Midway through this chapter I'll ask you to play a song. Please do this, it's Thoran's theme song and it suits him perfectly.

The song is Indiscriminate Murder is Counterproductive, by Machinae Supremacy.

If the name alone doesn't convince you then I don't know what would.

This YouTube link probably won't work because fanfic . net is evil, but I can try to offer it anyway:

watch?v=8Y05TDInaeU

"What sort of monster is this dragon?" Cynder said. She hadn't liked Dagger very much when they had met him, but it was hard for her to put his face with the name Thoran and this savage violence.

The three dragons stood on one side of the room; they had to walk right next to the dead dragons to go deeper in the Tomb. None of them wanted to go close, but they also didn't want to admit it.

"The former Electricity Guardian of Warfang, I don't know much about him." Nestoc said.

"We didn't even think of him before we left." Spyro muttered. "Of course he was imprisoned at Darkmire's tomb. It's the only place where he wasn't a threat."

"Who is he?" Cynder asked.

"Thoran, the electric guardian before Volteer. He was often considered the most powerful Lightning dragon in history. He mastered extremely dangerous high level techniques, he specialized in using the Thunderlance, which is usually a suicide technique for an unskilled dragon. Then he started creating his own uses for Lightning, things no dragon had seen before, like his electric copy. Volteer has spent years trying to re-create Thoran's techniques. He was always unstable, but eventually he just went mad and nobody knows why. He went on a rampage; singlehandedly killed over ten dragons before the other guardians were able to confront him."

"And they sent him here?" Cynder asked. That seemed slightly harsh, this place was awful. Then again he had murdered ten dragons deliberately and with no reason.

"No. He beat both Cyril and Ignitus in combat at once before Terrador took him down, he fought the other three guardians all at once and he nearly won. He was locked in the prisons below Warfang, but he broke out and fled the city."

Spyro frowned, trying to recall the details.

"I think he went to the Dragon Temple for a while, and the Guardians fought him again there and captured him, I believe that Terrador almost died to get him. They tried to lock him up again but he would constantly kill everyone he could get his paws on. Eventually he was sent here where he couldn't hurt anyone else."

"And now he's gone again." Nestoc said. "And he'll do it all again. My little sister is in Warfang you know. She'd be about your age, her name is Flora."

Nestoc noticed Cynder flinch. Spyro too seemed discomforted by this.

"What's wrong? Is Flora all right? I haven't seen her in too long."

"She's fine." Spyro said. Cynder wouldn't look directly at Nestoc anymore, he wondered if she and Flora didn't get along. It would probably have something to do with Spyro given his discomfort, the purple dragon was fairly good looking, he guessed. He was pretty much entirely correct.

He dropped the subject. He didn't want to talk about anything while he was here among his dead friends. He walked up to and bowed his head over the dead dragons. He waited there silently for a moment, then he turned to Spyro and Cynder and shook the tears out of his eyes.

"Let's go. There were two other survivors." He kept walking.

The dragons crossed the next bridge.

"How did you survive?" Spyro asked.

"Thoran tried to use me as a hostage." The brown dragon said. "But I jumped across the pit."

"Good thing the razor wire is cut." Spyro said.

"It wasn't." Nestoc said. "I used an earth boulder to protect myself."

"And it worked?" Spyro asked. The brown dragon nodded.

"I cut my paws on the side of the pit." He held up his bloody left paw to show the injury. "And then I just held on there, knowing that I'd die if I fell. Thoran threw lightning at me but then he gave up because I wasn't worth killing." Nestoc looked at them. "I was lucky. The other two were thrown into the razor wire; they landed at the bottom but were still alive." Nestoc shivered. "I saw Malefor while I was on the wall, and he saw me."

"What happened?" Spyro asked.

"Nothing. He was floating up through the wire and it wasn't touching him. He paused when he saw me and just looked at me like he was sort of sad, then there was a flash of purple light and he vanished. The bridge spike retracted and the wire was all cut, I was able to fly to safety. I would have let go and died if he hadn't done that."

"Malefor cut the wire?"

"Yes."

That didn't seem right to Spyro and Cynder, Malefor wouldn't show mercy.

The dragons reached the second lowest level and there they met the last survivor. An old electric dragon rested next to a dead ice dragoness. He looked up at them as they approached.

"I sent you for help fifteen minutes ago." The electric dragon said with a weak attempt at humour. "I'd have seen you promoted if I'd known you were this bloody quick."

"Is she dead?" Nestoc asked. The old dragon nodded sadly.

"I'm sorry, young one."

Nestoc approached the dragoness and held her, crying softly. The electric dragon turned to Spyro and Cynder.

"Let's give him some space." And they left the room.

After several seconds the electric dragon dragged himself out of the room too. Cynder had never seen a dragon so badly wounded.

His right wing was completely gone; it had been entirely slashed off leaving just a gory stub that she couldn't look directly at. His left wing had massive holes in it too and looked as if it could break apart at any moment. Half of his right paw was missing, and the bandage on it was stained red with blood. He also had dozens of deep slashes on his back and right side from where he had fallen through the wire.

"Are you okay?" Cynder exclaimed. The electric dragon looked at her.

"I'll live. But I won't be flying home any time soon." He smiled weakly. "I think the razor wire may not have been the best design plan for this place. I'd cut it from the plans but… well, it's already been cut."

"Wings can regenerate, can't they?" Spyro asked.

"Yeah. I said I'd be fine. In a few years I'll look pretty again, may not even scar. If I was a cheetah they'd probably put me down, but dragons are dragons, huh?"

Neither of them said anything. The older dragon grunted.

"I figure it's no coincidence that we get visited by another purple dragon at this time. You'd be the young hero Spyro I've heard so much about. My name is Scara, which could be ironic in a few years if I heal up badly, why are you here?"

"A crystal from the Vaults of Warfang was stolen and taken here. The Guardians sent us to find out what had happened, because they believed the crystal was needed to return Malefor to life. We were tasked to help anyone left at Darkmire's tomb and then try to find Malefor. What happened here?"

"This here was Thoran's prison." The dragon nodded to an open door. "It just spontaneously opened and his chains were broken off. Nobody had reported anything suspicious before he started killing the guards, and nobody was able to check on the other two while he was in control of the bridge spikes."

"The bridge spikes?" Spyro asked.

"Worst security idea in dragon history. If whatever bastard invented those things can still feel pain then someday I'll go and thank him for installing them. Unless Thoran gets to them first, and I almost hope he does. I didn't even know it was possible to activate the spikes like that. I want him to die for what he's done, but he truly is a lightning dragon without compare. He lured us onto the bridges and then just…"

"How many dragons did he kill?" Spyro asked.

"There were twenty four of us here. Nestoc is alive, and so am I. The only others who might have survived are the ice dragon brothers. Gracious is captain of the guard, I was his second in command. Did you see those two above somewhere?"

"We didn't see anyone."

"In that case, I'd say he killed twenty two dragons on his own."

"That's insane." Spyro muttered.

"So is he." Scara replied. There wasn't much answer to give to that. There was a moment of silence. "Your pretty friend doesn't say much." Scara observed, looking at Cynder now.

"There wasn't anything to say." Cynder said. "But now you've mentioned it, which way is Malefor's cell, and what exactly did you have in there before it started walking around again?"

"That way. We had them both down there on the final level" The guard pointed. "The Malefor we had was a dead dragon, still recognisable by his body shape and a very dull purple colour that was nearly grey. He was definitely dead, he had no pulse, made no reaction to anything, didn't have rigor mortis though, he wasn't stiff. There was no way he could be alive but sometimes you almost felt like he was still looking at you, as if he knew you were there. We would glance into the cell every day, sometimes Malefor would be laying in a slightly different position, like he'd twitched, but nothing ever happened. I wanted them to behead him or something, something to make him more dead, or just deader, but that wasn't allowed apparently."

Spyro and Cynder crossed the last bridge, the room beyond was very small and contained two doors. The space seemed to absorb light and drown it. This wasn't just a place light rarely reached, but a place that light had never been meant to reach. Spyro glowed again so they could see, the two dragons entered the open cell; there was nothing of interest in there, just empty chains and a shredded scrap of metal. Cynder picked that up and looked at it.

"I guess this was what Malefor's crystal was sealed inside." She put it down and nosed it over, then sniffed it. "Nothing special. It's just a piece of iron." She reported.

"All hail the wisdom of the guardians. We're completely useless." Spyro grumbled.

"At least we saw the mountains." Cynder said.

"True." Spyro smiled and put his wing over Cynder, she rubbed her side against him. Cynder had stopped using her sexy walk after they'd seen the dead dragons above, but tucked under Spyro's wing she felt happy enough do it again for a while, it made her hips bump Spyro's.

They stopped to look at the other door before they left. It was still closed and chained that way. Cynder found it hard to look away from it. Spyro slowly walked towards it and reached out to touch it. Cynder would have stopped him, but she hadn't expected him to do it. As Spyro touched the door he jumped, as if he'd been given a static shock.

"What is it?" Cynder asked, but Spyro didn't need to answer, because at that moment a glowing poem appeared inscribed on the door. It glowed purple, and was almost exactly the colour of Spyro's scales.

Cynder looked closer at the script, it was elegant and sort of archaic, as if it had been written a long time ago.

Doomed one,
Fated to answer the call,
Black or Purple,
Dragon to end it all

A message
Isolation
An Eternity
Salvation

Dragon to read this
I offer thee safety
let the world live on
Choose the dark with me

"Because that isn't spooky at all." Spyro said.

"What is it?" Cynder asked. "It's not the classic "Dare not open this door" type of warning I'd have expected."

"I think it's still a warning of some sort. "Doomed one" Hmm… I wonder why it only appeared then. Maybe a purple or black dragon has to touch the door?"

The words were fading; Cynder watched them shimmer out of existence.

"Try touching the door." Spyro suggested. Cynder did so, but the words did not return. Spyro touched the door again and then the words reformed for him.

"I don't like this very much." Spyro said.

"Maybe it's that first line. A doomed dragon." Cynder looked at Spyro.

"I swear, Cynder, I'll stop glowing and leave you here."

"You couldn't leave me, you'd miss me." Cynder smiled. "Alright I won't tease about this."

"At least until we get back to the surface." Spyro smiled.

The two dragons relinked and left the depths of Darkmire's tomb. Cynder kept swishing her hips.

Seeing Scara made her stop her sexy walk again, his terrible wounds almost looked worse now that she wasn't seeing them for the first time. He had sat heavily on the floor and was resting, but his eyes opened as he heard them approach.

"There's nothing there." The electric dragon said. "He just came back, and we don't know how. I don't know where he's going; I don't know where ether of them is going. We've got nothing."

"Malefor gave Dagger, Thoran that is, a message for us saying that he would wait for us in The Catacombs. Thoran is going to Warfang, looking for the Dragonslayer spear."

"That weapon is in Warfang? He was bad enough without that spear, but when he had it not even the other guardians could defeat him alone. I hope… I hope the guardians can stop him before he kills whoever has the Dragonslayer."

There was nothing the dragons could do but hope.

If you want to listen to Indiscriminate Murder is Counterproductive I suggest playing it now.

Thoran walked the streets of Warfang again, it had been far too long, and he could barely remember the layout of the city. It had all changed; he supposed this whole war thing had been a good time for the moles to renovate the place, while clearing up the destroyed buildings and whatnot. Thoran liked the moles, they were nice, they were unthreatening and they had always been closely allied with dragonkind.

The dragon temple was new, it had never been in Warfang before, plus it was enormous now, rather impressive Thoran had to admit. It made a dramatic sort of line against the evening sky.

He'd only killed one dragon thus far, a fire dragoness who had been guarding the wall. He probably could have left her alive, but that wasn't his way. Imperia was up next, but he'd only need to kill the two dragons before he could slip away. Maybe one more after that, to celebrate regaining the Dragonslayer, he thought.

He wasn't here for a massacre, all of Warfang and everyone in it would be too much even for him and every moment he delayed meant another moment in which the remains of the unlucky carless guard could bring more cautious guards down on his head.

He walked confidently through the streets, nodding politely to those he passed, and a few even nodded back. Nobody knew his face any more; he'd been forgotten by Warfang. Perhaps if he was going to kill an extra dragon he would make it the new Electric guardian, whoever that was now. Possibly his former apprentice, the one who had had the nervous stutter, he'd shown some talent.

Thoran made straight for the northeast side of Warfang, where most of the dragons lived. Imperia would most likely be there. He spent ten minutes looking for a wind dragoness without success. He decided to ask someone.

Thoran wandered down one of the streets of Warfang, he wasn't watching where he was going and he bumped into a young earth dragoness with a white bandage on her waist. He apologised to her, but the slim dragoness didn't answer as she was deeply involved in an argument with an ice dragoness of the same age. Thoran caught the name Cynder mentioned several times and tuned in to the conversation with some interest.

He followed the two dragonesses down the street for about a minute, deciding which one he should kill. The earth dragoness sounded quite emotional about something, her friend kept trying to calm her down. Thoran decided to kill the earth dragoness, she'd be more likely to respond to a bit of interrogation judging by her distress.

Suddenly a pleasant smell distracted the electric dragon; he noticed a restaurant beside him and gave up on his original plan. He hadn't eaten decent food in months, and he hadn't eaten at all in four days. He was hungry.

He walked into the restaurant and noticed the pot of stew that had distracted him. How many pots of stew could say they had saved someone's life? Not many, Thoran was sure. Pots of stew didn't speak after all. He smiled slightly at the thought; he'd had a sense of humour once.

"Hello sir, can I get anything for you?" A mole walked up to Thoran, he was short even by mole standards. Thoran nodded, in a good mood.

"I don't have anything to pay with, I'm sorry, but if you could spare me anything at all I would be very appreciative."

It never hurt to be polite, but he was already trying to decide if he could kill this mole and eat the stew before anyone else wanted to have an early dinner. He'd probably have to blow on the stew to cool it down.

"That's not a problem at all sir, It's a pleasure to have such a well-mannered dragon in our establishment. I'll get you some stew."

"Thanks." Thoran said.

The stew was hot, and he did have to blow on it, but once it was cool enough he finished it off and licked the plate clean in moments. The mole noticed how quickly Thoran had eaten.

"Are you travelling somewhere? You seem very hungry. I can bring you another bowl if you would like one."

"Yes please." Thoran said, he wasn't used to polite interest and kind treatment from decent upstanding members of any race, but then again he had always liked the moles. "I am just stopping by in Warfang, I don't mean to stay for long."

"Again it's a pleasure to have you here." The mole said, bringing out another bowl of stew. He waddled back to the kitchen in the strange way that moles walked. "If you would like a third bowl don't hesitate to ask!"

Thoran finished his stew, he felt much happier with a full belly. He followed the mole into the kitchen, balancing the two plates. He put them in the sink and turned to the mole.

"There is something I would like to ask. Do you know a dragoness named Imperia?"

The mole nodded.

"A lovely dragoness, she is! As polite as you have been, and remarkably witty. I know Imperia, she's very memorable."

"Yes, she's an acquaintance of mine; I haven't seen her in years and would like to visit her while I'm here. Where does she live?"

"She's taken the highest rooms in the northern beacon tower. She had them renovated extensively I hear, she's very proud of how they look."

"The northeast beacon tower." Thoran repeated.

"That's right, a few minutes' walk, or you could fly there if you chose."

"Thanks again… and I am sorry about this."

"Sorry abo-"

"I can't help it you know." Thoran told the crushed remains of the nice mole. "It just happens really. Sometimes I enjoy it, actually I usually enjoy it. I may even feel sad about it this time though; you really were very kind to me, Mr Mole."

He glanced around, and then stuffed the corpse in a cupboard. He was feeling unhappy now. He turned and headed to the door; before he could leave another mole waddled through it and into the room. He looked very like the nice one, but a bit taller. Thoran didn't like that, it annoyed him.

"Excuse me, but are you-?"

Thoran fried him where he stood; the moles were so easily broken. He put this one in the cupboard next to the first mole and left the restaurant with a smile. Using lightning always cheered him up.

The beacon towers were extremely large, Thoran didn't really know what they were for, the moles had just built super big towers and put lights at the top of them, maybe so dragons knew where the city was if for some bizarre reason there were no other lights around. He didn't waste time trying to figure it out; he just flew to the base of the tower and took the spiral stairs.

He found the top room at the top of the stairs, pretty much where he had expected it to be, and the door wasn't locked so he let himself in.

The renovated rooms did look rather nice; they were relatively spacious and uncluttered. It was large enough to entertain a few dragons, but not too large for one to live alone. There was a carpet, a chandelier on the ceiling and a large section of the curving wall was only shutters leading out to what he assumed was a balcony. The wind dragoness was asleep on the bed, curled up in a neat circle. He looked at her for a few seconds; she was pretty, quite small by dragon standards, probably not much of a fighter, certainly not much of a threat.

The Dragonslayer was mounted on the far wall; it had clearly been lovingly cared for by its new owner. Thoran was grateful to Imperia for that; he'd give her a quick death.

He began to stalk across the room, but before he'd gotten halfway the dragoness rolled over onto her back, frowning in her sleep. Wind dragons were sensitive to movement in the air and had excellent hearing; Thoran didn't want to wake her if he didn't have to. He began to move again, staying low and focusing on the spear.

"That's far enough." Someone said, rather loudly.

Thoran scowled and turned around to find out who it was that had no appreciation for his stealth approach.

Another electric dragon stood in the door, he was quite young, but looked amusingly confident. Thoran recognised him immediately. This was his old student Volteer. He abandoned his stealth and stood tall, smiling at the newcomer.

"Just the dragon I was hoping to see. You're the new Guardian dragon aren't you? My poor half trained replacement, I was planning to kill you later. You wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes would you?"

"Unfortunately I would mind. Minutes are precious, you know in a single minute a dragon can…"

Thoran stopped listening to the chatter, clearly Volteer had grown out of his stuttering habits, and his eye flicked to the Dragonslayer, he could get hold of it before Volteer knew what was happening. He turned and darted for the spear, but it flew from its place just before he could grab it.

"That would be mine."

Thoran turned again, growing more and more annoyed by these constant disruptions, Get the spear, stab the bitch, leave. How hard did it have to be?

The bitch in question was now standing on her bed, balancing easily on her hind legs; the spear was levelled straight at his heart. Something about the steely look in her eyes told Thoran he had misjudged her fighting ability. Armed with the Dragonslayer even an average dragon suddenly became a credible threat, Imperia could be very dangerous indeed.

"I liked you better asleep." He said to her.

"Apparently I'm cute when I sleep." She said. "Anyway I must admit I find midnight visits deliciously scandalous but, to put this crudely, I don't do threesomes. Volteer?"

"Eh, um… It's not midnight?" The Guardian dragon said. His stutter returned when he was embarrassed.

"Very astute." Imperia smiled. The two electric dragons watched her, she tilted her head. "I'm not really a morning dragon. Are we meant to do something now?"

"It's not morning." Volteer added.

"Well what time is it?" Imperia asked.

"It's time for me to kill you two and get my spear back. I've had enough of this posturing, the pair of you are as bad as Spyro and Cynder were, but at least I'll get to murder you two personally."

"I don't usually enjoy violence, but I actually have been looking forward to this." Volteer smiled.

I'd like to just give special thanks to CanzetYote, for the most unusual review I have yet received. It was completely unexpected and caught me by surprise. However the main reason I like this review is because it made me realize one of the most amazing things about being an author.

Secondary special thanks go to Buffbill, for the same reason, I think you have a very lucky girlfriend.

Oh yeah, the amazing thing I realized about being an author. I suppose you'll want to hear it? It's hard to explain, but I'll do my best.

Here goes.

You have lives (well duh, that was obvious, but stick with me please). Everyone reading this story has their own life and experiences, not only that but you all have a unique way of perceiving this story, what one person reads effects them in a different way to another person, and you'll all be thinking different things as you read this story to what I think as I write it.

I spent a while just thinking about that, and the more I did the more I liked it. I'm glad that you all have lives, and I'm indescribably grateful that you happen to spare time from them to read this story that I have created for you all.

I really really want more thoughtful reviews, they need not be long (but I'd love it if they were!) but please please tell me what A Duel with Destiny means to you!

This quote is ambiguous, it can be read one of two ways. Please tell me how you read it, or guess as to how I personally read it. Or just do both :)

"Nothing is worse then death."

-4Dragons