It happened so fast.

  The impact splattered into the parking lot across the street, crashing through the covering solar panels.

  Undead monsters spilled out of the large, flesh and bone-covered ball.

  He let his carbine drop in its sling.

  Bullets weren’t going to cut it.

  He recognized the ghouls.

  Vicious and fast they covered half the distance before he started throwing knives.

  The first released the bound spell as it struck the street in front of the ghouls.

  Sticky webbing to trap their feet and hands.

  The second released a shower of oil over their heads.

  The third sprayed fire.

  It was a good thing his company had picked up a lot of good experience fighting undead over the past month beneath downtown.

  He pulled the knives back into their holsters with a Skill.

  “I think I got them, guys.” He grinned at Bella. “We should probably still hurry—”

  A keening wail extinguished the burning ghouls.

  It wasn’t the sound that did it, but the magic within.

  Knives felt it and it made his guts churn.

  The guide for the undead spawn zone the rangers provided was quite comprehensive.

  It covered the many types of threats they could expect to face in the different areas.

  Of course, monsters didn’t always stick to said areas.

  There was a bit more of a natural chaos to their roaming.

  Less purpose built game and more like a wild nature ecosystem.

  His company had yet to face an undead with the ability to cast spells beyond any natural magical ability they may have had.

  The undead spellcaster floated into view underneath a streetlight.

  It resembled the ghouls except— and he hated himself for thinking it— hotter.

  It— she had the same pallid gray skin tone and was just as naked with surprisingly perky boobs for an undead monster.

  Fortunately, for horny men and women everywhere, her beautiful mask of a face opened up into a monstrosity of many teeth and tongues to dissuade them from regretful choices.

  It certainly killed any rebellious notions from his crotchal area.

  The undead spellcaster raised a hand.

  “Get behind me!” Bella yanked him back. “I have a shield!” She showed him her watch for some reason.

  It seemed that all of Bella’s fellow coworkers had the same protections.

  He was the odd one out.

  Before he could look like a pussy and curl up into the fetal position behind her an old man jumped to the front.

  “Shield Dome!”

  Blue light flared, covering them like a baby’s blanket just in time to block the withering beam of ugly green and black magic from the undead spellcaster’s hand.

  The crispy ghouls slavered forward, ignoring their crispiness to pound and strike at the old mage’s shield.

  “Don’t worry, guys I’ve got mana all night!” He grinned. “Cool spell knives-thing you got.” He gave knives a respectful nod.

  “Rich! Look!” Bella pointed.

  A second undead spellcaster floated into view to add her spell to the attack on the shield.

  “Okay, half the night—”

  A third appeared.

  “Why aren’t they shooting them?”

  Knives didn’t recognize the voice, which had him looking to the roof of the airport terminal.

  Tracers and missile trails streaked into the night sky.

  “They’re dealing with those harpy bitches.”

  “Don’t worry, we have time—”

  Rich had a way with poor timing as a fourth appeared.

  “How long can you hold?” Knives calculated how many knives he could send flying the instant Rich’s shield dropped and more importantly, what spells to use.

  “Long enough,” Rich swallowed. “Everyone go over there.” He pointed to the leftmost edge of the dome. “Make a run for it. I’ll distract them.”

  Minutes fell simultaneously too fast and with agonizing slowness.

  Knives stayed by Rich’s side.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “Brave, kid, but you’ve got no obligations.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “I’m not too proud to accept help, but you fire off your best knife spells then make a break for it. I’m old, but I’m not that old. I put down my fair share of undead back in the war and I’m not getting eaten easily by a pack of ghouls and a handful of ‘traps’.”

  “‘Traps’?”

  “Cause they kinda look hot at first. Then their face opens up and…” Rich shrugged. “We started calling them ‘ghoul witches’ at first, but then the witches complained. So, we tried ‘ghoul sorceress’, but then sorcerers and sorceresses complained. Basically, everyone complained. Official name is ‘ghoul magic user’, but that’s kind of a mouthful. Listen, I’m going to drop my shield so it doesn’t break and stab my brain with the feedback. Throw your best shit when I say so.” He regarded the people. “Get ready to run!”

  Rich’s timing proved awful once again as a second massive flesh and bone ball crashed into the parking lot.

  More ghouls and traps joined the attack.

  “Sorry, kid. Looks like—”

  Their reprieve came with a screeching challenge and the flapping of leathery wings.

  Small, glittering stars fell to the earth and swallowed the undead spellcasters in fire.

  A massive winged shadow flew over them.

  Knives briefly wondered what new horror was this until he noticed the other people cheering.

  “Thank Rayna!” Rich punched the air. “Let’s go, people! Battle isn’t a spectator sport!”

  A second, smaller winged shadow swooped down and bathed the remaining undead in a jet of fire.

  Knives caught a glimpse of a drake unlike he had ever seen before.

  The common ones that could be found all over the western mountain ranges from the Sierras to the Rockies had green and brown coloration.

  He had heard rumors of blue and white ones up in the higher peaks where snow could be found most of the time, if not year round. Those stories had said those drakes could breathe freezing cold or snow flurries or jagged shards of ice. He had dismissed those tales for a lack of proof.

  Except, now, perhaps there was truth in them.

  For the drake that had just burned the undead was dark. Black with a hint of red. It might have been the bad lighting, but he would’ve bet a good deal of points that the drake didn’t have the light underbelly to blend in with the sky like the drakes he had seen both in the wild and flying with ranger riders.

  “C’mon, kid.” Rich beckoned. “You don’t want to be out here with all the shit that might fall on your head and I mean that literally. Besides, I think you’ll be getting plenty of chances to level tonight. You got the Quest, right?”

  In all the terrifying excitement of the last quarter hour or so, Knives hadn’t looked at the Quest.

  Congratulations!

  You have received a Quest.

  Survive.

  Rewards: 500,000 Universal Points.

  You will accept.

  “What the fuck?”

  That was way more points than he had ever collected in the totality of his entire life.

  And why was there no option to refuse?

  “I know, right. Vague, a ton of points and no choices. That’s how you know that we’re in for a bad one,” Rich said. “Like I said, plenty of leveling opportunities for everyone. That or we all die.” He shrugged. “It’s like the old days.”

  R.S. Raynapocalypse.

  The skyship floated in the clouds above San Diego.

  Valentine stared out his tiny window in his tiny room.

  The privilege of rank and seniority meant he wasn’t berthed in a communal living space like most of the crew and assorted passengers.

  Where had the time gone?

  Sometimes it felt like just yesterday he was a dumbass teenager with a skinny drake as a friend and flying partner.

  Not a mere beast mount, never that, not from the beginning.

  Maverick had always been more.

  Now?

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He had hit 40 recently.

  In age, not level.

  He sighed at that.

  Three classes.

  None close to Level 40 like one would expect an active Rayna’s Ranger of his age and experience.

  Drake Friend Level 31, Rayna’s Ranger: Veteran Sky Scout Level 29, Rayna’s Ranger: Sky Cavalry Level 19.

  He needed to consolidate, but the problem was the former conflicted with the latter two since they required putting his drake friend in danger, which was antithetical to the core of a true friendship.

  Thoughts of stepping back, perhaps taking on a heavier training role with the rookies, had dominated his mind in recent months.

  The problem with that was that the aerial side of the ranger forces were moving away from utilizing drakes and wyverns in favor of the skyships and more mechanical forms of conveyance, like shuttles and those new skyfuries, not to mention drones.

  There was logic in that.

  Easier to fix machines and build throwaway drones than replace living creatures that took years to grow to their full maturity even if they were big and strong enough to take a rider within a year or year and a half.

  The bond was another issue.

  He had seen it too many times over the years.

  The death of one tended to shatter the survivor.

  Enough so that he had seen comrades choose to go down with their partner.

  The harpies had driven another nail in his imagined coffin.

  The wing-armed women had classes, strong magic gear and numbers, which would always mean a losing battle if they had to go up against them with just drakes and wyverns.

  It all contributed to a feeling of uselessness.

  It was why he was stationed on the newest skyship staying directly over their territory instead of one of the skyships stationed over distant lands or on a worldwide patrol where there was more danger, more excitement, more levels.

  Part of him was angry at that.

  But the increasingly louder part of him was glad that he wouldn’t have to throw Maverick down against the rough odds they used to face back in the old days.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “When did I become one of the old heads?”

  The young him would’ve been pissed to miss out on whatever super special secret quest had multiple skyships set to head out for the east coast.

  He finished his breakfast burrito in further contemplation before taking care of bathroom business.

  His next step was to find his rookie.

  He followed her locator tag to the cafeteria where she sat at a table with young rangers.

  Young men.

  Eyes narrowed, but he took a breath to activate his enhanced hearing to listen to their conversation.

  He relaxed and relaxed even more when he noticed Chandra sitting in the next table over staring at the young rangers over the back of his rookie’s head.

  His fellow captain simply stared while slowly moving food into her mouth, which she chewed mechanically 23 times before swallowing.

  He glanced at his watch.

  Still time.

  Besides, the conversation has harmless.

  And his rookie hadn’t finished her breakfast.

  Thus, he ambled over to the counter.

  “Valentine, my dude! How was the breakfast burrito? Did you notice anything different?”

  Franky, the skyship’s head chef, had that sunny smile on his face that matched the lightness of the shaggy mop on his head.

  “Dude, seasoned curly fries instead of the usual! You know I noticed that! Good stuff, man!”

  “So, protein shake?”

  “That burrito was more than enough, but…” he glanced over his shoulder.

  Franky nodded. “It’d be suspicious if you didn’t get anything. Like, you’d be her lame dad harshing her vibe.”

  “There shouldn’t be any sort of vibe. She’s 16. And I told them all.”

  “Don’t worry, dude. I’ve been keeping an eye and ear out. And they’ve all been respectful and shit. It’s more like she’s everyone’s kid sister, you know? Plus, Captain Chandra always happens to be there. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. If the kid’s here, the captain’s a few steps behind.”

  “I didn’t ask her to do that, by the way.”

  “Nah, brodie, it’s cool. Gotta watch out for the only literal kid on board.”

  Valentine sighed.

  “Not my idea either.”

  “I know. You can’t say. Opsec, blah, blah. So, what flavor you thinking sounds good?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Got it. I’ll take care of you!”

  “Not savory!”

  Franky chuckled and got to work.

  The counter wasn’t busy, so Valentine stood there.

  He watched Franky’s crew in the back doing food-related stuff because he couldn’t turn around and be obviously watching his rookie.

  The blender whirred.

  “How does duck fat waffle fries sound?”

  “I like them.”

  “But in a breakfast burrito?”

  “I don’t see how it can turn out bad. Don’t you taste your food anyways?”

  “Always, but it’s different cause I have Skills. And it kinda feels like cheating, you know, using a Skill that gives me a 90% accuracy rate on how the dude I’m cooking for will taste it.”

  “At least you went with active Skills instead of passive ones. I’d have to do so many different things just to go through normal, everyday stuff comfortably if my enhanced hearing was always on.”

  “Yo! I get you. First time I used my enhanced smell Skill and someone let loose a silent deadly one.” Franky gagged. “About knocked me down! I learned really quick to just activate it when I’m smelling what I’m cooking.” He laughed.

  “Same here. You learn to be really careful using it when you’re around undead.”

  “I tried it once the first time I got to put boots down on Coronado… never again.” Franky handed him the protein shake. “Here you go, dude! Tell me what you think?”

  Valentine took a sip through the straw. “Good shit! You haven’t missed yet! I’m getting apples, cinnamon, pie, vanilla ice cream and the feeling of Thanksgiving.”

  “Yup! Yup! Exactly what I was going for. Got to keep things seasonal. Next time try the pumpkin-focused one or sweet potato and marshmallow.”

  He chatted with Franky about nothing important, stepping aside on occasion to make room for one of the late breakfasters.

  Rangers and non-ranger members of the ship’s crew all gave him respectful greetings and nods.

  Even those he barely recognized.

  Time ran out on his rookie and her new friends.

  She shot out of her chair, saw him and waved before hurrying over like an eager puppy.

  “Reporting for duty, Captain!”

  She saluted, which wasn’t necessary.

  “Ready to get to work, Spitfire?”

  “Yes, sir!, I mean, yes, Valentine.”

  He wasn’t much for protocol in stuff like ranks and honorifics. Unless he didn’t like the person.

  Spitfire, the bright-eyed kid, got more of a pass than most on account of him knowing her since had been born, which was on account that he had gone up through the rangers with her parents.

  It was always a trip to see their mini-clone standing in front of him.

  She was darker like her dad, but had her mom’s delicate features. Although, that was just from appearances. The kid was a tough, well, spitfire, just like her mom.

  Sometimes, he’d rather she had her dad’s more pragmatic and calculated approach to danger and potential danger.

  They had entrusted her training to him and he would rather die than break that faith.

  Granted, he’d rather no one died at all.

  “Why don’t we go see our friends?”

  She beamed brightly as she followed him out of the cafeteria and to one of the ventral hangars.

  “Volcarna!” Spitfire practically squealed as soon as she saw her drake. “Miss me? Cause I missed you!”

  Before she could dash forward, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Remember to be calm. Your bond sends emotions both ways and you don’t want a cascade of excitement.” He regarded the black and red drake’s stall. It was fully enclosed with fire-resistant walls and there were enchantments all around it ready to extinguish any accidental flame spits.

  Spitfire nodded and took deep, calming breaths before walking, not running, to her drake.

  Volcarna let out an excited trill as Spitfire neared.

  “Don’t let her out until she’s calmed down.”

  He kept an ear on the pair while he went over to his drake’s stall on the other side of the hangar.

  At 25 year’s old, Maverick was about halfway to her average expected lifespan.

  That meant proper stretching and recovery measures in between exertions.

  The new automated system in the stall to take care of that saved a lot of time.

  Although, when he had it, he preferred to take a more hand’s on approach to massaging and stretching her muscles.

  The drake raised her head on a sinuous neck and greeted him with a gentle nudge as he massaged her beneath her jaw.

  “Was the kid annoying?”

  Maverick grunted.

  “Sorry. It’s tough to find flight time to burn off her energy. We’re on alert and the skies over San Diego aren’t exactly safe for joyflies these days.”

  Plus, Volcarna’s coloration wasn’t like Maverick, whose underside coloration helped her blend with the sky.

  The younger drake was unique.

  He had no idea where her egg had come from.

  Somehow the egg had made its way into Spitfire’s hands.

  It had been all very hush-hush.

  He had to admit that it had been very serendipitous because he couldn’t think of a person better suited to bond with the drake than the teenager.

  16 year’s old and already a Level 21 Drake Friend and a Level 11 Rayna’s Ranger: Sky Fighter.

  All within the year since Volcarna hatched out of her egg.

  That sort of growth belonged more to the old days when kids as young as five or six were given clubs or machetes to go kill some monster rabbits to get them useful classes as soon as possible.

  Nowadays, what classes were considered useful had changed. And kids could be kids for longer.

  Hell, Spitfire got special treatment to start junior rangers early and be allowed into combat zones a full two years ahead of schedule.

  Maverick continued to lay like a languid cat as the mechanical arms and rollers continued to massage and stretch her powerful muscles.

  His thoughts continued to drift towards an end despite his efforts.

  There were many factors leaning their weight on him, pushing him toward a retirement of sorts.

  He’d never fully be able to step away from the rangers.

  Once a ranger, always a ranger.

  They’d be placed in reserve for self-defense.

  When monsters attacked it wasn’t like a person could just shrug, throw their hands up and say they were retired.

  It wasn’t like the monsters would leave them alone.

  So, he tried to picture what that life looked like.

  Probably, a lot more of what he was doing with the rookie.

  Training, training and more training.

  Then again, would the rangers still field drakes and wyverns in large enough numbers that required more than a handful of trainers?

  Then there was his girlfriend.

  She had been hinting about a more permanent arrangement and possible children.

  Magic, alchemy and science meant that they could wait well into her 40’s and still have a great shot at a few healthy kids in a completely safe manner.

  Kids of his own meant he couldn’t be doing things that might leave them without a father.

  Being an orphan, he knew the value of dedicated parents.

  The people at the orphanage did their best, but it wasn’t the same when a kid knew that they were never going to be that person’s sole priority.

  Then there was his best friend.

  Maverick probably had a few more years at peak physical condition before the inevitable decline.

  He felt that she deserved an easy retirement for all her years of service.

  “How about it, girl?” He regarded the many scars all over her green and brown scales. Her wings were folded up, but he could see in his mind’s eye the discolored spots where holes and tears had been healed. Hell, half her claws had been replaced with ceramic composites that needed regular changing as they wore down or simply broke. “No more fighting. Just Wagyu steaks and frozen watermelons. As much as you want.”

  She snorted and eyed him as if pointing out that more talking meant less massaging.

  It wasn’t a bad way to spend a morning.

  Quiet contemplation.

  It took an hour for Spitfire to get Volcarna to stop wiggling around like a puppy.

  The training shifted then.

  The black drake had an urge to spit fire, which needed controlling.

  Valentine figured she needed to expel the viscous, flammable liquid on a semi-regular basis.

  Easy enough to spit into a bucket for disposal, but for that to work she had to refrain from igniting it as it left the nozzles hidden in her mouth with the sparks she could generate by rubbing a rough, hard portion on the top of her tongue against the sandpaper-like pad on her palate.

  It had been a struggle to get the Raynapocalypse’s captain to allow practice inside a closed hangar, but he got it thanks to the skyship not having a full complement of hangar using people and magic. In his experience magic solved everything.

  Fire in enclosed spaces?

  Anti-fire magic.

  So, for the next hour, he had Spitfire coaxing Volcarna into spitting at a target bucket.

  She only spat fire about 40% of the time.

  “Good progress. Lunch is coming up, so let’s feed them then go get our own.”

  After lunch came the daily workout.

  Followed by training simulations.

  Then more bonding time with the drakes.

  Dinner was interrupted halfway through by the all hands alert.