Well everyone, I find myself unable to contain my exitement for the sequal. So here it is, officially, The Legend of Spyro: World Fury!

Oh, by the way, I've fleshed out the prologue a bit so don't think you've seen this one before. Some sections maybe, but not the whole story. Plus a new name to fit the prologue. So sit back and enjoy the reading. Plus I found an interesting fact. When I first named the main character 'de Launces' I was thinking 'the Lance'. Turns out there is a fish somewhere in southern France called the Launces. I named my main character's family after a fish...who knew.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE SPYRO UNIVERSE, ONLY MY OCS.

Prologue: The Winds of Change, The Fires of War

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"Attention! Attention! Ensign Joshua de Launces to the bridge! Repeat: Ensign de Launces, the Captain wants you on the bridge. Now."

Josh eased himself up out of his cot and pulled on his coat, groaning at the announcement.

"Likely Fergusson reported me. Damned prick. All I did was break his nose in a friendly little brawl. Oh what the hell, guess even a little brawl has to go on report." He opened the hatch and started towards the stairs to the bridge. Along the way, the few sailors who had witnessed the 'brawl' saluted him proudly and some even broke protocol and gave him a few good-natured pats on the back.

Fergusson was the same rank as Josh militarily and in nobility. His father, Lord Gordon Fergusson was one of the more prominent figures in Syllian nobility and was also one of the seven Chief Justices of the National Committee. Despite his father's recent rise in the ranks and his older sister's success as Ambassador to the newly formed independant nation of Avalon (formerly the Southlands), Bradley Fergusson still liked calling him 'low-born'; an insult to the lower nobility. Due to his disdain for the nobility of what he called 'lesser houses' and commoners, he was universally despised by most of the crew. Still, rules and regulations forbid the unlawful fighting between officers. The days when officers and gentlemen would duel each other with swords or pistols had faded at the turn of the century mainly thanks to Josh's father, the Dragon Mechanist, James de Launces.

Josh had held his own but had not come away from the fight unscathed, he had a massive shiner on his right eye and was very sure he'd lost one or two teeth in the back of his mouth. Plus, according to Captain Renard, it didn't matter who started the fight, it was still against regs.

Still contemplating this, Josh stepped onto the bridge and snapped to attention before the Captain, who was all but staring daggers at both him and Fergusson who stood beside him, likewise sporting a shiner on the opposite eye and a wrapping around his nose and what looked to be a few bruised knuckles for where he'd missed a punch and struck the mess hatch. Yet he stood defiant of the Captain.

One of the good things that came from the Southlands Conflict several years ago was the elimination of the law that commoner military officers, no matter their rank, could not pass judgement on a noble born soldier, enlisted or officer. Another thing Josh's father had under his belt (much to the chagrin of the other nobility). The Captain allowed his face to take up a bright red color.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DO YOU TWO NUMBSKULLS HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THIS?! NEVER, I SAY, NEVER, HAVE I SEEN TWO OFFICERS COME TO BLOWS OVER SUCH A SMALL AND INSIGNIFICANT INSULT. FERGUSSON, ACCORDING TO THE REPORTS FILED, YOU WERE THE INSTIGATOR OF THIS...IMPROMPTU PISSING MATCH, AND I ESPECIALLY DON'T LIKE THAT IT HAPPENED IN THE SHIP'S MESS. I HAVE HALF A MIND TO MAKE THE TWO OF YOU GO BACK TO THE MESS, GET DOWN ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES AND PICK UP EVERY PIECE OF BREAD, EVERY DAMN PIECE OF CHICKEN, EVERY PIECE OF BROKEN DISHWARE AND THEN LICKTHE DAMN FLOOR CLEAN. THE TWO OF YOU TOGETHER BROKE SIXTEEN CHAIRS, FIVE TABLES, SIXTY-FIVE PLATES, ALMOST ONE-HUNDRED GLASSES AND ALSO THREW A VERY EXPENSIVE BOTTLE OF MY PRAETORIAN CONCORD WINE, AN 1801 VINTAGE, THROUGH THE PORTHOLE WINDOW! WHAT DO EITHER OF YOU HAVE TO SAY IN YOUR OWN DEFENSES?"

Josh remained tight-lipped because he knew the Captain's temper. If he decided to say anything, he would be pulling double shifts, plus KP, plus 'preventive maintenance' for the rest of the patrol, on top of that shore leave would be (and probably already was) cancelled for a week; plus suspended pay for however long the Captain deemed fit. Fergusson however, being just transferred here from his previous assignment, did not know and proceeded to place his foot in his mouth, and Josh saw the Captain become ready to either castrate him or rip him a new asshole.

"Ensign Fergusson, until the end of this patrol, you AND Ensign de Launces will be performing KP at opposite times in addition to your standard and extra shifts. Plus, the two of you will be performing preventative maintenance on opposite sides of the ship, AND, for a month both yours and his shore leaves are cancelled. Once we return to Sanijo, you two will remain on board while we prepare for the next deployment. I may or may not decide to rip those bars off your shoulders for this, and bust the two of you down the ranks to Apprentice, maybe even lower...DISMISSED." Fergusson blanched but the implied threat had its effect, he shut his mouth, turned on his heel and all but fled the red-hot iron gaze of the Captain. As Josh turned to leave, the Captain held up his hand, his voice now much calmer having vented his rage and delivered his rebuke.

"Stand fast Ensign. Now, while I do indeed abhor your actions I cannot deny you have earned the admiration of the crew. Plus, it is good to see that self-righteous little shit taken down a notch or two, to see how a true soldier handles himself. The ship's proud of you Josh, and I for one, would like to see you one day in command of your own ship, that's why, despite my words, I do not intend to write this incident up. Make no mistake, you along with Mr. Fergusson will do your punishments and pay the Navy back for the broken items, but there will be no reductions in rank, nor corporal punishment. I need good, strong, and loyal officers to control the day-to-day operations of the ship otherwise the ship wouldn't sail. Remember: A ship is nothing without her crew, and a crew without a ship is just a group of Marines without a ride." Josh chuckled lightly at the old joke, as did the Marines who were on the bridge. The Captain nodded and dismissed Josh so that he might return to his duties.

At that moment however, the radio operater looked up.

"Captain, one of our scout planes reports seeing an unknown fleet ahead. The fog obscures his vision but he swears he saw three carriers and four battleships." The Captain nodded.

"Must be the Federation Fleet we are supposed to rendezvous with, send the normal transmissions and salutations." The radio operator nodded and sent the message but then frowned. He pressed the key codes again, waited, then frowned again and shook his head.

"Sir, they're not responding to my hails. There isn't even a 'sorry wrong number' signal. Just static." The Captain frowned.

"I don't like this, our radios are state of the art...hmmm...Ensign de Launces, sound General Quarters, all hands to stations. Weber, radio the other ships in the fleet, tell them what's wrong. Laeden, increase engines to full. Helm come to course one-five-five south-southeast. Fight or flight gentlemen: Prepare to fight or prepare to retreat."

John ran to the PA system and keyed it up. Both fear and excitement rushing him.

"All hands General Quarters! Repeat: General Quarters! This is NOT a drill!"

Immediately red lights began flashing and sirens began blaring throughout the ship and sailors from all three shifts began rushing to their stations. Senior enlisted and officers were shouting orders. Cannon operators rushed to their turrets and guns, watchmen took their posts on the tower bridge and aft bridge, the hum of the engines picked up as the ship accelerated. The radio operator, after a moment of confusion as if trying to understand something, paled and turned to the Captain.

"Captain! The scout plane was just shot down by an interceptor! The fleet isn't friendly!" The Captain turned and grabbed the PA speaker from Josh.

"All hands prepare anti-air countermeasures! Main guns at the ready for ship-to-ship combat."

A loud buzzing roared overhead as the Captain looked back out the bridge windows.

"We don't have any planes from the Defender in the air...do we?"

As if in answer, a series of bombs exploded on a nearby light cruiser, one lucky bomb went down the funnel and exploded, ripping the Callahan in half and effectively sinking it. Josh ran onto the starboard side wing of the bridge and gaped in horror as a plane came diving towards the bridge. He had just enough time to turn to the Captain.

"INCOMING!"

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Over the skies of the port town of Sanijo, over the Sanijo aerodrome, a series of planes of various sizes, designs and colors flew in an ever changing formation in an effort to take the first position. One plane in particular was flying high, low, left and right dodging and even barrel-rolling as it passed other planes like they were standing still.

The radio in the plane cracked to life as Gordon's voice broke over the speaker.

"Okay Bertram, only ten laps to go, do you have enough fuel?"

Bertram de Launces, youngest son of the Lord of Launces, James, looked at his fuel gauge and keyed the mike.

"Roger Gordo, I've plenty of fuel! I'm winning this thing."

Bertram pushed the throttle to the max and shot ahead of two more planes, the roar of his P-29's engine drowned out Gordon's reply at being called Gordo (again).

The announcer's voice echoed from the plane's radio and the actual skybox.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Bertram de Launces in plane number 10 shoots past Richter in 07 and Maxwell in 305 to take third place. In just a few months the young pilot from Launces and protégé of the legendary Blue Baron Reyson Havvers has taken the Sky Racing Circuits by storm! I have to wonder though, is he the new rising star in the sport his mentor created? If so then what a legacy, what a chance! If Bertram pulls this off he'll be the first recruit ever to win the Sanijo Silver Circuit!"

Bertram laughed and pushed the throttle up further, the speedometer rose to 220 miles per hour. He gripped the stick and prepared to pass again when a high pitched whine echoed and he groaned. Looking up, he saw another racer he knew, Michijo Ayatane, who was piloting the number 19 pass him and the the pilot ahead in plane 13, Nicholas Greer.

Scowling, his did a quick barrel roll while accelerating and passed Greer as well. Then he flipped a switch next to his speedometer, engaging the plane's booster. Engaging a booster in a plane is the same as spraying fuel into a running engine, flames shot from the pipes under the cowling and the P-29 rocketed foward. He pulled up on the stick and flew straight over Ayatane's cockpit canopy, barelt five inches from taking the canopy off with his right wing.

A string of Blue Isles curse words rattled his eardrums momentarily stunning Bertram, once it cleared, however, he laughed and spoke into the radio.

"Geez Ayatane, what's with the profanity and did you just call me a 'dumbass'?" A very angry reply was quick to grace his ears again.

"Yes dumbass! One foot lower and you would have taken my head with you! Anyway, I thought boosters were not allowed?!"

"Not in the rookie races, however, once you graduate from the Bronze rank to Silver, you can customize your plane however you choose, even adding a booster. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a race to win." A coarse laugh came through.

"That so kid? Well I wish you luck in passing me." Bertram smiled.

"Just you wait Rey, today the student surpasses the master!"

"Your confidence is inspiring. I am curious however; is there enough room in the cockpit for that swelled head of yours?" Bertram laughed.

"Might want to keep your mouth shut Rey, otherwise you may just get bugs in your teeth with that old antique of yours." Reyson replied rather quickly.

"Hey! The P-10 isn't an antique, it's a classic!"

Bertram looked ahead and saw Reyson's plane soaring easily in first place, he was in second and Ayatane was in third. Reyson's P-10 was in all honesty, nothing more than a rebuilt, all-metal P-4 bi-plane. Still, no one could say Reyson didn't know the plane's limits. Knowing he couldn't add a booster to the plane, Reyson had opted for a super powerful engine that, according to Bertram's father, was the fastest engine he'd ever built for an aircraft (so far).

The engine was almost twice the size of the old one and had three times the power of the original. The result was an antiquated bi-plane that originally went no faster than 155 m.p.h. was now able to match the new P-29s at 250 m.p.h. The only downside was that the P-10 was now extremely heavy and difficult to take off and land. Once in the air it was maneuverable but it took a firm hand on the controls otherwise the plane's torque would spin it out of control.

As he looked behind he saw his best friend and Reyson's son, Jake, moving from a steady seventh place and jumping to third, passing an irate Ayatane. Jake was just a year younger than Bertram and as such they often had friendly rivalries. Air Races were just another way to challenge each other.

Jake's aircraft was painted a flame red and gold mix, the number 11 emblazoned on its side. Unlike all the other races who preferred single engine planes, Jake flew a twin-engine variant of the P-20 called the Skylark. It was easily the fastest plane in the race but special air brakes had to be added to keep the plane under control in turns, this resulted in a reduction in speed but boosted the aircraft's balance and stability.

Bertram looked back and smiled at the irony, his mentor was in first place, him in second, Jake now in third, and hot-tempered Ayatane in fourth. Their racing team taking all four top places would be quite a boon for them in the rankings. However, the chance to take first place was a great chance to boost his own personal chances as both a pilot and a candidate for officer's training in the Syllian Royal Air Corps. Reyson had told him before the race that if he managed to pass him, he'd put Bertram on the short list for officer's training. Everyone knew that the so-called 'short list' meant not only becoming an officer and squadron or wing leader, it also meant being able to test the prototype planes the Royal Air Force was thinking of adopting; planes that his father had put a lot of time in designing and developing. The race was the ultimate test for him as it was anyone who wanted an officer's commission from Reyson.

Bertram knew first hand that Reyson drilled all of his students relentlessly. As not only one of four Air Commanders but as the headmaster of the Launces Flight Academy and overseer of the Launces Testing Grounds, he could decide who remained as first or second wingmen, who became squadron and wing leaders, and what types of prototype aircraft they would be allowed to test when the time came.

As he continued to think of ways to pass Reyson, a siren began to whine and Bertram looked over towards the port of Sanijo. A huge ship was steaming into harbor, multiple breaches in it's armor, it's aft castle, turrets, and deck was burning and it was spewing thick black smoke from its damaged funnels. He was in perfect position to see the number on the ship's hull and blanched when he saw 172 on it's side. He hurriedly keyed the mike.

"Reyson! Reyson! The Duke Obël is incoming, it looks like she's suffered severe damage!" He heard Reyson curse and speak.

"Concerned about Josh, eh? I understand. Make for the port runway immediately. I'll radio the air boss." Moments later, Reyson's voice crackled through the radio to the race tower and the air boss.

"Attention Sanijo Race Officials, the fast battleship Prince Obël has returned and is severely damaged. Due to his brother being an Ensign aboard the ship, Bertram de Launces is pulling out, as am I. My rank as Air Commander means I must also investigate any possibility of attack."

There was a pause, the raceway intercomm kicked in.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, due to an accident in port, Reyson Havvers and Bertram de Launces are pulling out of the race. The leader is currently Jake Havvers followed closely by Michijo Ayatane. Third is Russel Knox in plane number 509 and fourth is held by Thomas Richter."

Bertram saw Reyson pull away and head for the airstrip near the port and followed. He couldn't shake the feeling, but something was wrong, seriously wrong as the smoke rising from the stricken battleship was thicker than he had ever seen before.

A frantic message on his radio got his attention.

"Attention! Attention! Battleship RNV Prince Obël to Sanijo Port Command! The 19th Patrol Fleet was ambushed and destroyed by unknown attackers. Enemy fleet is making steam course south-by-southeast. Contains three carriers, four battleships and several cruisers and destroyers. Prepare for attack. Repeat: Prepare for attack."

A moment later, air raid sirens began blaring throughout the city, and anchored ships of the Sanijo Home Fleet raised anchor and started their engines. Off in the distance, Bertram could see smoke plumes and a cloud of aircraft in the distance.

An explosion ripped through a port building and Bertram looked up to see a dive bomber crater another. The enemy was already here.

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Well everyone, here is the prologue. I hope you all like the changes I made and hopefully I fleshed it out enough so that it doesn't appear blocky. Next chapter will be the battle for Sanijo. As always, please rate and review.

Oh, by the way, fun bi-plane fact for you. Reyson's P-10 suffers the same problem the British Sopwith Camel suffered in WWI. The engine had high torque and speed for maneuverability, however, if the pilot didn't maintain a strong grip on the flight stick, the engine torque would spin the plane counter-clockwise and rip the wings off. No wonder so many died flying the aircraft. According to official documents, 2 out of 5 pilots crashed due to torque problems or losing control of their planes.

Next Chapter: Enemy Above