Five hours later, long after the werewolves had been explained away, Grand Vizier Kierkegaard received word of a squadron of dragons making their way to the west. He received them in typical Kierkegaard fashion.
“FIRE!” the penguin screamed, standing atop one of his Nothings. “BRING “EM ALL DOWN!”
The Nothings, clustered in a star pattern at the very tip of Kierkegaard’s army, did not hesitate in their duty. Since bonding themselves to Kierkegaard they’d become his greatest soldiers, incapable of even questioning his commands. All five began to whistle as they unleashed a massive barrage of jagged harpoons at the dragons flying overhead, bringing two of the great beasts down in seconds.
The dragons responded in kind. Wheeling about, they unleashed a massive torrent of fire on the Nothings. Kierkegaard dipped into one of his portals and zipped away as flame bathed the oily surface of the Nothings, causing only token amounts of return damage. Kierkegaard reappeared at the feet of one of the Nothings, though when he stepped out of his portal he was at full size. He didn’t want the two-legged orb to accidentally step on him if it shifted places to get a better aim. Kierkegaard concentrated, willing a larger portal to appear above the dragons -
“Sir! From the west! More!”
Kierkegaard whipped around at the voice of one of his soldiers, in the process catching sight of the incoming dragons. The bulk of Kierkegaard’s army was already moving to intercept the creatures, their fliers taking wing with clusters of supporting sky dwarves. Neither sky dwarves nor even Non fliers could compete with dragons, but they could slow ‘em down long enough for the Nothings to come in and land a kill.
Kierkegaard paused a moment, counting. “Ten, twelve… fifteen… no, that’s twenty. Twenty dragons… fuck me, they got somethin’ planned?”
Shaking his head, the Non commander created a portal over the head of one of the larger dragons and reached inside. His claws appeared above the dragon’s wings and raked through the membranous leather keeping the dragon aloft, and as Kierkegaard cackled the dragon streaked out of the sky and thumped painfully into the landscape. Kierkegaard’s army swarmed over it like bugs on a dead dog.
“Sir! More! Coming from the south!”
What the shit? Kierkegaard turned, glaring through the vacant eye sockets of his bleached avian skull. There was indeed another squadron of incoming dragons, this far larger than the previous two. The dragons swooped low to the ground, breathing flame on the Non columns as they approached the Nothings. This’s… weird… something ain’t right…
Disregarding the battle - his forces still had the upper hand by a large margin - Kierkegaard stepped into a portal and jumped to his command tent. His aide Shuster was waiting, picking his nose, and the younger Non jumped as Kierkegaard stepped out of his portal. The rumble of Kierkegaard’s feet reminded him of his size, and he returned the majority of his bulk to his personal portal.
“C-c-c-commander!” Shuster saluted. “Er, um, I mean, Grand, uh, Viz… uh… Vizier - “
“Shut up for a minute,” Kierkegaard snapped. “I need info. How many dragons have we fought at once? Gimme an estimate.”
Shuster stammered, fumbling for an answer he didn’t seem to have. “Uh… uh… uh…”
Snorting, Kierkegaard retrieved one of his hands from his portal and used the massive claws to pin Shuster to the ground. He felt the gentle warmth of urine against his palm as Shuster’s fear got the better of him. If nothing else, though, the action stopped Shuster’s grovelling.
Kierkegaard loomed over his subordinate, one arm elbow-deep in a portal. “Give me an answer or I’ll scarf you down, y’little fuck, piss and all. How many dragons have we fought at once? In the same damned battle? BEST FUCKING ESTIMATE, TWERP.”
“TWENTY!” Shuster yelled, weeping openly. “T… TWENTY! PLEASE! WE… WE FOUGHT… WE FOUGHT TWENTY GETTIN ACROSS THE BORDER! NEVER ANY MORE THAN THAT!”
Sneering at the answer, Kierkegaard released Shuster and looked up into the sky. The dragons were continuing their assault on the Nothings in the distance… and more were joining them, this time from the north.
“Fifty,” Kierkegaard growled. “So far. That’s too fuckin’ many. The hell are those rats playin’ at?”
Kierkegaard’s forces were so busy battling off the dragons - and they were, despite some heavy losses, successful in killing every one of the great lizards - that they completely missed number fifty-one as it flitted past the fringes of the battle, heading west. Its irate load remained thoroughly unconscious.
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