Best Served Cold
a story by reading disorder

Prologue

O.O

The dragon was bleeding. Turrets of black blood jetted out like a fount, spraying something painfully acidic on my roguishly handsome face as I pierced the sword deeper and deeper into the wound. All around me, blue flames crackled. I twisted, pushed, sliced; heard the metallic grate of my blade rending through flesh and bone, the immense earth-shattering roar of an animal in great pain exploding in my head. I took that moment to look back and marvel at my damage, and immediately regretted it.

Something whirred towards me - the dragon's lashing tail - and a lifetime of evading projectiles like beer bottles and arrows compelled me to duck just in time for a band of blackness to swoosh over my hair, only for it to smash into an imperial knight in mid-charge and send him flying off the edge of the tower.

I've been fighting for hours and by now my adrenaline rush had left me. Every muscle in my body was screaming. There was hot lead running through my veins. I stopped, tried to regain my focus, to find a source of strength to draw from. God knows I can't go on like this or I'll just drop dead. I looked up, and then I saw in the dragon's hands, amidst the hellish haze of smoke and fire, the limp figure of a girl with brown tresses and forest-green lifeless eyes, completely motionless, and what looks to be splatters of red all over her sparkling pink gown. And that was all I needed.

Something white and painful blossomed in my gut and in my chest until it burned like a thousand Suns, setting my throat aflame until I was screaming too: not inspiring and confident like a champion, like I was normally known for, but of pure berserking fury. I don't remember what happened next, but I do know that I charged, straight into the dragon's infernal blaspheming throne, and everything was just white light and painful noise for the next few seconds and the only image I could see was that of Rapunzel, but there was no light in her eyes, no bright spark or tremors of fear or even an expression of agonizing pain. They were just open.

Twice now that creepy heartless bitch had tried to take her away from me. Only this time, she had succeeded.

The next thing I felt was an iron grip around my waist. It's tight, a little too tight: something was snapping and there was an odd tingly sensation that my mind would register as pain in the next morning. If I live to see the next morning.

I was face to face with the menacing evil, staring straight into its fire-scrimmed jaws, struggling to move my arms and legs. The mocking laughter of Mother Gothel echoed in my ears. The true voice, not the frail old woman who sang songs, but the deep baritone of some demon-witch, something from my worst nightmares. A voice I had always envisioned Death to sound like.

She held me, long enough for my gaze to linger at Rapunzel's dead body and drain me of every fiber of hope. A simple flick of her hand and there I was! Airborne, spiraling down the tower, watching the buildings rise above me and the ground rushing up to greet me. And I was just about to fall to my death on a concrete pavement floor when suddenly -


Woah, let's slow down a bit. You look a little lost.

Name's Rider. Flynn Rider. One and only one person gets to call me Eugene, and I really wish it were you, but actually it's said dead princess who's currently in the clutches of her wicked step-momma-dragon. No, this isn't the story of how I died. Dying was the easy part, that dragon notwithstanding. I guess for some people, stealing royal jewellery and escorting lost princesses with magical glowing hair and then cheating death may be an adventure enough to last you several lifetimes, but for me, that day was just ho-hum Tuesday. You know, business as usual.

You see, I'm old enough to realize that you don't need to go out looking for adventures. The best kind of adventures always come looking for you.

I'll have you know that me and Rapunzel got into all sorts of trouble in the next few years after we met: in-laws, arranged marriages, masquerade balls, that one time where she signed me up for jousting and I had to fight for her honor with Maximus and a lance. But the greatest adventure, I think, the one that tops it all, was the story of our happily ever after. You know the worst thing about happily ever afters? They never last.

As much as I'd like to claim that this is the story of me being the great fearless hero of every fairytale come true, being dashing and rescuing damsels and all that jazz, it's more of someone else being . . . well, not. Because most stories about me have this strange habit of revolving around . . . . well, not me. It's actually a story about everyone's least favourite people on earth. The worst scum there is, in the lowest pit of society and still drilling their way deeper down the bedrock. Those two gorillas Stabbingon.

There was once a time when I thought it wasn't possible for me to hate anyone on earth more than I did the brothers, both Cutjack and Cyclops. A time when I would gladly have hanged them myself for all their crimes, for taking Rapunzel away from me and nearly losing her to that creepy heartless bitch. And now . . .

There I go again, getting ahead of myself. Maybe you should find out for yourself, or trust me, you wouldn't believe it.

Author's Note: I will return to third-person narrative in the next chapter.