Spyro's throat dried. He always killed his prey before feeding. His prey didn't include ferals.

Goon said to Spyro, "Don't listen to him! 'Cause...you shouldn't eat anything red. I mean look at me: do I look appetizing to you?" He turned his head to Raziela. "And I'm pretty sure she'll give you food poisoning. Not to mention the quills..."

Stone barbs grew from the ferals' wrist bindings. They stifled their cries, their teeth clenched as blood curved down the thew of their forearms, briefly pooled upon their veins before it dripped down.

The Black Star addressed Spyro and Cynder. "In the heat of bloodlust their end was inevitable. Blood for Avalar, and yet you hesitate."

Spyro shook off the deity's words. "It isn't the same. They could fight before. They're helpless now."

"And the cloven beasts?" The Black Star questioned. "Did they pose a threat? Or the birds of prey? Is your hunger dictated by pride, then?"

Cynder stepped forward. "You confuse pride with free thinking. They're a different kind of animal."

A wry grin tinged The Black Star's countenance. "An ability you mistake as free, a road that you want to see, never minding the forests that force your path." The words settled with a deepening weight. "You do not realize your fortune. In my youth I was a destroyer. Time tempers the mind, yet the blade never rusts. I needn't cut your seam."

Spyro's vision alternated between the ferals and The Black Star. "It can't be this simple. There's more to this."

"And how are you to prove that?" the deity asked. "What have you to gain for your obstinacy?"

"A clear conscious."

"While your people die upon a doomed world."

Spyro's nostrils flared. His muzzle creased with rising anger. "You can't predict the future, so stop trying to manipulate me."

Amused, The Black Star replied, "No. I cannot tell the future. But I can show you." He extended his arm to the west, and a great cacophony ensued, a muffled wailing of stone. The ground shook beneath them, and at their height they witnessed a great splintering of the land below.

The dragons and Hunter sprinted to the edge. They stopped, their cheeks wet with a sudden despair, voices denuded by terror. A great hole formed, gargantuan, a yawning mouth within the land, its stone teeth sharp as breaths of dust bellowed from its maw.

Cynder spun towards The Black Star, her voice strident. "Stop this! Stop this now."

Yet The Black Star denoted no exertion. He ambled towards them, his swaying rags heavy with stains. The deity's voice rung through the cries of stone. "What you're witnessing was an eventuality, a fault, an ulcer within your world. I merely pushed it."

Cynder's hateful eyes narrowed at the deity. "That could have taken years! If ever! It could have healed."

"Could it?" The Black Star challenged. "And with what eyes did you glimpse that possibility? Of hope? Defiance?" He turned his head towards the great chasm. "In a few moments the hole will settle, will clot with stone and soil."

With those words came a subsequent cessation: the tectonic plates stilled, and the debris settled. The Black Star went on. "I give only the truth, the limits you knew cut down." He lowered his head, the pinpoints of his eyes brighter, the glare too bright to behold directly. "There is only the expanse now, little spirits. No forest to obscure your ignorance."

Spyro waved off the words. "This has nothing to do with our ignorance. There's more to this than you're letting out."

The deity enunciated, "Consummate."

Spyro said in abhorrence, "What you're asking is insane."

"As is your unwillingness to save your people."

"I've given more than you can imagine."

Mirthless, The Black Star chuckled. "They all did, thought. Which is why I make this simple for you." He directed his open hand to the ferals. "Consummate."

Spyro turned his head away, detested the logic that ran through his mind. Nothing harmed this deity, this creature that moved worlds at a whim. He could fight him, but to what purpose?

He remembered flying with Cynder, the rolling verdure beneath them. Despite Avalar's frailness they cherished both its dregs and flora, the barely patched terrain a tarnished gem, its facets irregular, sullied.

How much red had he seen, the memory of its heat still fresh upon his scales.

Two more lives would bring back paradise, for him, Cynder, everyone. He turned to his mate, the dragoness' lips parted, eyes thin with rumination. She too weighed the offer.

The Black Star's fingers extended and curled as he waited. Spyro and Cynder glimpsed each other out of the corner of their eyes, the exchange mutual, silent. With a slight turn of their heads they looked upon the ferals. The ferals glared back, their fear shackled.

Spyro made the first step towards them. A taut hand grabbed his shoulder. "Spyro..." Spyro faced Hunter, the cheetahman haggard, drained. Hunter shook his head at him.

Spyro looked over at The Black Star, who observed with an impassive air. The dragon turned his attention back to Hunter. "Are you serious? These two killed your clansmen!"

The outburst stirred nothing within the cheetahman. "They did. And I don't know if I'll ever join my kinsmen again, wherever they are, if such a place even exists." He directed his hand to the ferals. "If killing them would bring them back then I'd be averting my eyes right now." He gave Spyro a slow shake of his head. "But it won't."

"But we're not talking about just them," Spyro argued. "We're talking about all of Avalar. Healed. No torn land, no earthquakes. Everything whole again. Who's to say he can't─"

"Spyro..." Hunter glanced at The Black Star. His fur raised and his ears flattened. "Life's not meant to be given that freely."

"Did you not see what he did? I don't understand why you're arguing this."

Hunter didn't respond. He turned his head to the desiccated corpses, the flaked flesh upon hardened cartilage and bone. "Life's not meant to be given that freely."

Spyro followed Hunter's gaze. The brief phantasmagory during The Black Star's arrival, during Spyro's delirium, gave him a glimpse of these cheetahmen before their deaths: dread, dilated pupils ringed with amber, their vision obscured by a hand.

Another scream, this one higher, lost, confused. It donned on Spyro then. He said softly, "They had a child." He spun towards The Black Star. "The child. What did you do to her?"

The Black Star held his hands to his sides. "She is alive."

"Why'd you spare her?"

A smile. Genuine mirth. "A cost, little spirit. Always a cost."

Spyro stepped back from the deity, his breath short. "That's what you meant by seams." He shook his head. "It's not life and death to you anymore." Another step back. His scales raised. "Nuances between."

The Black Star chuckled. "Now you understand."

Cynder joined Spyro's side. The dragoness' heart beat against her chest. "You killed a little girl's parents just to see her suffer?"

The deity stepped towards them. "I didn't need to watch. Her emptiness is more than familiar to me. Blood and flesh changes, but the cry carries the same seam."

The mention of "seam" confused Cynder. "But you said..." Disgust spread across her face. "You broke her spirit."

The Black Star turned to the side, his sight to the east. "Your distrust means nothing to me. You will not truly die for your world." He raised his open palm. Tendrils emerged from the new land, multiplied into a web of rotting black, overtook the life and choked it. The hills sloughed and sloped down into flatter land, pooled in great cesspools before the decaying runoff dripped down the deteriorating plateaus. The wind carried the scent of sepsis, of stagnated death.

The dragons, ferals, and cheetahman turned their heads away from the stench, from the growing eyesore in the distance. The Black Star turned to them. The pinpoints of his eyes erupted with light.

"Ten days."

He knelt and drove his fist into the ground. Writhing, lecherous black bands manifested around his arm and burrowed into the soil. Their flailing, serpentine bodies quickly disappeared, left a puckered, swollen hole of decomposition.

He turned towards the corpses, and his eyes burned brighter as he approached them. He raised his cupped hands, and from the soil erupted liquid streams of light that seeped into the bodies. They shook and convulsed, their maws open in a silent scream.

The Black Star brought his hands together. The two corpses collided with each other, adhered. Their heads tossed as bone and joint and cartilage combined. Thin, wiry arms sprouted from its back, sides, shoulders, its semblance like that of an arachnid, its clawed fingers tapered to a point. Its malformed ribs pierced its blanched skin, its breathing a mimicry of life. Its empty eyes and mouth leaked with fluid illumination as its heads shook. It scuttled to The Black Star's side.

"This isn't the last I have for you," The Black Star said. He turned his back to them, left them with the new threat as he trudged towards the dying terrain.

The creature's trembling heads turned to Spyro. It stilled. Slowly, it raised a clawed hand and pointed at him. Its jaws quivered as it spoke with a disembodied voice.

"Savior."

Its many hands met the ground. It bounded towards Spyro, the hands of its shoulders outstretched as it expelled light from its mouths.

Two thoughts went through Spyro's head: counter or evade, yet he didn't recognize the element the creature wielded. He sidestepped, and the liquid light spattered upon the grass, the blades alight with white, the stems black. Gradually it dimmed and withered, left only a dark, cantankerous mass.

The creature pivoted towards Spyro. Its many hands swiped at him, a myriad of blows within a second. Cynder approached from the rear, exhaled threads of darkness that sought the creature, tethered its arms and burned into it.

The creature thrashed, its maws agape as its eyes burned brighter. Spyro nearly rushed in until he sensed an amassing of energy. He backpedaled just as a bright flash dispelled Cynder's darkness, burned it away.

Cynder changed tactics. A virulent green aura surrounded her paws as she closed in on the creature. She struck, and her claws sank and sizzled into the thin flesh of its back. The creature reared towards her, and its arms snagged her and pulled her towards its gaping mouth, a globe of bright energy within.

Spyro swung: the blades of his ice gauntlet sheared off the arms that clenched Cynder. Black blood and light spilled from the severed limbs. It tossed its heads up and screamed. Another amassing of energy, and a great dome of light burst from the abomination.

Spyro and Cynder stumbled and stilled. The damage didn't reflect physically. A daze came over them, followed shortly by blackening vision. Their adrenaline, their inner fire, dwindled. A hollow formed within them, slackened their muscles. Apathy prevented their defense, even as the creature advanced towards them.

A hiss and the thunk of metal in flesh. The creature snarled and turned to the side. Hunter already had another arrow nocked. The creature ran towards him only to receive an arrow through one of its eyes. It tossed its head and renewed its assault.

Hunter backpedaled, but was no match for the creature's alacrity. With a practiced motion he hung his bow around his neck and drew his sword.

A dark blur. Cynder tackled the creature and flurried it, didn't give it time to counter as she sustained the barrage of blows. Spyro recovered shortly after, and with a quick breath unleashed a sphere of fire that impacted the creature's side with a roar and boom.

The creature's smoking form rolled across the grass. An agonized whine came from it, its lower body limp as it dragged itself by its front hands towards the dragons. One head slackened while the other rolled, its slathering jaws aglow with dying light.

Cynder brought her spiked tail down upon the creature's head. It pierced with a hollow crunch, and the creature's arms clenched the soil as it convulsed. A small cry came from it. Its body shuddered and its hands loosened before it stilled. Liquid light seeped through its pores, ate away at the epidermis, blackened it.

A charred husk remained, and a light wind carried away the ash.

Spyro didn't savor the victory. He turned his sight to the puckered spot The Black Star had left. "Ten days..." He ran towards the cave with Cynder in tow. He said to her, "Malefor. Malefor must know what that means."

Guilt etched into Cynder's features. "Hopefully."

They reached the cave's entrance and padded down the stone ground, their footfalls a light echo within the confined space. They halted and flinched.

Their shadows stretched across the meager light from the entrance. The dim illumination revealed numerous dark droplets that concentrated near Malefor's reposed form, the dark dragon's eyes barely open, the crusted blood down his collar, chest, and belly.

"Malefor!" Spyro ran to him, lightly shook him. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Malefor gave a languid turn of his head. He closed his eyes and nodded.

Cynder sided herself next to Spyro. She offered, "The effect should have worn off by now."

"Maybe," Spyro replied, "but we don't know how The Black Star affected him. Even I lost it for awhile."

Malefor opened his rheumy eyes. He parted his tongue from the roof of his mouth, his respiration weak. "What do you want?"

"The Black Star," Spyro replied. "He said something to us: 'Ten days'."

Malefor's frown deepened. He slanted his cheek upon the ground. "I know what it means."

"What did he mean?" Spyro asked. "The end? Our death? What?"

A sad chuckle came from Malefor. "No..." He tensed his eyelids, his voice muffled upon the stone. He rocked his head. "No...not an end."

Spyro gently coaxed him. "What is it then?"

Malefor sighed, and with a strained effort raised his head. His limbs shook as he tried to sit on his haunches, only for his muscles to give out. Spyro and Cynder helped him up, the dark dragon's head downcast. They released him and gave him his distance, waited for his answer.

Another moment passed. Malefor said, "Ten days till perdition."

Spyro asked, "Perdition?"

Malefor looked away. His eyes wandered about the shadow, his yellow irises aglow before the pale light. "In ten days Avalar will reach the nadir of life."

"I don't understand."

Malefor nodded, his lips thin. "You won't until you see it."

Cynder asked, "See what?"

Malefor gathered his thoughts. "Life does not abide by the imagery we associate it with. How it sustains itself, its form, its actions, aren't always ones of bounty and beauty. There is life in even the foulest things."

Spyro recalled the rotting lands The Black Star had formed. "The decomposition. The stench..."

Malefor nodded. "In ten days that will be Avalar's fate. The totality of our world as bottom feeders, a symbiosis that poisons us slowly, barely sustains us."

Spyro's stomach curdled at the thought. "How long will that last?"

Malefor, crestfallen, raised his sight to Spyro, his eyes as crescent embers. "Beyond our deaths."

The notion struck Spyro. "Beyond?"

Malefor rose to his fours, his steps ponderous as he passed Spyro and Cynder, his body a silhouette before the light. "The visions told of a transformation. Life as a whole stripped of self. Our own world will take us, connect us, feed us while its feeds upon us."

Cynder's muzzle furled in disgust. "That in ten days?"

Malefor nodded. "Count your hours. Cherish them. Time will mean nothing on the tenth day."

Spyro absorbed the words, placed them against his resolve. "You're helping us."

Malefor's eyes widened. He turned to them, his words weighed by doubt. "Help? You met him! Saw what he can do. How am I going to help?"

"Figure something out," Spyro replied as he made his way towards the entrance. Cynder followed him out.

Spyro's and Cynder's shadows flitted about Malefor's pensive face. After a moment he padded after them. "Where are you going?"

Spyro replied, "To threaten the help." He strode around the cave to its side. The Black Star's restraints had lifted, the ferals in the middle of an argument. Spyro, Cynder, and Malefor sat, listened. The ferals were oblivious to their presence.

Goon said, "...And this is what I was talking about."

Raziela crossed her arms and turned her head away. "Not listening."

"You want an ear grab?"

"You want the tree?"

"I'll take that risk." He made a reach for her ear.

Raziela bobbed her head away and growled in return. She spat, "Fine." She brought her manic face to his muzzle and perked her ears up. "I guess could you could say that I'm all..." She flicked her ears. "Ears."

"Cute," Goon said. "Anyway, maybe this is just me, but I generally don't like being tied to stone...by stone...by some freak without a muzzle. Maybe you do but I don't judge."

Raziela groaned. "What are you getting at?"

"Well...One: the cheetahman? You know, the one who's buddies we kinda used to paint the grass?"

"What about them?"

"Well his pals, who just happen to be dragons, nearly killed us. All because of your weird, little vices."

"It's not a vice!" Raziela defended. She raised her chin in affirmation. "It's a lifestyle...Wait, I meant─"

"I'm right," Goon said. "Accepting is the first step. Second step: not killing everything because you're having a tantrum."

"But they make me so mad!"

"Me too!" Goon shot back. "I get frustrated. But you don't see me relocating an entire village off a cliff."

"They had it coming!"

Goon blinked in shock. "That was supposed to be a metaphor."

Raziela looked off to the side, her expression coy. "That one doesn't count."

"Since when?"

"Now."

"Anyway," Goon pressed, "the winged hernia and darky the bitch are the least of our concerns."

"No they're not!"

"Raziela," Goon reprimanded, "I want you to consider this."

Raziela snapped, "Consider. What?"

"The idea that the glowy-eyed monkey is better at killing than us."

Raziela's jaw slackened as her ears lowered. "That's impossible."

"We saw otherwise," Goon pointed out. "Monkeys aren't supposed to be able to do...well...that. This is a bad monkey, Raziela. A very bad monkey, and as much as it hurts me to say it..." He sucked his teeth. "And it does...we may have to..." He swallowed. "May have...Hold on, I need a breath."

Spyro stepped forward. "Help us?"

Both the ferals' lips curled. Goon said, "I was going to consult the other voice in my head, but you had to interrupt." He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "But yeah, that. Ya beat me to it." A wet growl came from the back of his throat. "Yay."

"Good," Spyro replied. "We're going to meet some friends of mine."

Raziela gritted her fangs. "Quads?"

"They are."

Raziela sagged. "Goon," she whined, "can I go crazy again?"

"Too late," Goon replied.

"No!" Raziela protested.

"Too late. We're going."

"I don't wanna!"

"Then stay here."

Raziela hugged Shattersound to her chest and pouted. "Fine. I'm gonna stand right here."

"Doesn't matter. You're still gonna hear."

"I can cover my ears!"

"No hands big enough."

Raziela shouted something that made Hunter grimace, something about Goon's tail, a tree, and target practice. Hunter approached Spyro, his weary countenance marked with bemusement. "Spyro. Do you really want them with you?"

Spyro considered that for a moment. He shrugged. "Help's scarce right now. And if we get through this, well...We can always kill them later."

Hunter nodded absently as he watched the ferals bicker. "It's an idea."

Spyro shouted to the ferals, "Come on, we're leaving."

Goon huffed and shouldered Double or Nothing. "Come on, we're leaving."

Spyro shook his head at that. "But I just said..."

Goon strolled away from them. "Yes. I just said that." Raziela dejectedly followed as Shattersound dragged behind her.

Spyro held out his splayed paw. "But...it's this way..."

"Was wondering when you'd catch on." Goon nearly followed when Spyro went the opposite direction. He past the ferals and lent them a wide-eyed leer. Goon returned the leer before he and Raziela followed the three dragons and cheetahman.

Goon remarked to Raziela, "You know, I think I like him."

Raziela raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Goon tossed his head up and laughed. "Ah...no."

Hunter cast a cautious glance back at the ferals. Both of them heatedly stared back, their weapons shouldered. He did his best to ignore them. He said to Spyro, "Your vision, the girl you mentioned...I think I need to find her."

Spyro asked him, "Do you have any idea where she could be?"

Hunter nodded. "I think so. We've explored outside territories, caught sight of a small home." He shrugged a shoulder. "We let it be. They weren't encroaching on anyone. I just hope that little girl..." He dry-swallowed and grimaced. "I can't even imagine. Being so young and facing an evil like that. Just being near him..." He tensed his eyes shut. The tears still came. "I felt sick, Spyro. So sick."

Spyro looked him over. The light wrinkles under the cheetahman's eyes had deepened, his sclera yellowed. "I didn't fair much better. You need rest, Hunter."

"Can't," Hunter replied. "Not with that little girl alone. I'll sleep later."

Cynder craned her neck, her muzzle against Hunter's temple. "We're not letting this go, Hunter. You can rest easy."

Hunter's smile belied his dolor. "I'll never doubt you two."

Cynder's eyes crinkled as she smiled. She asked him, "How long can we accompany you?"

Hunter looked off into the distance. "I should leave now. I don't want her to wander."

Spyro and Cynder nodded in agreement. Spyro said to him, "Keep safe. Get rest."

A sad chuckle came from Hunter's dry throat. "All's willing." After a moment of hesitance he strayed off, his steps brisk.

A sad sigh escaped from Spyro. He turned around and checked on Malefor, the dark dragon's steps heavy, eyes pensive.

Goon poked Malefor. "Hey." He poked him again. "Hey." Another moment. He poked him again. Malefor reared towards Goon and snapped at him. The feral skidded back, his expression smug. "You're it."