Here it is. I strongly urge anyone who has not read Stormfront to read that first. You'll be completely lost without it.
Chapter 1: Concurrency
It is where we start,
A hundred miles apart.
You had my heart.
You tripped and stumbled,
And we watched as you crumbled.
Then you depart.
When lives collided,
You decried.
You played your part.
With your last breath,
You waited for death.
To bring two together,
You brought another two apart.
The place where hope goes to die.
A lone dragon flew over the vast crystal fields. Dark storm clouds blotted out any rays of sun, and light drops of rain fell. Here and there, a lance of purple lightning would jolt down from the forsaken heavens, striking somewhere below.
The dragon flew on, shining red scales glimmering in pale blue and purple light. Very few dragons that had laid eyes on the looming black fortress had ever returned. Even fewer came to this place of their own free will. Yet this dragon flew on, undaunted by the massive fortress that had no rival. The distant villages and their inhabitants still whispered its name under their breaths.
Here at Concurrent Skies. Cynder's lair still sat tall and as an oppressive remnant of the past years of fear and malice. Years ago, its walls were patrolled by battalions of apes and their mounts, the feared dreadwings, and its halls guarded by technological monstrosities. Finally, at the fortress's dark peak, the black dragoness herself had brooded: the Terror of the Skies, Cynder. Now her throne room was empty, cast down from her high seat.
A story all too familiar to the young adult dragon that now flew to the dark keep.
The dragon alighted in front of the massive, ridged black gate that stood slightly ajar. He looked over the structure, eyeing all the empty parapets and towers.
He thought back to a time when his favored companion would have cracked a smart joke and asked if anyone was home, but now he was alone, forsaken, not unlike the very castle and parapets before him.
The shimmering dragon took a seat and closed his eyes. His scales lost their flame inspired sheen, and then the red, oranges, and yellows darkened, homogenizing to a singular color, a deep royal purple. A line of fainter purple scales marred his flank, scar tissue from a deep wound long healed. He set his small satchel down a distance from the front gate next to one of the large crystals that grew there.
Padding forward, he passed through the gate and into the mammoth fortress. Inside the vast entry hallway was the same floor pattern as he remembered, and long, black stone spires abutting the walls reached high into the ceiling. The rhomboid crystals embedded in the walls that provided light still functioned, albeit dimmer than he remembered them being. A thick layer of dust coated the floor, and every step left a telltale paw print.
He moved down the hall until the columns parted, and revealed three hallways, one with stairs leading up, one continuing straight ahead to a huge iron double door, and the last led to a descending staircase.
"Work my way up from the bottom, I suppose." He spoke to himself, his voice hauntingly echoing down the empty hall. Then the purple dragon took the descending staircase. The steps were made of the same black marble and wound their way down into the depths. Coming to the first landing he paused, giving the hallway that broke off a swift glance before continuing his descent.
After a few turns a stench began to fill the air, an age old smell of decay and wet rot. He continued down, deeper into the castle until finally he reached the last landing. Instead of an open entryway like the rest it was barred over with iron. An iron rod door provided entry large enough for an adult dragon to fit through easily. The purple dragon pushed the bars, and the door swung open with an obnoxious creaking.
The dungeons. The stench redoubled its efforts to make the purple dragon gag, but he pressed-forward, the faint patter of his heavy paws echoing down the hall.
A row of iron doors on each side lined the hallway, each with a small iron window for the jailers to look in upon their unfortunate captives. The lone dragon passed the cells; a few iron doors were open revealing what lay in store for the captives. The rooms were barely large enough for an adult dragon to remain crouched. Heavy chains connected shackles for the head, legs and tail to the floor and walls, designed for holding the occupant in submission. He could spot the occasional remains, brown stained bones littered and withering within the cells.
After passing several more cells, the golden horned dragon came to an oak door with a small, rectangular barred window near the top. He pressed a paw against the wood and the door creaked open on its rusty hinges, the sound echoing down the cellblock. Inside was a wooden desk with many old faded papers, scrolls, and writing materials. Shelves extended from the floor to the ceiling on three of the walls, each one filled with various dust covered jars, vials, and flasks. Many of the labels were peeling or gone entirely.
Spyro moved to the desk and looked over the notes, giving each one a quick glance. The first was a pair of orders.
"Prisoner 84 not to be fed for six days."
The next was harder to make out, several parts having rotted through: "One part Athelas to two parts Mistress's venom to cure… intoxication of…causes extreme pain. All orders of venom must be requested of the Mistress personally, once information is gleaned from the subject."
Next was list of prisoners: "Prisoner 76: Incoherent Wreck, Prisoner 77: Terminated, Prisoner 78: Resisting information gathering efforts." The list read on for many more that he did not bother to read.
He looked back to the jars and other glassware located around the room. Leaves, liquids, powders; roots were assorted inside.
The purple dragon had seen enough. With a snort of disgust he turned and left the room, closing the door. Then, placing his snout to the bars he let loose a stream of purple flames into the room. The intense heat soon began to melt the bars and char the oak. Black smoke then began to pour from the window. The purple dragon turned and quickly cantered down the hallway, and left the lowest pit of hell to itself.
The next landing above proved uneventful, mostly being storerooms for rations, water, barrels of some ape ale that made his nostrils cringe at the smell and a host of other miscellaneous items.
When he exited the wafts of smoke that had been billowing from below had thinned down to trails of vapors.
He moved up the flight and found another iron door, with recesses in the iron that provided handholds. Opening the door he found that the crystals that provided light here had gone out, leaving complete darkness. Taking a moment, he felt where the currents of electricity would flow most easily within the marble. Pinpointing several of these, he sent a jolt of current to each.
The crystals began to show signs of life, growing from just a faint glow and specks of light. They began to brighten and grow. One of them exploded showering the floor in clear shards, however the rest lit up the room filling the chamber with dazzling light.
Carved from the very rock, benches and long tables ran the length of the chamber and provided seating. Goblets and cracked plates still sat here and there, covered in unappetizing rotten scraps, and platters covered in dust sat with no warm meal. Near the back he could see into the kitchens that fed the horde of apes. Great furnaces stood tall and continued into the ceiling above. Cutlery still hung from racks dangling from the ceiling, and great chopping blocks still had the stains of blood and cleaver marks.
The dragon passed this room over, and continued upward. He returned to the first landing and shoved the oak door open with his paw. Rows of metal bunks stretched out to the black wall. Small wooden chests sat at the foot of each bunk, and brown tattered sheets covered the beds. Having no desire to explore a room where a hundred apes slept he returned to the main corridor above him.
The great dragon now chose the middle corridor, and followed it, the pattering of his paws the only sound. When he reached the door he paused, the scales on the back of his neck beginning to tingle. The silence of the fortress felt deafening. Nothing stirred, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of a hidden, silent malice, long waiting for something to lash out at.
The purple dragon closed his eyes, casting his senses into the next room and exploring with the elements at his command, feeling the stone, the moisture, the temperature of the air. Nothing seemed off, yet his scales still tingled. Closing his eyes he then let the purple light of convexity flow through him and again felt for the hidden threat. He locked in on a particular section of the next room, and standing on his hind legs, purple convexity glowing from his eyes he shoved the iron doors open with great force. They clanked as the gears above turned, and hinges creaked shaking the entire fortress.
Stepping inside, great marble pillars stretched on either side down the hall and into a cathedral like ceiling high above, ornamented with ridges and valleys. A dusty, moldy red carpet led down the center aisle, to a dais made of the same black marble. A pile of brown bones sat before the steps leading up to the black throne for a dragon crowned with spires. The room opened up to a balcony with three arched windows behind the dais, letting in fresher air. Lightning flashed in the dark purple clouds in the distance, and the drizzle of rain that always fell in this land continued.
Spyro's sharp hooked claws clacked on the floor as he stepped further into the room.
A mad shriek echoed through the chamber, and then turned to high pitched cackling laugh. Spyro paused, preparing for the onslaught of whatever evil was to come.
The bones at the foot of the dais began to rattle. Then they began to float, dust falling off and caught up in the whirlwind as the bones flew about. Coming together they began to take shape, legs, torso, arms and finally the skull of an ape perching itself on top. It stood as tall as the purple dragon, only a little shorter than what he remembered of Gaul himself.
With another shriek it charged the purple dragon, bare hands reaching out to grasp and crush the life from him out of jealously for a living being.
The purple dragon stood still, hardly concentrating on the howling ape before him. Passing the first set of pillars the undead ape picked speed and leaped into the air, teeth and bones chattering. It quickly reached the top of its leap and began its descent upon what appeared to a helpless dragon. Howling a mad cackle of glee it reached out for the dragon's neck.
It never had the chance. Great jaws of black marble rose from the floor and slammed closed like a sea predator upon helpless prey. The explosion of sound shook the pillars and fortress to the core. Dust rained from the ceiling, the red carpet sticking out like a hungry tongue hanging loosely from the mouth of the beast. The stone slabs then began to grind over each other back and forth, crushing their hapless victim to dust. The sound of bones cracking quickly dissipated into the sound of something not unlike meal being ground with mortar and pestle.
The purple dragon stood motionlessly as the slabs completed their work and then returned to where they had been in the floor. A pile of dust gathered out of the air and returned to the floor, sitting in a neat pile on top of the musty old carpet.
"And to dust you shall return," he spoke to the silence of the fortress. Passing over the dust he padded silently up the dais and to the balcony behind the throne, looking out over the crystal covered landscape.
I wonder if she chose it for the view, he thought to himself before turning to a side passage and proceeding through fortress.
The black passages seemed to press on forever, dimly yet by whatever powered the crystals. The purple dragon seemed to glide down the hallway in complete silence. He paused at the first intersection passages, taking a brief moment to recall the fortress's layout. Swinging to the right, he passed more iron doors, some open, others closed. One or two were off their hinges and lying haphazardly on the ground or leaning against the door frames.
"Should be close," he whispered into the blackness. A scimitar lying in the middle of the hallway seemed to prove him right. A spear sat point down, broken halfway up the pole, its other half lying beside it and sundered forever.
He proceeded further down the hallway. A new double door greeted him, larger than the rest that were in the hallway, but not nearly as large as the throne room doors. A few carved runes above the door were unreadable to him, being the language of the apes. Next to the door was a counter extending from the wall, and a window shuttered with metal. Underneath was a large flap for passing items in and out of the room without opening the main doors.
The purple dragon reared up on his hind legs once more, and placed his paws on the door and began to push.
Somewhere above, a mechanical clank echoed down the hallway, followed by more rapid, less garish clanks. The doors began to open. Upon reaching their zenith, the creaking gears ground to a halt with one last great clank.
Entering, he found a great many weapons. Halberds, pikes, crossbows, long swords, scimitars, daggers, and many other forms of arms hanging from racks or neatly lying on shelves. Bushels of wooden sticks and feathers filled many wicker baskets along the opposite wall. Finally, at the rear of the room more weapons hung, yet these were different. These were not piled together, nor were they crowded. Each one hung on a separate rack, as if each were more precious than gold. Jewels and gems glittered in the hilts of swords and in the stock of the crossbows.
Elemental weapons of fire, ice, earth, and electricity, weapons that gave anyone an equal footing against the dragons. Aside from the fortress itself, these were the most precious tools around.
Spyro sighed in relief. None of the numerous weapons had been taken. The enemy had not turned his thoughts to this place…yet.
Spyro approached the rack of the prized weapons, sweeping them off their abodes with his tail. He arranged them into a pile, the metal chattered and tolled in protest as each arm was heaped, elemental crystals glittering in the dim light.
Opening his maw, he suddenly paused. Looking into the pile something caught his eye. It was a sword handle, far less crude than the others. Reaching down he grabbed the hilt gently with his teeth and pulled it free of the pile. The handle was long, definitely a two-handed weapon, with an elegantly curve in the handle and a crisscross pattern running its length. A red gem was fitted at the base of the blade. The curve continued into the blade, an inlay running the length of the graceful steel. A language that was also foreign to him was scribed into the inlay, but it was not rough and crude like the runes of the apes.
He set the blade down away from the pile, to be spared. Turning back to the other weapons he cracked his maw once more. Letting the inner fire forth, he spewed purple flames over the various arms, only stopping to take breaths of air. The steel began to glow, and the gems that powered the elemental aspects began to pop and shatter with little bursts of colored light and shards of crystal flying every which way.
The metal began to bend, unable to support its own weight. Any other materials had long been burned away. Finally, when nothing was left but a glowing pool of slag Spyro ceased the torrent. Cooling, it quickly turned into a black slag lump, nothing remaining of the weapons.
Turning on his heels, he left the armory still carrying the sword with his jaws. One small preventive step on the road to peace had been accomplished.
I hope you liked the first chapter! All reviews are welcome. Also, I stated that I would go back and fix the first few chapters of Stormfront... Well an extreme case of chapter fix laziness has come over me and I haven't done it xD