The vultures begin to gather in small, colorful packs, freckling the sky like random splotches of moving acne.
The groups of vultures are noticed only by a small fraction of inhabitants at first, because the vultures, themselves, are a common creature.
By themselves, vultures are beautiful.
Long, vibrant feathers dipped in the colors of every flavor of ice cream imaginable. Beaks barely visible because the rainbow of thick, soft, fur-like feathers drape over their whole faces, hiding their eyes, which could be non-existent for for all we know. And we can only estimate their size, which, by the way, must be at least 20 feet from wingtip to wingtip. There has never been an official study of a vulture. Sure, there has been attempts, but never a successful capture. A dead vulture has never fallen to the ground. A playful vulture has never set foot on the streets or the trees of the island as long as I have been alive. Nor would I necessarily want that, as I would imagine that it would stand over 8 feet tall. The vultures, instead, simply exist, and float gracefully but aimlessly through the air….waiting.
To devour.

Soon after word spreads and more inhabitants cramp their necks and stare at the heavens, the clouds get run out of their neighborhood in the sky by exponentially larger gangs of vultures.
Though by themselves, the vultures make little noise. But the sounds that spill out of their hidden beaks as hordes of them (as colorful as they are by themselves) darken the sky and salivate over the impending destruction have been described as a bass-filled, yet high-pitched drill, with an underlying of chattering teeth, and a sprinkle of angry growling.

There is nowhere to flee to, but most inhabitants attempt to hide. Some, hoping that THEY are the generation that will overthrow the vultures, stand to fight. And still, some even climb to the highest hills and tallest buildings and cry out lovingly for the vultures to take them, apologizing for assisting in the failure of a society, ready to face their punishment.

The entire island's surface is drenched in chaos, while the skies are further polluted with black fur and chattering teeth.

Within minutes, the sky is pitch black, completely blocking any runaway beam of light from puncturing its armor and stabbing the island.
And every noise ceases.
The island of Vulture is completely quiet.
And although I doubt anyone can see anything specific amongst the sea of black, packed skies, it has been reported that every vulture in the sky turns its head to face the island and its inhabitants.
The armies of convinced defenders stand their ground.
The self-sacrificial believers begin to silently weep in anticipation.
The scared…just shiver.

And a moment later, a beam of light appears through a small hole that has formed amongst the blanket of vultures.
The opening grows longer and skinnier, then begins to curve as the vultures continue to change formation.
More vultures separate, until an enormous, thin, curved hole of light fills almost the entire population of creatures.
The vultures…have smiled.

Immediately following the smile, the feast begins, and we can only assume that its quickly over, because all reports and evidence end at the moment after the vultures' smile.