It was dark.
The winds had long since begun howling their anger into everything that be, attempting to steal the breath and power of any who dare face them directly. The blackened sky was crying—crying out a torrential downpour of merciless droplets. It was trying to drown out its sorrow, to drown out the shameless inhabitants below. Thunder and lightning danced from furious cloud to furious cloud, expressing itself viciously on anything that stood tall in the brunt of its wrath. And against the overwhelming screams of sanity, there, one dragon sat in the thick of it. In the midst of the woodlands, upon the highest rocky perch he could find, almost as high as any tree around, he just sat. In the calamity of mother-nature's lamentations was this dragon of purple scales and golden horns—staring into the face of what many would consider the incarnation of unholy retribution. This dragon just sat, unblinking and unafraid, as all he would do was stare with apathy into the maw of darkness. He had been searching within himself for a light to grab hold; a light he could use to steer the wreckage that was his mind, body, and soul.
It was dark.
The shackles of his mind gave out a groan as a long forgotten beast had long since begun to stir—and he could barely hold him now. He could feel this beast struggling against the chains, pulling on the cuffs of morality and forgiveness that secured it to the prison inside him, and the dragon wasn't sure if he could keep him down anymore.
"How could you let this happen?!" It would yell at him from the pit. The emotion of the beast would not reflect on the purple dragon's own face, not so long as his mind was in control. But his mind was crumbling in the wake of a lethal blow, dealt to him by those he thought closest to his heart.
"How could you let this happen?!" The chains of the beast pulled taut as it ran to the end of them, struggling to break free. The time between his calls shortened and shortened like the labored contractions of a mother ready to give life, only this unholy birthing would give anything but life to the world. The dragon would have to hope those chains would hold, for he could find no light in his soul to lead him to the beast. Though the beast's calls come loudly, when the dragon steps forth to keep him down, he slips and comes tumbling to the ground. The purple dragon laid beaten soundly and to his continued despair he knew the beast grew powerful in the dark, dank air.
And it was dark.
There he still sat upon the rock amidst the trees, and there he still laid within the tatters of his mind, no light to keep him in control. He'd attempt to stand, only to find that his strength would not do as it was told. It was only a matter of time now.
Once more out of the darkness, the beast's woes sounded out like whippings upon the dragon's soul.
"How?!" It wailed.
"How?!" It demanded.
The beast pulled once again, all his rage and might starting to influence and course through the purple dragon's body. The chains became taut—and the sound of the groaning, he knew, would soon give way to the sound of a triumphant roar.
On the outside, the dragon still seemed as unmoving and apathetic as ever, giving the raging storm above a lifeless stare. Only, he really was changing: in small amounts, given enough time. Over the surface of his brilliantly purple scales, miniscule bolts of a purple energy had begun to spark in waves. Over the length of each tiny spark, his scales would be saturated by the light, coloring them a darker purple of oddly sinister intensity, though only for a brief second.
Inside, the purple dragon still laid defeated, his eyes shut and wings drawn close. He could still hear the beast, feel his powerful urge to break free pulsate throughout his mind and shatter what was left of his sanity. His yells gnawed at the purple dragon; they gnawed at every part of his soul. He wanted nothing more than to let go, to give up control to this thing—but, this dragon is a hero, or so he thought.
"I am a hero … aren't I?" Came his first, ever so soft-spoken reply.
Upon uttering those words, the beast had ceased his assault on the chains. He slowly craned his head in the direction of his master, peering through the darkness to spy his visage as if it couldn't be clearer. A look of what could be called pity then spread across the features of the dark-scaled beast.
"What happened …?" The purple dragon's voice was absolutely filled to the brim with his emotions, emotions he had been holding back until now. His soft and broken voice echoed throughout the chamber of his mind like an enormous canyon, amplifying and rebounding every syllable endlessly.
Once again the beast only at first looked upon this dragon who was both his captor and master. No emotion now shown on his face save for the resentment that boiled in his eyes. A moment passed, and no reply had come. But finally, with a voice that sounded surprisingly pained, he wheezed to his master the words he knew he couldn't bear to hear.
"You let them kill her."
The purple dragon's reaction was nothing short of a convulsion. It was like he had been struck by lightning and every muscle in his body had recoiled into horror at his inaction.
On the outside world, a whirlwind had begun to form overhead, threatening to transform into a mighty twisting maelstrom of death if the purple dragon didn't move. He remained motionless, though his scales had started to glow more intensely as his power of convexity grew more restless around him.
In his mind, he knew at once why he could not find a light within himself. There never was one. He had really always known. The only joys and lights of his life came from those around him. First it was his teacher, and then the very dragoness he wished to spend his life with—both of these dragons had given him purpose. But now that they're both gone, the light had gone with them.
He needed a light if he was going to survive in this world. The cruel world that claimed things only for its own selfish reasons; the very world that had claimed his love, his Cynder.
"I need a light." He'd spoken softly, yet it had once again echoed throughout his mind endlessly.
With only a second's hesitation, the beast obeyed. He could break free on his own and cast his captor aside, but he'd still only be half of what he truly is. With an exaggerated huff, the beast breathed in and his scales began to shine with a purple light. A dull and faint purple light, but a light nonetheless. The purple dragon opened his eyes slowly, and noticed, if just barely, the blackness of his mind had retreated a ways. He stood to his feet, and turned to the beast before him. The ground revealed itself to be nonexistent, or rather, it was there but with the transparency of glass. So as far as the purple dragon could tell, he was standing on air as if it were solid. With wary eyes and a shaken body, he craned his neck upward, shifting in the direction of the dark scaled beast before him. At this distance all he could see was still a silhouette of his captive, the radiant light doing more to add glare to his vision than to reveal any detail before him.
The purple dragon walked until he was mere feet from the beast that sat quietly before him. The beast's tail tucked around his front claws in an almost relaxed posture. And so the purple master also sat, slowly looking back up from his feet to face the beast. The purple master's eyes were filled with a visage of a dragon with pure black scales, horns the color of a cold, steel grey, and then finally, eyes as empty and white as a treeless, snow-blanketed tundra. He knew what he was looking at, but he pretended not to know anyway. Being in the presence of this dragon would never bode well.
"What are you that screams inside of me, that makes me gasp for breathe as if my lungs were crushed?" Came the purple dragon's innocent voice into the nether of his inner clockwork.
The purple light began to grow a little brighter, enough to reveal the body of this beast completely. A small smile crept along the maw of him, revealing the indentations of sharpened teeth on his jowls.
"You, Spyro. I am fueled by you, your hate, your despair, your desire for justice. I am what you seek now." Those words only confirmed the purple master's suspicions, and what remained of his heart sank. He didn't want to go back to the world, and this was his only light to turn to.
"You can make them feel your pain, Spyro. You can avenge her; all you need do is accept who you are. No matter what you think of me, you cannot deny how evil they are!" The beast's voice was like his own, only it reverberated with an edge of impatience and bloodlust he did not possess. He knew this was his dark side, his primal and most basic instincts of combat and power, and he knew that if he accepted him and merged with him, there'd be no undoing his actions. Not that he'd want to. There was no reason to go back with the way things were. Not now, not ever.
Spyro looked into the beast's eyes without a flicker of emotion and stood to his feet. The beast, in turn, did not move. He only nodded in seeming telepathic satisfaction before bowing his head to his purple master. Spyro exhaled and stepped forth, opening himself to the beast before him in a vulnerable manner. The beast, still bowed, began to crackle and explode with shimmering purple bolts of energy. Spyro looked upon him, or himself, with a demeanor of reluctant acceptance before finally committing to the action. He shut his eyes and raised his head tall, and as he did so, the chains of the beast evaporated into particles, away into the blackness of the void of his mind. The entire length of them had vanished into nothingness. Even the bolts into the imaginary wall had disappeared, leaving only the half of Spyro that controlled his darker powers, shimmering with that very energy. The beast had now transformed completely. The bolts of energy fired off into every direction. His scales, horns, and even eyes were no longer black: just a pure, glowing, purple light. The beast lifted his head, and with a final surge of crackling light, dispersed into particles that began to swarm Spyro like an angry bee hive. He did not resist. He sat motionless, eyes shut, and breathed deeply. As the energy finished merging with him, it had seemed at first as though nothing had changed. But then, he felt the impossibly wonderful sensation of his own power being complete. He could feel every ounce of strength that had been locked away, power he had deemed far too dangerous for the world to see. But once it had merged with him, any lingering doubt he had, faded away as though they were his own chains breaking.
The outside world had only grown more unruly in the time that had passed. The storm above Spyro was only a few seconds from completely engulfing him in the twisting winds and debris. Or at least it would've been. Spyro's eyes flickered open, revealing not white nor black, but a solidly purple gaze. On cue, the energy that had been building over his scales exploded into shining purple brilliance before settling itself back into an occasional glancing discharge at whatever debris got too close to him.
It was now that he would rise and put his prophesized stamp on the world, not by having defeated Malefor, but by ushering in a new age of living by his own talons. He would not tolerate a world of injustice any further. He rose to his feet, his claws sinking into the ground and his tail whipping violently enough to fracture the stone of the rocks behind him. His face finally showed his true emotions: regret, hate, and sadness the likes of which the world would wish they'd never given him.
"They thought she was a monster? I'll give them an actual one!"
With an impossibly loud, mighty and guttural roar, he ripped through the very air currents that had buffeted the earth with ferocity just moments before. The energy from the very roar of this shimmering dragon was more than enough to collapse the cone of the twister overhead, as if it had slammed into a mountain—or the other way around. The visible shockwave rushed through the air, blasting into everything around him with typhoon level force. The rains stopped, the winds ceased, and the lightning grew humbled in the presence of this newfound supernatural power.
Quickly, he crouched and lurched forward, drawing his wings behind him. Launching himself off the ground with his tail and then flapping mightily, he propelled himself into the sky in the space of a few mere seconds. Just before hitting cloud cover, he spread his wings wide and halted his ascent, hovering in place. Anger boiled restlessly within him. All the emotions he had kept down for the sake of others come hurriedly out of him through a sudden and massive bolt of convexity that eagerly escaped his jaws. It conquered the air and took to the clouds, quickly assimilating any lightning that still dared to dance in his presence. With the lightning silenced, the stars blocked, and the moon itself unable to reflect the sun's magnificence, the fate of the night had become certain.
It was dark.