps did not want to understand what his father was saying. Instead, he focused on the question itself, as if it had been asked in a vacuum. The flight had been a long one, indeed, and he was starting to get hunger pains.
“Y-yeah, but–”
Spike saw his father’s fingers grip two of the boar’s limbs, and turned before he had to see what his father was doing. He heard the snaps, and the squeals that followed. When he finally found the courage, he turned back around to see the creature thrashing on the ground, as it tried to escape from his father, two legs bent at unnatural angles.
However, seeing the futility of its position, the boar soon ceased its struggles, and waited for the inevitable, letting out low, pathetic cries into the dark of the woods.
“This is your meal.” It was not a warm voice, nor was it cold. It was just a statement of fact.
Spike’s mind became abuzz. He wanted some way out of this. He quickly recalled something that was taught to him at a very early age. “But, we’re not supposed to eat living–”
“I know,” Flare interrupted, having heard the excuse more than once, even used it himself at one time. “That’s why you need to kill it first.”
Spike stared at his father in disbelief.
Flare recognized the look instantly. Garble had given him that look. As had Smolder, for that matter. He too had given his own father the same look, when he was a whelp. He simply said what his father had told him, and what he’d told his eldest son.
“It’s suffering and doomed to die, if not to us, then to something else that will come along. Unlike us, they will not care if the boar is alive or not.”
The words were recited more than spoken, and only by force of will did Flare speak the words by more than rote, pouring into them a tinge of the emotion he’d previously held back. Because this was not just an empty ceremony nor cruel tradition to him; what he sought to teach tonight, he knew from experience, held very real meaning.
He showed Spike where to cut, using the very tip of his claw to make a light puncture wound on the boar’s neck.
“I’m sorry, but If you want to eat tonight and go home, Spike, you need to go through with this.”
With that, Flare sat and waited.
Smoke rose into the air from the campfire that Flare had built. Despite his many reservations, Spike had managed to cut deep and quick. The boar died quickly and painlessly. After Flare cleaned and skinned it, the beast roasted on a spit above a raging fire.
The cooking smell wafted through the forest, attracting beasts from the woods. However, upon seeing a fully-grown dragon, they left in a hurry. Flare savored the cooking. He even cooked certain innards like the boar’s liver, kidneys and heart. He felt a quiet sense of pride in his son.
Spike sat in silence, looking deep into the fire, the food on his stone slab scarcely touched.
“How are you?” Flare asked him, softly yet not too gently.
Whimpers began to echo in the clearing, eliciting a sigh from Flare.
“I know, I know.” He carefully curled around Spike, and the fire he had built. “It’s not an easy thing that we do, but it’s necessary. When the molt comes, you shall need to make such choices.”
“Why?” Spike asked, sniffling.
“Because you will be making these same decisions as you grow up,” Flare warned him, sighing. “Life is not always an easy ride, son. You need to strive and stay determined, but sometimes that isn’t enough. Growing bigger means you’ll grow stronger. It also means you’ll have to do more to stay strong. And that might mean fighting to live another day. Gems won’t sustain you like they did as a whelp, and when gems are hard to find, you have to turn to animals.”
He took a moment to let the words sink in, curling his tail further around his youngest son. When he felt that time enough had passed, measured by the flickering embers of their campfire, Flare delivered the rest of what he had to say. Unlike before, the words were all his.
“I’m making you do this now for two reasons,” Flare said, nuzzling Spike. “Firstly, so that when you find yourself in a hungry situation, you can go through with it. But not just the act of killing. Any hunger-crazed beast can kill for food. You must know what you’re doing, and why.”
Tentatively, Flare brought his claws to stroke Spike’s forehead. The same claws which had seized, and held and hurt their meal of the night, a living creature. He sensed Spike stiffen at his touch, yet felt a little lighter when his son did not recoil.
“And secondly, Spike, your life is worth preserving, even if that means other creatures must die. If I had to choose between you and another dragon, or boar, or a pony, I wouldn’t hesitate to choose you. Your mother and your siblings, they would all do the same, like I know you’d do the same for them. You’ll understand it when you're older. If nothing else, I want you to remember the following rule. Kill animals to eat and survive. Never relish in the action for the sake of it.”
Spike nodded. “Dad, do I need to get rid of the egg?”
“No. You can keep the egg. I don't know what will happen with it, but I trust Grandma Topaz and Smolder will help. In exchange, you need to start hunting with your brother and sister. It won’t be easy at first, but it’s needed, Spike. Do we have a deal?”
Spike nodded wordlessly.
“Good. Now, I’ll teach you to know when each part of the boar is done roasting.”
Spike was unable to deny that he had a very filling meal.
Out of all the innards his father taught him to prepare, the liver was by far his favorite. Boar meat overall? There was something called the loin that was tender and flavorful. Not as good as a gem, but certainly a healthy, nutritious meal for a growing drake. His father’s appetite was nothing to scoff at. All that remained of the beast after they were done was a pile of broken bones. Spike tried the marrow inside the bone, but found it tasted like iron. His father said it was nutritious and that in a pinch, it could help him, though certainly it was an acquired taste.
Flare stayed curled around his son, and the two slept undisturbed through the night.
The two dragons woke at the crack of dawn, and flew back to the familiar lands of their home. They landed in one of the more populated areas for a rest, and so that Spike could forage for a gem or two. Back to sweeter flavors, for now. Spike hadn’t spoken a word during the whole of the flight, laying upon Flare’s back as if there was a heavy weight on his shoulders.
“Spike!”
He heard a little voice cry out to him, as he dug into the ground, searching for a nice snack. Spike looked up to see Jade, who was shadowed by her father, Brutus Spiketail.
“I didn't see you yesterday. Were you out with your dad?”
Still without saying a word. Spike rushed toward Jade, trapping her in an embrace. A milestone for him, in the time since they’d become firm playmates. Jade didn’t seem to mind one bit, and happily returned the hug with the sweetest smile.
“I missed you, too,” Jade whispered.
Her father scowled, evidently less welcoming, but rather than roar, Brutus wisely chose to only glare at the drake who held his daughter close, as not to make a scene. His mate was close by watching their younger whelps, and he was not about to fight with an Ironscale of all dragons.
Instead, Brutus looked towards Flare. “Any reason why your whelp has my girl in a death-grip?” he said through clenched teeth.
Flare answered him in a level voice. “I expect he’s seeking some comfort.”
“Oh?” sneered Brutus. “And why would he need comfort?”
“He killed his first boar yesterday.”
Brutus fell silent and let the matter be. It was a hard lesson to learn for everyone. It got easier, but no one truly forgot their first.
He could tolerate it just for today.
As for Spike, he made good on his promise to his father, hard indeed as it was at first. In private, Garble would reveal his reservations about hunting to his brother. Smashing eggs was one thing, yet holding a living being between your claws, and ending its life, was another. And Garble too hadn’t forgotten the tragedy of the Steelspine egg, even if Slicer and he were neutral towards one another.
Still, hunting made for a bonding experience between the brothers, who gradually learned how to cook excellent meals out of their prey.
As promised, Spike was allowed to keep the egg, and the egg soon hatched, giving birth to a healthy phoenix chick. He didn’t know where his great-grandmother had gotten the supplies necessary for him, but he was thankful for them nonetheless. Unbeknownst to them and to most dragons, and to most of Equestria, Topaz still visited Squires Gate, now rebuilt and better than before. Luckily the townsfolk held no grudges, and still held Topaz in high regards.
The chick needed constant attention at first, and Spike made certain to measure out his food correctly, as one of the books said overfeeding a phoenix chick could be lethal. But soon enough, when a healthy coat of gold-and-scarlet feathers grew, the little bird fluttered out of its nest, and into the claws of the dragon he had imprinted upon.
Spike welcomed him to the family, dubbing the little phoenix Pee-Wee.
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Hey there. Thanks very much for getting the next chapter up. REALLY appreciate you going to the effort. Also appreciate the ironically perfect timing of this chapter being released on the same day the "Tell Your Tale" web series did an episode featuring dragons, even if I know full well that is just a coincidence. Anyway, splendid work on the characterizations, dialogues and future chapter set-up.
Absolutely adored that bit between Torch and Blaze as the former finally woke up. And yes. the reflections on the responsibilities of the Dragon Lord position were wonderful stuff. Also really liked the descriptions of the changes that occurred during the three-year time skip and the things that haven't changed. And, yeah, I could see why Spike would have issues about smashing helpless eggs considering what happened years earlier. And, yes, there's a big difference between killing just to kill and killing in self-defense and/or the defense of others. That boar hunt was an excellent compromise as that didn't involve killing something that was helpless. Definitely adored the Mythology Gag concerning "Spike's Quest", complete with Spike having a good reason to spare the egg despite the differences in his upbringing (though I'm definitely hoping Peewee sticks around a bit longer due to Spike living a bit closer to the phoenixes).
Definitely looking forward to more of this.
That was an intense few chapters
I hope we get something more lighthearted soon
Amazing chapter and i hope you keep making them!! I'm still wondering what spike's dragon ability will be. i have a theory it might be something to do with teleportation, imagine flames which instead of burning things, teleported whatever they touched? Now THAT would be overpowered, doesn't matter how much defense you have, he could just teleport it away with a single breath. cool stuff.
Either way two wrongs doesn't make a right
Yeah they have to keep an eye on the kid here he's really a loose cannon right now and what makes things worse he's got nothing to lose
I would say they are pretty cute together
Ohh I know it's called survival of the Finish but this is just really wrong
Well well I guess you can call it this is the circle of life
Hey pee wee the little Phoenix that we saw back in season 2 nice to see him again
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Well, maybe not the exact same one, Spike is about six or seven years too early. Still though, he has a phoenix, meaning the cover art did not lie.
Okay I will say this was a pretty interesting one so it looks like torch have broken up and taking his place as the dragon lord but of course he has the key piece with other creatures especially keeping an eye on slicer since he's the last survivor of his family luckily nothing happening so far even 3 years past looks like everything's okay for now but it looks like Spike had a very hard lesson about life and of course his father had to teach him about it even though it may be harsh but I guess that's why they call it the survival of the Finish and the circle of life and Spike really did what he had to do even though he hated it but it looks like the egg he found was about to hatch and it was a baby Phoenix and a name him peewee welcoming to the new family I wonder what else could happen I guess we'll find out next time
Okay just a little thinking idea what if smolder accidentally bump into sandbar very early on how will both of the react to each other well I'm sure you may have some ideas but I just want to put it out there
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Well I'm pretty glad that he showed up finally I'm sure it took a long time to figure out to make his appearances soon but still liking it so far
I love this story but this chapter was very disturbing. I really dislike how Flare hurt the animal just enough to make it suffer.
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Quite right. Or teleporting messages to particularly trusted allies, or teleporting small explosive rocks into an enemy fortification.
Another good one would be breath that can change almost anything into almost anything else (likely his possible G5 descendant Sparky). Imagine how humiliating it would be for a villain to see a deadly weapon being converted into enough food to comfortably feed a family of six for a week.
Or, like Spyro where he can convert between fire, ice, electric and Earth at will.
Or a combination of all three of those. Imagine how deliciously OP THAT would be.
Or just, you know, being a comparative genius.
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Ah, as bad as things are getting at least Spike has Pee-Wee here now.
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thats pretty damn good too
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That would not only be amazing but would also be terrifyingly versatile and given spike's natural intelligence that makes it even more dangerous.
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Not quite, but yeah, he was hurting it enough that no matter what Spike did, it would die, forcing him to kill it then as an act of mercy, since the other things that would kill it, wouldn’t care whether it was alive or not, as they tore it apart. I think that showing the necessity of killing to survive could’ve been done in a gentler way, but Flare was just trying to teach his son something that he felt he should learn, in the way he knew how. Not excusing the part of him making it suffer, but making it suffer wasn’t his intention, his intention was to render destined to die.