Invincible Species: Chapter 2

COBRA's VIEW

As I was boarding the exile train, Shark the Norwegian Elkhound and Lakewood the Black Golden Retriever were dragging all of the exiled bags. (More Lakewood than Shark, if you get my drift.)
Lakewood bit the handle of the last bag and heaved it onto the train. "Well, that I certainly won't be doing again," Lakewood said with that heavy French accent. Then he darkened, "God, you heard the news, Cobra Cat?"
"Yeah." I sighed, whipping my head in all directions around the train. I didn't see the glistening chestnut-golden coat of the Irish Setter-Labrador mix. I darkened. "Was Riley telling the truth?"
Lakewood sharply nodded, about to say something when Asher ran up to us. His gray, black, and brown Australian Shepherd coat was heavily laden with dust and dirt. His normally sparkling blue eyes were clouded. Why did purebred dogs have such mood swings? They were so lucky, they shouldn't have the mood swings. Us mixes should. His dark gold claws were sunken into the metal of the exile train. "Skykiller's nearly dead. I- I can't help him."
Forget what I said about mood swings.
"ONCE-LING DEITIES! Did you give him the sonics?"
Asher nodded. "Sonics given."
"Mix spectrum?"
"Yes."
"Aria Incense?!"
"Yup."
"Setter Help?!"
"All the stores."
"AGH! DID YOU AT LEAST GIVE HIM A SUPER-SONIC COUGH DROP?!"
Asher thought about that. "No, no I didn't. Super-Sonic Cough--"
The door of the exile train creaked open. I didn't recognize the dog. He was a husky, fer shure. And he looked like a prized show dog. Pearly white that sparkled like the essence of diamonds. Dark silver coat like melting, searing titanium. Obsidian hunting-hook claws, a rare type of claw shape. The weird thing was- huskies usually had dark blue or gray eyes. This one had bright, neon green eyes that shifted, like thousands of millions of hundreds of bright, spring leaves falling from a tree. A dark night black muzzle, sharp ears, alert, and a thick coat with a fluffy curled tail. Then I noticed something- a collar. I hadn't seen one of those since great-great-grandpa told me when once-lings ruled the earth with an iron fist- abusing animals and their own kind alike. We eradicated them.
"Sir? Who are you."
Asher swallowed. "Uh, Cobra. She's not a male."
I laughed nervously. "But females don't exist anymore."

TARRION's VIEW

The males were all panicking. I let out a sharp, loud bark. They silenced. My hunter-hooks stabbed at the ground, sending a painful zap up my leg. I shook it away. I took a deep breath.

"My name is Tarrion. Please, do not misunderstand. Asher here-" Asher softly barked. "-is my mate." I came here long, long, long ago with my three sons. They were exiled instantaneously for being different. What am I after? Revenge. Females don't exist any--" I snorted loudly. How could they possibly think females not exist? How were there puppies?

The wave-furred German Shepherd snarled viciously. "How- and why - do you have a once-collar?" His claws were sunk into the ground, but he didn't seem to have any pain.

I swallowed loudly. "Well.... I have allied myself with a very old Once-Ling group, something like the Peace of Green. Well, along those lines."

All the dogs- a white Border Collie, the Cobra Shepherd, the Samoyed, the Elkhound, the Lab, suddenly their claws were clear-out, backs arches, tails in alert position, they were all growling. Even Asher. Asher looked at me with an expression of surprise and anger. "You're with the once-lings? Sorry, darling. But if you really are a once-agent... ATTACK, BOYS!" 

They all pounced, claws pointed in my direction. I leaped away, and they all crashed to the ground, unconscious, except for that mix, Cobra. He landed on the ground perfectly, perfect position, poise, condition, everything. He had obviously been trained. Then a noticed his claws- they weren't hooks, curved... they were sticking out like thick, incredibly sharp black toothpicks in the flesh. That was like a dog holding a knife. That made him a better fighter. He was growling, revealing colossal sharp dagger-canines the size of once-ling writing sticks. I tried to look aggressive, showing my hunter-hooks in the lest braggy way possible. The growling intensified. I was trying to think, fast. He pounced again, and again I jumped out of the way. Then I attacked.
Cut, slash, dodge, cut, slash, scrape, though I do admit being slammed to the ground and ripped across the face wasn't part of the plan. All of my body ached. The mix's claws were sunken into my red-stained muzzle. There were black spots. Heck.... I passed out.