Dragon(s)layer

20


Bad Twist


The Fallen immediately decided that dragons here knew quite a bit more about food than dragonflies. Call him judgmental. That sliced pork was so good that he wouldn't have given a shit.

"I wasn't able to find you everything that I wanted to, but think of this as a ninety-percent total sampler." Ignitia chuckled, watching happily as Spyra dove head-first into a bowl of beef and noodles. Gravy flew everywhere, and when she pulled back, her purple face was bulging at the cheeks and dripping brown. Ignitia grimaced, like a mother would a messy baby in their high-chair. "Someone likes the staff's cooking, I see."

"Mmhmm. I's gud." Spyra muffled, ignoring the barbed fork and knife brought in for her and using her paws.

Ignitia laughed and nudged another plate closer to her. There was an array of dishes she'd brought on a chain tray big enough to hold a whole mule. The Fallen's head was still spinning at how strong the Guardian was under all that matronly softness.

"Thank you." He said lowly when the dragoness handed him a plate of sliced meat. An experimental bite told him it was beef. High-quality stuff too, at least for what was supposed to be a school…

"The dragons who pass through here are taking their first steps into probably the most important jobs of their lives: being a warrior for the Dragon Realms. Those who stay and work hard deserve at least a good meal." Ignitia explained when he quizzed her on this. "It is a good meal I hope?"

"Definitely." He nodded. "Have you heard anything from the Council? Or about Morinth?"

"I expect the Councilors will be taking the time to mull over everything they've heard, and to compile messengers to tell all of those who weren't present. There is still a war going on." Ignitia sighed. "And Morinth should be awaiting both of you at the Castle. Taliopia did most of the work for the healers there already, so I hardly think getting her back on her feet will prove to be an issue. I wouldn't worry about her, Fallen, she's in capable claws. Warfang has the best doctors in the world."

With that, she bit the rein of the chain-tray and backed out of the doorframe, pausing to ask: "Ish Terradora's room acsheptable for boff uv yu?"

"It's very nice." He leaned back into the nesting, blinking when Spyra tipped a plate over and proceeded to unhinge her jaws to allow a whole avalanche of mashed potatoes to slide down her gullet.

Frightening.

"…It's, uhm… roomy."

Ignitia hummed, pleased, and left.

The Fallen had to get used to the slightly larger silverware (seeing as they were dragon-sized) but acquainted well enough. He chewed idly as he watched Spyra practically smother herself next in a plate of spiced maize bits.

For someone actually a little smaller than him, she had an appetite that could bench half the city.

"Isn't this great?" She asked, mouth-full, gravy dripping off her cheeks.

"Chew." He dabbed at her face with a napkin.

Later on, he peeled himself out of the bandages and set about cleaning. Sleeping in a swamp hadn't left much for being grateful for.

"I kinda' can't believe it." Spyra admitted, her eyes glistening as they swept around the details outside the window sill. There was a small mountain of discarded copper dishware beside her as she lounged on the nest. "We're actually in Warfang."

"You've said. Probably a hundred times too." The Fallen mumbled, dripping wet as he stepped out from the little wash-basin tucked away in the room's corner. By little of course, this meant in comparison to a dragoness of Terradora's notably bulky stature. The bloody tub could fit four of him.

At least Warfang had plumbing on top of good food.

He was concerned about that upon arrival, flashbacks of less pleasant (and more stinky) times burning themselves painfully in the backs of his retinas. Generally speaking, the older the realms, the older the techniques… Thankfully, the Dragon Realms seemed to not follow that example.

Drying off was a pain in the ballsack. It was all gentle pats, dabs and air-drying. The damage made any speed painful and impossible.

"Ouch." He mumbled, carefully applying fresh dressing wraps to the riddling network of bruises patchworking his limbs. His face looked like someone had spilled blueberry juice and let it dry between his eyes and on the bridge of his nose. A glance in the little mirror in Terradora's bath nook told him that horror-story. That Orc assassin had really fucked him up.

What a time to use up all the regen-injections…

Grumbling, the Fallen spent even longer getting the wraps back on that Spyra had jokingly said made him look like a mummy. He hadn't realized the draft he'd felt with them off even briefly.

"We never got a time from Taliopia." He blinked, looking at Spyra across the room. "You think we should head over sooner or later? Morinth should be pretty good to go like Ignitia said, I did give her the last of my regen-needles…"

"…Warfang…" Spyra was smiling like a dope as she lounged in Terradora's nesting breast-first, eyes still locked out that stupid window and the sunny campus outside. The Fallen huffed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing." She startled, her tail whipping. She waved a dismissive paw. "I'm just enjoying the view. I don't wanna' explore this whole, gigantic, ten-times-bigger-than-my-only-little-world place that I've been dying to see for weeks at all. Nah. Totally content and shit… sitting here… rotting…" She deflated like a popped balloon, flicking a crumb off of an emptied plate.

"If you want to see it so badly, why don't you just go? You don't need my permission, and I'm sure Ignitia's fine letting you roam around for a little while."

"Really?!" She jolted up like an excited fox, eyes dilating.

"I don't see why not-"

"This is why you're my fuckbuddy~." He rocked on his heels as a purple and scaly sticker magnetized over his hips and clutched there against the towel with a wet slap! Spyra nuzzled her snout into his navel and grinned cheaply up at him. "You're the best, Fallen, even if you're wetter than me."

"I-I-"

"Say, why don't you come with me? I can hold off on the flyin' if'n it means I get to cruise dragonville with my boi-toy on foot!" She chortled, kneading her talons into his flesh. Her serpentine tongue flicked over his stomach, making him shudder. Spyra giggled. "Maybe we could be daredevils and screw behind a fountain and see how long it takes someone to notice."

The Fallen had a quick retort but dropped it in place of a very serious expression. He glared outside and creased his lip.

"Such glorious things as derg-puss are unworthy of mortal eyes…"

"You say somethin', stud?" Spyra muffled, fishing out his dick from the inner lining of the towel and giving it a few pumps in her paw. It flopped around like a creamy noodle, booping her in the snout as she started to twirl her tongue over the smooth crown. "…Mmmmfff~… Hey, random question, but being around all these dragons has me wonderin'… what do ya' think drake cocks look like?"

"Not as good as mine, obviously." He looked at her funny.

"True that. Hey," Spyra clung to him even tighter, squirreling up his stomach to hook on his shoulders and pull her face up to his. "maybe I could make you my bitch before we hit the town and totally wreck Terradora's room with a wrestling match. Y'know where you hump me instead of headlocking me."

"You don't even know this person and you want to shag in their bed? And what about exploring?"

"The city ain't going anywhere. And: I'll shag anywhere with you." She batted her eyes and licked him on the bridge of his nose. "I'll go easy, I know you're hurtin' since the swamp…"

"It's dull, at least." He sighed, holding her. "I can't wrap my head around it all. Cynder, the other fortresses Malefora controls, and all the nonsense in this Avalar place… It's a bit overwhelming."

"You told me you've been through worse anyhow, no biggie'." Spyra slid down his chest and plopped on the floor, grinning manically as she jerked him to hardness, giving him those purple bedroom-eyes he had become hooked on as she dawdled her tongue down his organ's rounded flank like it was a popsicle. "…This though… Mmmmyeah, this here's a real biggie he is, mmhahaa~…."

"What if Ignitia walks in and pulls a Taliopia? And don't just say: 'I ain't stopping' –again, because you see how that worked out. You're insatiable."

"I just found out about this shit, dude, and, well… Spyra likey, she real real likey…~"

The human grunted as she parted her muzzle and gummed across the side of his cock, rumbling happily as her dragon-licker flicked and coiled about its twitching underside and the merger of his sack. The towel whispered to the floor and the Fallen settled on his heels, grunting as his back briefly complained before he channeled out his wounds and focused on his groin.

Spyra muffled a growl and slurped him into her snout, puckering her chops and sloppily whipping her tongue everywhere to take in every little bit of his salty taste. She'd been meaning to eat him for days, and she had just kept running out of time. Prolonged mating sprees were hard to get when people were fucking interrupting you every five seconds to save the world…

Stupid world.

Distracting her from her tasty human-meatsicle.

Well, not right now. They had time.

Spyra closed her eyes, her face contorting in concentration as she slowly dragged her mouth back and let his rod slide out just behind the midpoint, its length glistening and dripping with her thick spit. The Fallen grunted, shivering as she paused with his crown still poking into the roof of her mouth.

For just a second, he was given a stirring view of the Purple Dragoness, the savior of this world, on all fours, bent over with her supple hips in the air, catching the glare from the sunlight dappling in through the window. Somehow she kept finding angles to make her seem even more pretty than she was moments ago.

When the Fallen shuddered, she glanced at him briefly, and winked, cheeks bulging.

She hadn't exactly done this before...

But, as the saying went: balls to the wall. Good thing she didn't have any, and if she threw up, well, he was a forgiving sort and there was a washroom ten feet away! So it was a win win.

He grunted when she parted her jaws and slid her snout down until her nose poofed into the little dusting of pubic hair foresting his crotch. The Fallen's blade poked her in the back of her throat. Her long neck walloped like a garden hose receiving a fresh water line. She gagged and the reflux noise wetly warbled around his meat. Dragon saliva spattered on his thighs and dripped onto the floor in hushed patters.

Opening an eye, she gazed up at his stupefied expression and muffled a giggle around him. She carefully slid him out and went down again, beginning to bob her head.

Never thought I'd be here like this, Spyra suddenly (at perhaps the strangest of times) was struck with serious thought as she gagged on the Fallen's draconic puss-slayer. In the middle of some giant dragon city, sucking off an alien. Where'd the wormhole open up and why can't I remember getting thrown in?

She cast the awkwardness away and focused on slurping around the penis she was corndogging like a desperate sow deprived of passion over a millennium.

Holy fuck this was good. Every time she did anything with him it was heavy, and steamy and hot!

God damn, she must've hit a lottery somewhere!

Going from what she was to this? Totally worth it, dick-sucking aside. She volunteered, nothing was forced. It was all consensual and badass. Slaughtering armies by day, rutting until the walls cracked by night. She could live like that forever.

Her and her human.

And not that tattooed slut.

Spyra refluxed again as she drove him completely into her mouth. The Fallen groaned under his breath, teetering on his heels as he threatened to topple over. Absentmindedly, Spyra's tail whipped around and yanked over his perky butt leaf-first to keep him steady for her as she sucked his clean-smelling flesh.

Why was Cynder suddenly coming back to her? That confused wrist-slicer wasn't worth the time. Besides, everyone was hemming and hawing about her returning, when for all they knew, the sociopathic bitch had finally done the Realms a favor and had offed herself in the most anticlimactic way possible.

That was a tantalizing thought for Spyra. Cynder watching from beyond the grave as the Fallen dumped his hatchlings down her throat. That was delicious, figuratively and literally.

She gripped the base of his rod and started bobbing her head rapidly, wet, gagging squelches echoing around Terradora's room. The Fallen gripped her bronze horns and started following her pattern with forceful yanks. Spyra loosened her neck and let him face-fuck her. She liked it when it was rough anyway.

Besides, it was just another triumph where Cynder had failed.

….Again with this!

Why did she matter right now? She was ruining the sex! Or, her mental image was ruining it…

Spyra hung her jaw open and let a congealed tsunami of gob slip out and around each thrust as she clamped her throat and twisted her tongue around his meat. The Fallen was making wheezing noises as his hips rocked faster and faster. She idly strayed a paw between her haunches and fingered her clit as reams of spittle frothed out and swung like slippery vines as they dangled from her purple chin. The room was alive with interspecies relations and steam was wafting out of her mouth as he humped into it, the heat adding to the pleasure derived from the lubrication.

She felt his sack tense up and his pole twitch. He wasn't long now. Good thing too, her neck was hurting a bit…

Hurting where Cynder's isn't.

Wait.

Spyra pinched an eye open, cringing as the Fallen's moans started to get louder and her gag-reflex was pinning her ass to the wall again.

But even through all that, she realized why Cynder was so on her mind.

She…

…she could smell her.

Cynder's scent.

Spyra blinked, gagging instead of gasping when the Fallen heaved and rammed himself into her snout one last time. She undulated her golden throat as ropes of salty semen kicked out of his gland and slipped down her gullet in healthy rivulets. Twisting her tongue deftly, she squeezed every last drop from him and lapped even when they started to run dry.

Granted, he came for awhile. He must've been pent up with all the teasing she'd done mid-air during the flight.

But back to the issue at claw.

As he calmed down, Spyra wiggled her nose and snorted through his pubes. There was a lot to take in, but she could pick out the offender. The lingering rosy-smell of Terradora's girly soap (which she'd later mock him relentlessly over for smelling like a feminine flower patch) the natural and masculine musk he sported and the stagnant odor of her own breath.

But there, wedged in with the more present scents.

Cynder.

Spyra blinked as she slid him out of her mouth, swallowing and plopping on her haunches. Panting, the dragoness stared at his organ like it was a victual of the saddest story she'd ever laid eyes on, all the arousal swimming in her veins draining into nothingness. She gingerly took her talons out of her slit and gawked.

The Fallen huffed and let go of her horns, grabbing himself and weakly pumping out a few last twitches working down his length. Her drool was everywhere, and she tasted him even though she'd swallowed it all already. She watched his erection start to sag. It twitched pathetically in his grip, utterly spent.

"…Y-You… didn't have to do that…" He weakly laughed, bending down to touch their foreheads. He kissed her between her eyes. "…thank you. How about a return favor?" He placed his hands on her chest and started to roll her back onto the nest.

Wait.

No.

Hold up.

"Wait a second- hey, no- I said WAIT!"

He froze.

Spyra lowered her voice and forced herself to calm the building quivers wriggling through her scales. She clenched her jaw and cleared her throat, swallowing again as trace remnants of him lingered. The silence was only broken by a distant bird chirping outside the closed window. After that, it was all white.

"…Just wait a second." She said punctually, startling him.

"Are you alright?" He knelt with a pained grunt, reaching to cup her cheeks. She hissed and swatted his wrists away. "Spyra, what's the problem?"

"Y-You…. You." She began to stammer, her eye twitching and her back hunching as she curled further away from him and towards the nest. "You're the p-problem."

"…I'm sorry…? Did I do something that hurt you-"

"You smell like her." Spyra snapped. He blinked incredulously.

"Who do I smell like?"

"Cynder." She snarled out the name like it was a hideous batch of gruel she had vomited up. The dragoness flapped her wings and gnashed her teeth, glaring angrily at him. "I smell her on you. Her scent is on your-your… your cock, man."

The Fallen stood up, and to her horror he said nothing. He just watched her blankly between the dressing wraps covering his face, his wang still deflating from the recent stimulation she'd given him.

She looked at it accusingly for a second, and then met his gaze.

"H-How? When?" She growled, suddenly feeling very cold. "When did this happen? When did that bitch get her filthy, home-wrecking claws on ya'? Huh? Was it at the tower? You fucked with that thing during a battle? Is that it?"

"It's… complicated." He crossed his arms.

"Oh no, you ain't pullin' that bullcrap on me, brother." Spyra snapped, the mood souring impossibly more as she stood defiantly in front of him, stomping closer until she was just ahead of his legs. "Remember one of the things we said back at the swamps?"

"We said a lot of things back there."

"Yeah, well- well-" Her jaw quivered. "-o-one of those things, i-involved t-t-t-" Spyra clenched her fangs and began to shiver, her head lowering to the floor as her ability to speak was stolen from her. She muffled a scream through her teeth and barked: "-transparency!"

She paused, inhaling so sharply that she squeaked. She shook herself and glared.

"We weren't supposed to be keeping secrets."

"No, I guess we weren't."

"Explain yourself." Spyra sniffled, trying to look tough behind a glass barricade as she roughly wristed away a few diamond tears gathering. "*srnnfff!* Explain yourself right now."

Red-handed.

He'd been here before.

The Fallen was a master of combat technique and tactics. He had to be for the high-stress situations his meddling across the Multiverse ultimately entailed. Very few of that madness caused him to freeze up like a green rookie. But right now, he was doing exactly that.

Déjà vu.

A brief flicker of scales blacker than night invaded his memory. Lime eyes and flippers…

He shook his head.

"…I don't know what to say." He mumbled. Spyra shrieked and stomped her front paws, rumbling the floor.

He stepped back as a yellow glow flickered in the shade, tiny bolts of lightning dancing between her fangs as she curled back her chops and sneered at him.

"EXPLAIN!" She screamed, wings preening aggressively. "Tell me why I smell her on you! I know it's her too! I remember her scent, I'd know it anywhere after everything she pulled on us, and your junk reeks of it."

"I don't want to fight you." He quietly told her. "Just calm down."

"You want me to calm down?!" Spyra shouted, beginning to break down again. "I'll calm down when you- you- *snnrrf!* -tell me I'm wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"That m-my nose is lying to me…" Spyra sat down on the floor, her composure finally departing. She buried her face in her paws and started quietly sobbing. "…W-Why can't it be lying and n-not you"

"Spyra, I…" The Fallen knelt and crawled over the towel to her, reaching out for her. "…I can explain."

"…Y-You're just saying that…" She heaved, shying away when his hand brushed her wrist. "Don't touch me."

"Okay, I won't." He sat in front of her. "…I… I thought you knew."

"W-What?!" She cried, eyes red and puffy as she tore her face out from her palms and stared, awed at him. "How would I have known that you were- were-"

More sobs.

"…Spyra…" The Fallen held himself back from trying to embrace her, and instead bit his knuckle. "On the battlefield, when you and me first… y'know…"

"Yeah I know!" She sobbed. "Of course I know about that! How could I forget that? Y-You made me so- so ha-happy-" –And yet more sobs. Sentences were hard to complete by this point. "Y-You told me that I mattered to you."

She wiped her eyes and glowered at him, her eyes sizing him up from knee to head, just like she had when they had first met in that flame-kissed crater.

"You made me feel like a dragoness for the first time in my life. Me! The tomboy raised by bugs in the middle of some back-ass boondocks no one in their right mind would go into! You held me, and you claimed me and-…" She went silent. "…a-and now I find out that you were lying to me… You just wanted to use me."

Her expression turned fierce.

"That's not what I was or am doin-"

"You USED me!"

"It wasn't a lie!" He barked, flying to his feet, forgetting the pain of his injuries, staring at her with darkened eyes that she had only seen him give people he was killing. "Nothing I have told you over the course of our little escapade has been something so fickle as a lie. You misunderstand. Evidently, so have I misunderstood. Let me ask you: Weren't you listening? At all, to anything I said over the last few weeks? Did every opportunity I gave you to bail out really go over those horns of yours?"

Spyra backed up, her tears stopped flowing. She felt a cold stab in her breast as he raised his voice to her and stepped closer, using his height, and the knowledge of what he was capable of to cow her. Spyra didn't want to admit that it was working.

"Right here is exactly why I kicked you down that ravine!" He cried, jamming a finger towards the window. "Do you know what it means to be a Portaljumper? It means seeing amazing things, amazing, unbelievable and beautiful things. It really does! It changes everything that you understand about life, how to live it, and how it works. I won't withhold that from you. But at the same time, it also means seeing ugly, depraved and horrific things too. The blackest of nights! Decay made reality and un-life. Evil fucking things crawling out of the corners and feasting on the flesh of children and preying on all our sins! It means all of those things!"

He was ranting. Spyra backed up enough that she stumbled over the foot of Terradora's bedding, scrambling back onto her heels when she briefly rolled onto her side. She crashed through the pile of plates and sent tens of them skittering across the floor loudly.

"I've been changed into someone who can never be fully loved or hated: a duality." He told her darkly, his face deadpanned as he lumbered closer, kicking a bowl from his path where it hit an endtable and rebounded like a spent bullet casing. "But most of all, forgetting the good and the bad, do you want to know what makes a Portaljumper who they are? Really really who they are?"

"F-Fallen…" Spyra whimpered, jumping when her back legs touched the wall underneath the window sill. He hung over her until her breathing hitched and she began to wheeze, her purple eyes marring their own beauty with how terrified they looked. "-P-Please stop…"

"Portaljumpers never have one of anything." He answered for her, his breath puffing over her nose. He bent down and put his face into hers, locking her world down in a cold and dark cell of proverbial torment from something that may or may not have been coming for her. "It drives most of them so insane that they just disappear. The survival ratings for people like me are so slim, that there is some belief that I might be one of a dying kind. Hell, by this point, I might be the sole Portaljumper. I don't really know and I've never really cared. I've dealt with that duality my entire life. Multiple social circles, multiple cultures, multiple existences and sciences, multiple partners.

"I told you what I was. I love your kind. Do you remember that exact quote? What did you think I meant? Something innocent? Something platonic? You're smarter than that, Spyra. You're one of the smartest people I've ever met in my entire life. I hardly believe that you just were naïve. Where you come from, people who are naïve are food. You are the predator, not the prey. I saw that in you even before I learned who you were, and that is bar-none.

"You want to know the truth? Yes, Cynder threw herself at me. The night in the dragonfly village when she escaped? I did not stop her. I did not do that because I love her any more than I have come to love you. People in these realities have so much wrong. Because you have not seen the expanse of multiple fabrics of existence, you haven't come to terms with any degradation of morals. I just so happened to sacrifice my conjugal ones. There are other Portaljumpers who did so with other pleasures. They tend to be rapists, mass murderers and operators of planetary napalm-cannons. Let's all take a second to sigh in relief that I did not end up like one of them.

"This is one of so many reasons I am labeled everything from Savior, to Man of Justice, to Murderer and Champion of Sin. It is because I am eternally trapped to be in the grayground between all the cracks that organize your lives, that determine what is right and wrong, black and white, red and blue.

"It is my Grand Quest. I journey to worlds just like yours. I preserve, and I destroy. I save, and I kill. I fall in love, and I abandon. Rarely do these things happen entirely of my own volition. Again and again I am torn away and forced into long years of things I believe just might be permanent, and are so tempting to indulge in that even scions of angels couldn't resist sating themselves. Families, dragonesses, treasure, contentment and composure, beautiful realms that could've been my own personal kingdoms with wives and children beside me. Every time they come into my life, a war, an old enemy or an old friend, or plain shitty luck tear me away from them.

"You're angry because you do not understand and agree with my person. I'm angry because you are free of blame! You're completely innocent! It's true! You are innocent, and you have done nothing but show me compassion, and love, and companionship, and my soul is so dead inside that I cannot feel what I know: and I know that what I am, not who I am was always going to wound you in a way that you might not ever recover from.

"I am angry at myself, because I loath who I am! Why do you think I chose the Portals? I jump because I am running! I'm running from myself! And right here, right now in this very room, I have caught up to myself yet again. Such long hours of pain, suffering, adventure and passion, it… it all works up to this. To you. Against a wall. Terrified and hateful of me. Because of what I am.

"I'm angry because I've hurt you, and I can't stop myself. Because I am an empty person, and I have known nothing but displeasure with every fiber of my being since the beginning, and I keep consuming and consuming to fill a void that is bottomless.

"You are a good soul, one who was alone, and a dragon. I am alone and I… I love dragons. So I love you.

"Cynder seeks death, I've sought death before too. She is searching for her prince, I am searching for my princess. So I love her.

"Tens of worlds, and still this pit gnaws at my innards, and my mates are torn from me whether from their own willpower, the wills of people like Malefora, or they are ripped away from me. So the duality and the void continues. It's endless. It doesn't stop, and neither do I.

"…For you? For Cynder? Ignitia even, this all remains to be seen. I can't tell you the future, Spyra, I can only tell you that with each and every soul I connect with, yours will always be at the forefront of my thoughts as have the ones before you, and I know regular people cannot understand that, nor do I ever wish them to.

"But I do wish for you to know: I would let this entire world die if it meant that I could save you."

Spyra opened her eyes. The Fallen's own were just an inch away from her. She hadn't even felt him merge their foreheads, or take her sideways so that they both had the sill facing their flanks, and she was no longer backed into a corner.

The Fallen shivered and wrenched his eyes shut as the growing moment of quiet stretched on. A sound she had never heard come from him before tore through his lips, and he jolted, like he'd been struck by something in the gut.

Spyra watched a single bead of silver land on the floor. It was followed by another, and another.

The Fallen's hands slipped from her and he collapsed onto the floor, clawing at and covering his face in silent wracks of despair that stabbed into him with icy blades and twisted. His mouth moved, but all that came out was air. He hid his eyes from her, writhing on the floor like a dying worm.

She had never seen him like this.

Pathetic. Vulnerable.

The dragoness felt more dread broiling in her chest, threatening to steal her control, send her to the floor with him, bawling her heart out. Quivering, with tears fleeing down her snout, she turned towards the sill.

"…-I-I'm s-sorry." He sobbed.

Wood creaked, and wind rushed. The curtains billowed and the room was drenched in an oppressive, singular quiet. He knew what had happened, but didn't uncover his tear-stained face until several minutes had passed.

The window was gaping ajar and the crisp, warm daytime air was delicately flowing inside. The sky was a pure blue, streaked with white clouds.

There was not any hint, sign or speck that suggested the color purple. All that was left was the messed nesting, and the array of plates and bowls lying all over the floor.

He reached for a fork that she hadn't used lying on the stone by his shoulder.

The Fallen's fingertips touched it. He kicked it away and began to cry again.


{🐉}

BM-BM-BM-BM

"-Yes yes, I'm coming, I'm coming…" Ignitia yawned, trotting across the temple floor as the muffled knocks rebounded in the great space. "…Ugh, back for only a few hours and a Guardian can't even catch a brief beauty nap."

BM-BM-BM

"I said I was on my way, you impatient filcher!" She squawked.

She opened the great doors and winced when sunlight beamed in her face.

"Heavens, the students were right!"

Ignitia startled when a plaintive voice sounded loudly in front of her. The Guardian blinked a few times and squinted.

"You really are back, my lady. Thank goodness. It was becoming a bit of an animal house around here without any, ehm… supervision."

"Oh, yes…" Ignitia sighed tiredly, forcing a smile on her muzzle. "Hello Bilou, I completely forgot to stop by your quarters and bid you greetings. I do apologize."

"It isn't a problem, ma'am, I'm always ready for the- the… a-AH- AHCHOO~!"

Ignitia winced when poor Bilou almost sent himself tumbling down the stairwell with that thunderous sneeze.

"Oh, Bilou, when are you ever going to get that looked at…" She huffed, pinching her snout's bridge.

"E-Excuse me." A pudgy, navy blue drake reached into the little canvas bag hanging over his chest and pulled out a very used handkerchief before dabbing at his snout with it. He smiled sheepishly and balled the handkerchief under his neck, his vibrant yellow eyes alight with apologies behind a large pair of black-rimmed reading spectacles perched on his snout. "I-I'm sure it'll go away soon, ma'am. It is just a cold, after all."

"No my dear Bilou, that is a curse."

"Pardon my speech, ma'am, but: you're telling me! A-AH-ACHOO-~! *snrrff* -excuse me…"

"I mean it literally: it's a warlock's curse that keeps consistent sickness to harry the victim. You've had it on you for the last month because you keep refusing treatment." Ignitia raised a brow, muttering offclaw: "…and me and Cyrila still never weeded out which of the students did it…"

"-ACHOO~!"

Bilou spread his dark blue wings out and caught himself from going down the stairs. He adjusted his glasses and wiped his snout.

"D-Docters… ehm… frighten me, ma'am." He mumbled dejectedly.

"If you would allow me to use some counter-balms, I could remove the hex in just under an hour, as I've been offering."

"M-Magic rituals frighten me more, I-I think."

I still wonder how he ever got his job.

"Is there something you needed, Bilou?" Ignitia sat on her haunches and stretched her wings in the doorframe tiredly. "I just got back from having a tower collapse on my head and finding out my egg never died, so if you could please-"

The Guardian blushed and cleared her throat.

"E-Egg, ma'am?" Bilou asked. "Oh! Congratulations!"

"Stop that this instant." She hissed, making him cuddle his canvas bag and hide behind it. "That isn't what I meant, I don't have any eggs! I'm the Guardian of Flame for Ancestors' sake."

"Of course ma'am. Sorry ma'am."

"…Oh, just forget it. Personal problems can wait. Now, yes, what you needed?"

"Yes! The attendance sheets are all scratched to completion a-as requested." He reached a snot-covered paw into his canvas bag and brought out a small stack of leather-tied parchment sheets. Ignitia cringed. Bilou followed her gaze to a crusting booger on one of his talons. "…sorry, ma'am."

"I thought we tallied up attendance shortly after I departed." Ignitia turned her snout away and gestured for him to keep the bundle. "You couldn't have done all of that by yourself."

"I did."

"Oh, Bilou… that isn't healthy! What about the substitutes? I put them in charge of records of their own halls, and-"

"T-The substitutes ran away, ma'am."

"Ah. Of course I forgot about that, it's traumatizing to consider. And my little hatchling coming back must've scrambled my- IMEAN- the… the arrival of the Purple Dragoness! Must have… scrambled my brain a bit, ahem, YES." She tumbled, smiling like a manic clown when he blinked at her. She broke the guise and grumbled. "-Ugh… are there any students of particular trouble I should take note of or not?"

"W-Well, there is-"

"Nobody got stuck in the well again, did they?"

"Thankfully no. But there have been numerous, ehm… d-disturbances." Bilou tapped on his canvas bag. "T-The brawny one?"

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"T-The one who broke my last pair of glasses and threatened to stuff my own tail in a very i-inappropriate place…"

"Ulgair." She rolled her jaw, knowing the name. "How that drake hasn't been expelled despite his own heraldry is beyond me."

"H-Having an officer as a father really makes punishment harder, ma'am. I can't pursue the matter much myself, because, well, heavens, I… I am not the confrontational type-oh who am I kidding. That child terrifies me, ma'am." Bilou shivered, hugging his own tail. "And what he said to me still gives me nightmares…"

"I'll deal with him." She warmly smiled. "Now, try to focus on the positives. I realize the last few days have been stressful, but I need you on your talons. We have some more work to do while I get the student body back in order. How about the lesson docket?"

"Organized, ma'am. W-What about the fireworks gathering?"

"The what?"

"The fireworks gathering, for the Comet Festival? You couldn't have forgotten about that, my lady, could y-you- ACHOO-~!"

In fact, she had.

That was going to complicate things. But, then again, some celebration wouldn't be such a bad thing. The rally in Immortal Square had certainly given the city a much-needed morale boost. Some Mole manufactured color-rounds in the night sky would only keep peoples' spirits up.

"That's in two days." She said. "The workload's doubled then. Bilou, organize the elemental training docket and send out fliers for more replacements. Try another district where none of the prior quits lived. Maybe we'll find a naïve do-gooder or two to throw to the meat-grinder."

"Right away, ma'am." Bilou spread his wings and trotted down the steps, sneezing mid-flap and jolting roughly to the left as he took off. "-It's good to see you back!" –He called. Ignitia sighed and shut the door.

Poor Bilou.

"Spyra, Fallen, let's get today started!" She sang as she trotted to Terradora's room and wrapped the door once with her tail. "Spyra? Fallen? Are you both alright in ther- Oh! Hello, Fallen. Where is… Spyra?"

Ignitia craned her neck to peer inside the room.

It was otherwise empty. All the cutlery and platewear was stacked neatly beside the nesting, and the window was wide open and letting in a breeze.

The Fallen was deadpanned behind his facial bandages as he quietly shut the door behind himself.

"She went for a walk." His smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. He moved past her and down towards the hall. "So what's the plan?"

Ignitia sniffed and awkwardly trailed after him. Aside from the fact that Spyra didn't come off as a 'ness into walks as much as high-risk, break-neck aerodynamic speedwaying through rooftops, the human's behavior was peculiar. Hopefully, the food agreed with him. She remembered an incident years back when some fish had been undercooked, and the horrors that had followed in the lavatories that seen a whole cleaning crew on their knees…

No, it couldn't have been that. The Fallen's demeanor looked more negatively impacted via emotion, not gut-wise.

Still, she had to ask.

"Are you feeling well? All of the food went down alright, I hope. Or are you still just in pain?" Ignitia doted on him as they walked. "That should be one of your first stops today is to the medical wing at Castle Wyrm. Taliopia should still be there. She'll fix you right up. That female works wonders with salves."

"I know she does." He chuckled humorlessly, patting one of his dressings and staring at the floor. "I'm just a little under the weather from all that swamp-adventuring, it's nothing. By the way, where's my butler?"

"The Ape?"

"Mmhm."

"I gave him the broom closet to sleep in."

"Oh, good. For a minute I thought you had wasted a perfectly empty room on him." The Fallen grunted. "I'm interested in that training ring you were speaking about earlier today. Maybe once I'm back on my feet, you can acquaint me with that."

"I'd be honored." She smiled. "How about your journey through the city? Spyra isn't going with you?"

"No."

"Might I ask why? Is she well?"

"Look, it's-" He stopped himself.

Complicated.

Complicated.

Just say fucking complic-

"-menstrual." He blinked.

Wait, what the hell did I say that for?

Ignitia looked like a deer in headlights and almost tripped over her own paws. She gave a laugh she didn't want to make, and so it sounded trumpety and uneven, like it had come from a maniac. She coughed and clicked her tongue as she searched for words, giving off a minute- 'Oh!' –matter-of-factly under her breath.

"Well, I certainly understand the bleaker undertones to being female, but..." Her expression dropped and she blinked at him. "Are you being serious?"

"Do I look like this is a figment of my imagination?" Even though it is, god damn it. "Trust me, I know when a dragoness is being visited by Scarlett for that month."

"I'm sure." She coughed again as they passed the banner hall, his eyes briefly flickering over some of the heraldry, hers over his chest sneakily. "…My schedule will be quite hectic for the next few hours, but if you're willing to wait, I would be happy to fly you to the castle."

"No, I need the fresh air." He said. "Thank you, for all you've done. I imagine our little posse has proven a handful."

"It's no trouble." She lied happily. "I should be thanking you for all the services you've done me without even knowing! Seeing Spyra well and alive all these years later, finally having something worth everything to bring back from yet another grueling flight to the Dragon Temple? I haven't felt this alleviated and refreshed in a very long time."

"…Uhm-" Don't praise a piece of shit like me. "-I'm glad I could be of help to you."

"You're so modest." She purred, looking away bashfully. "Spyra is very lucky to have you."

He bit his lower lip when it quivered.

"I-Is Palmet alright to be with his own devices?"

"I don't think that Ape has physically left the cubby since I put him in it." Ignitia frowned. "He even tried to embrace me."

"Yep, that's Palm'. Anyway, I'll walk the rest off." He shouldered one of the doors open before she could reach it, and together man and dragon went down the stairs and onto one of the walkways swiveling through the lush green grass.

Some passing students stopped or landed to watch the Fallen with interest. A couple who had been eating their lunch under the shade of a tree paused mid-bite for long enough that a slice of meat actually slid out from the bread the male was holding.

"If you do happen to return sooner, I will be in the main class wing organizing the new schedule dockets. Are you sure you'll be quite alright out there?" Ignitia touched his back with her wing.

"I'll be fine." He gave another flashed smile, face drooping depressively. "Let me fix my hobbling problem, and we'll discuss strategy. Spyra should start training as soon as possible if we're going to take the fight back to the enemy."

"I already have her schedule set up." Ignitia proudly beamed. "Take care, Fallen."

"You too."


{🐉}

It actually wasn't as grueling as he thought it was going to be.

Hell, plenty of people were staring. Actually, probably every single slob he passed stared. But staring was fine. He was used to people gawking like a bunch of stupid pigeons circling a tossed doughnut on the street. That shit had been around even before he came hurtling from the sky.

His eyes glanced the rooftops and clouds every once and a while, hoping to catch even a hint of purple. He was left wanting the whole time.

Ouch.

He hissed and adjusted the hem of his jumpsuit. The thing was a nightmare to have on with all the crude dressings keeping his skin together on his legs. A few blisters were just beginning to go away on his ankles from when Malefora had hit him with that fiery magic-blast back at Forlorn. Luckily, the potions and elixirs Taliopia had given him were doing at least somewhat of the same job one of his own injectors would've done, albeit slower.

That and people were all too willing to stay out of his way.

"Mommy, mommy! Look! An alien!"

The Fallen growled as he lumbered by, and the cute little hatchling cowered like a puppy, his gleeful expression swiping off his muzzle as he scampered over and hid behind his mother's paw.

She looked like she wanted to snap at him, but the older dragoness couldn't get by what he was. She was silent, staring at him with concern as he hobbled down the thinly crowded street and on his way. A family of Moles spread out like the waves before Moses when he approached.

It couldn't have been that he offended, he had just taken a damned bath.

But again, this was nothing new. There never was for him about being an untouchable.

Underdog as always…

Immortal Square was a chaotic mess. Here, the crowds were so thick, people actually didn't notice him until they were right on top of him.

By the twentieth surprised gasp he stopped giving a shit. There was a drake at one point who had been rushing through the masses and nearly walked right into him. The dragon saw him, shrieked like a crow that had landed anus-first on a bird-peg and barreled into a cluster of Mole basket-carriers.

The baskets all cracked open and disgorged their contents around the feet of several passersby. Unfortunately, this was a shipment from Beacon.

So all the baskets were filled with not-so-fresh fish.

The Fallen ignored the dreadful groans and shouts of angry victims who had gotten fish-guts on their boots. The smell was atrocious, though, and it followed him all the way to the foot of Castle Wyrm, the impressive structure towering overhead as he approached.

"For your sake, I hope your boss forwarded the memo." The Fallen growled when a pair of Mole guards appeared between him and the large, wooden, gold-barred doors leading inside the castle. "Yes, I'm an alien, no I'm not here to eat you. I have business, so let me inside."

"Are there any regulations on what to do with aliens asking entry?" He heard one Mole whisper to the other.

"Here's a regulation." The Fallen started fiddling with his jumpsuit hem. The Moles gawked as he worked his lower breaches downwards. "I have to piss like a race-horse, and if I don't get inside that castle and use the bathrooms I know you have in there, I just might have an accident on your sidewalk."

"The Fallen has access to the castle, you can let him pass!"

The Fallen turned around and blinked when the fat, puffy form of Councilor Asden wattled through some of the crowd towards him. The two Mole guards bowed and parted one of the large doors as the dragon neared.

"Hello there, Fallen, Councilor Asden, at your service! Care to walk inside with me?" The fat dragon smiled through rolls of flab on his snout as he drew close to the human. The Fallen held back an urge to pinch his nose when an unpleasant smell hit him square in the jaw.

Asden didn't necessarily smell outright like body-odor, but he had a sour aroma that was in likeness to… mayonnaise.

Ew.

"My pleasure." The Fallen forced a smile. "Councilor, we haven't been formally introduced."

"I had no idea!" Asden laughed, his plump folds jostling with his cackles as they both passed into a large county hall whose broad ceiling was decorated with giant, hanging heraldry banners and cauldron chandeliers. Asden's voice boomed around the stringently crowded chamber. Pairs of Mole soldiers and a handful of dragon Wings paused to watch the pair all around the expanse. Asden was either uncaring or oblivious. "You cut the council seats clean in half today! I think one half of the room despises you and the other half loves you. I'm on the loving half. But don't take that the wrong way, you're not my type! Ha!"

"That's good to know." The Fallen cringed.

"Truthfully, I admired how you stuck up for the female as such against the likes of Condor." Asden said his name was distaste, but was still smiling. He probably rarely had any other expression painted on all those fat rolls. He was like a draconic Santa Claus. Freakishly obese to the point of diabetes and happier than a mouse in a cheese wheel. "He's always the head of the more radical division of the seats. Most of us don't like him, and a few of us despise him. Politics don't leave a whole lot of room for personal perfection, but for god's sake, it isn't necessary to be such an ass, pardon my tongue. What about you? And be honest with me."

"I think he's a fucking asshole."

"HA! You're a riot! I have an extra sense for funny people. I knew I was right on the coin when I heard your little mother's-leg comment. Crass humor, sir, but well appreciated and deserved!" Asden bellowed, nearly scaring a passing Mole out of his armor. They reached the end of the chamber, and Asden paused before an intersection with four different halls leading off. "Anyway, think of my finding you today as a new fan passing along his best wishes. I can't say I've witnessed even a quarter of the things you described, but if you showed up with the Purple Dragon, I'm inclined to believe it. Most of it, anyway."

"Yeah." His heart felt heavy at the mention.

"Tell me, Fallen, what's your business in the castle? It's quite a large place here, and easy for newcomers to get lost. Maybe I could be a bit of a, oh…" Asden smiled widely. "-directory."

"I'm going to the medical wing."

"How'd you figure?" Asden poked one of his dressings and broke out in laughter. "Don't pick a bone with me, I'm just being humerus!"

Shoot me.

"Very funny." The Fallen grinned. "So, can you tell me where it is?"

"Up the western stairs, down one bend, through a pair of red doors on the right." Asden angled his fat chin. "You're visiting that injured soldier, right? Uhmm… Morn, Mournful, what was her name?"

"Morinth. And yes."

"Very good. Well, we'll have to have another of these jolly good chats." Asden held out a paw, and nearly crushed the Fallen's smaller hand when he grabbed and yanked it up and down. "By the way, despite my jocular attitude, I'm a veteran! And this city is my pride and joy! I welcome you with open wings! But just be aware, that the moment you endanger my people, well, I'll rip your arms off! Ha-ha! Ta-ta now."

The Fallen was left shellshocked as the fat councilor waddled off, his booming voice echoing joyously as he encountered someone else he recognized down a hall.

That had been sudden.

Gotta' respect the guy for prioritizing.

He shrugged, and followed Asden's directions. The stairs were hell, hobbling the whole way, he almost tripped two or three times. Somehow, the torture felt justified.

"Looks like we've encountered the- Falling –action of our tale, eh?"

"Fuck you, Conscience." He flipped Conscience off when his duplicate appeared leaning in a doorway down the hall. "I'm not in the mood."

"When is anyone in the mood to be told when they screwed up?" Conscience chuckled, following closely beside him with a jolly step. The Fallen sneered at his own face, grumbling when the latter smiled and waved like a child. "I always tell you to be more open about the whole promiscuity thing, but you never listen! You didn't listen with the last bunch either. Don't tell me you forgot what Nimbus said to you."

"Fall down a fjord and die in ice." –echoed in the back of his mind.

The Fallen sighed deeply, ignoring the concerned glances of a few dragon soldiers as he talked to what they saw as empty air. Conscience still paused to shoot them both a 'Wassup!' before catching back up with his host.

"Look, it's not all doom and gloom, sir. Really, every time you clean the plate, you leave it open for fresh meat and potatoes!"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Nothing I say to you will ever make you feel better. I can only help you cope. Life doesn't work that way. We can't just make our tics and triggers die." Conscience shook his head, sounding very formal. "But, alas, these latest appointments of ours are always so brief. I miss our prolonged talks."

"I don't, you dick."

"Think about this: the possibilities are all there if you can just find the rest of the containment pods scattered across this realm." Conscience reminded. "They must be on this landmass, Fallen. Where else could they be? Get down to exploring, with Spyra! You'll fix everything in the end. But all of that will be a lot easier with your gear."

The Fallen lost his patience, and whipped around.

"What do you want me to do, shoot her?! We don't do that unless they're willing! Did she sound willing to you?!"

The Mole orderly he'd been screaming at trembled, holding up a little stack of papers to hide his snout behind.

"…I-I didn't shoot anybody." He squeaked.

The Fallen's eyes lost their rage and he stepped back, glancing at all the dragons and Moles staring at him from around the hall. He coughed, uttered a small apology, and went on hobbling.

Damn it.

Damn it all to hell.

This shit can never just work out like I want it to.

.She'll be back.

Famous last words.

Dragons in similar attire to what he had seen Taliopia wearing watched him in awe and uncertainty as he traipsed through a more quiet section of the ornate castle. The air smelled sterile, and nothing but hushed conversations whispered out of some rooms.

"Excuse me?" The Fallen grunted as he hobbled over to a yellow-colored drake, another healer. The drake had wide eyes and gawked at the human as he approached. His jaw flapped, but no words came out. The Fallen quirked an eyelid and coughed. "…Yyeaaahhh, uhm, Morinth? Soldier brought in from the south?"

The drake's tail tip pointed for him through a nearby doorway, his eyes still glassy and glued to the human's face. The Fallen smiled briefly and hobbled past without another word.


{🐉}

The cell-like room wasn't too dissimilar to a hospital room from other realms he'd been to. It had a window overlooking Immortal Square outside and between the impossible architecture of the castle's larger, exterior structure.

A cot and a little wooden cart filled with salves and medical supplies gave view of a curvaceous, black dragoness that was sprawled out lazily on the prior, and a white-colored one who was seated on one of the guest stools lined by the cotside. Both turned to look at him as he entered.

Positivity.

He forced a genuine smile, despite his worse mood.

"Afternoon, ladie-"

An excited squeal deafened him in what could've passed as a sonic attack. He grunted when Taliopia wing-leaped across the room and hugged his chest, burying her face in his neck and nuzzling.

"Fallen!" She cried. "The one who saved my Morri-poo! You came!"

"Cheeky that, love, I think he's just here to get those nasty bandages off of himself." Morinth chuckled, wincing as she rolled over and preened her wings, her emerald eyes alight with… something as she gazed at him. "My knight in shhhiinninng arrmorrrr~…." She sang. "How are you?"

"Forget me, how are you feeling?" The Fallen winced as Taliopia excitedly slid off him, grabbing him around the wrist with her tail as she led him to a stool. He sat with a pained grumble, and Taliopia scrambled for the cart nearby.

"Let me get a few mixtures going! You'll be all better soon, Fallen! Leave it to me!" Taliopia snagged a bottle and started shaking it with a dopey smile. She squeaked when it slipped in her paws and almost shattered on the floor. "-Oo! …Sorry, I'm excited, and… and… yeah."

"She hasn't stopped lauding you since I woke up, with all these stories." Morinth chortled, settling down in the cot and nudging towards him until she was on the absolute edge. She smiled at him and put her jaw in her palm. "Looks like we both got our asses kicked. Cheeky that."

"Indeed." It hurt when he chuckled. And it felt wrong to enjoy the moment. "So, you?"

"I'm feeling much better than I'd be if you hadn't showed up. Most of what happened is a pretty big and nasty blur." Morinth hummed, watching Taliopia mix some vials together on the cart, glass clinking in the din of the room. "…We really did fight the Dark One herself, didn't we?"

"More or less."

"Pah! And people used to think back at school that I was a spy for her or something. Nobody stabby-wabs their own employees, at least no one reputable." Her mood sobered a little, and the half-Night dragon shielded an expression of unconformity. "…Was it really as bad as they were saying it was? A lot of blood, and… things hanging out and-"

Glass clinked loudly, and the cart squeaked. Both of them looked over and saw Taliopia bowing her head as she struggled to hold in a developing sob.

"-Morri'…" –She choked.

Morinth scooted with a few agonized whines to the end of the cot and opened her wings and arms. The healer cried quietly and buried herself in Morinth's breast, sniffling as she pet her and whispered encouragements.

"Your Morri-poo is fine, Tali', my doctoring 'ness." Morinth hummed, kissing her. She looked over Tali's wing at the Fallen. "That was the last of your magical healing salves, wasn't it?"

"Yes." He nodded. "You needed it more than I did."

"You just step back into my little sphere and immediately go for charming, eh?" Morinth hummed, her tail reaching over and brushing against his ankles. "I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing. When did the healers say you could leave?"

"Probably by tonight. The real problem was that I had lost a lot of blood and the salve you used hadn't completely worked out some significant head-trauma… luckily my doctorrrinnnggg 'nesssss was here to save me."

"N-No no, I didn't do the saving…" Taliopia sniffled, blushing as she looked at the Fallen. "I j-just tidied-up."

"Everyone at the dragonfly village was okay when we left? How about on the flight back home? I can't remember much, like I said…"

He regaled her with everything that had happened since her injury. The attack that had messed up his face, the journey over the sea, the introduction to the academy...

"Spyra was actually here before you." Morinth was chewing a pear-wedge from the cart as she talked with him.

"Oh." He blinked, nibbling on a strip of taffy. He wasn't really hungry. "…H-How was she? And when?"

"Don't you know? You're apparently sharing a room." She hummed. "Oh, I'm teasing. She was her usual peppy self. Though, the language on that 'ness' mouth, tch! She could singe off a virgin's earholes."

"Bad words are no good…" Taliopia mumbled as she rubbed an ointment down the Fallen's exposed thigh. His jumpsuit was peeled back in several places and mounds of discarded dressings were piled by the foot of his stool. "…You have n-nice physique, Fallen, and I mean it! I see a lot of people when I'm helping them heal, and-"

Taliopia shut herself up, turning rosier on her face than her own wings.

"Oh! Look, I missed a spot!" She jammed her ointment-covered palm into the small of his back, making him grunt with a tiny 'Ow' –crawling out of his lips. Morinth laughed.

Truly, it was a mood-raiser to see her so upbeat and well after the horror of what had happened. Morinth was as beaming and chipper as usual, snarkily exchanging play-names with Taliopia as the medic rubbed salves and poured potions on him. They talked for what felt like hours. He realized that throughout this whole adventure, he'd seldom had a moment to sit down and truly engage in prolonged conversation with either of them.

Morinth had had such a hard life, and yet here she was, recovering from literally being disemboweled, happily munching on pear slices from the little cart's food plate and kicking in hysterics when the Fallen told a joke.

Taliopia was much the same but in different ways. Morinth was more energetic where she was gentle. Her touch was like the kiss of a cloud. He could see why all of her patients had such higher opinions of her work. Taliopia was living her purpose as a healer. As she became more comfortable around him, he sometimes forgot she was working on him when he got lost in the conversation.

"The day was saved and I'm still here for my Tali'. I'd say it's all up-and-up and jolly good from here." Morinth laid back on the cot, sighing happily at him. "…Really, Fallen, you should be charging for these sorts of things. How story-book like! Being saved by an alien that fell from the sky, one might not believe it."

"Believe it. I didn't come this far to not see you all through with me, even your annoyingly brash commanding officer, Captain Hotplate." She laughed again, her wings flapping on the cot. Even Taliopia was muffling a giggle as she worked. "And besides: getting to your see your pretty faces is payment enough."

The Fallen sucked up his own lips.

Son of a bitch, not even a few hours after he'd just destroyed Spyra?

Was his addiction to draconic vagina so bad that his mouth would quip without him even realizing it? He knew the answer already, but to have it so palpably in his face…

"…Anyway, sorry, that was a bit much. Actually, about when Spyra showed up earlier, I…"

He realized that Morinth was no longer laughing. He looked up.

Morinth's snout was flushed to the point where she was almost colored like Taliopia's wing membranes. The dark dragoness said nothing, pawing at her nose and gazing at him over her claws with those brilliant emerald eyes.

He noticed Taliopia too had stopped dripping the vial salve she was holding on an arm-bruise, and had gone very silent behind him.

"…Uhm…" He uttered, glancing between them nervously. "…So… any good eateries in the city I should know about?"

Morinth made him jump when a silly cackle snuck out of her snout. The dragon looked timid, like she was sticking a taloned toe into a pool of water to test the temperature.

Speaking of toes…

He flinched when a warm set of dragon foot-pads spread over his knee. Morinth craned her leg over, pressing into him with an experimental angling of her head.

"…Soooooo~…" She sang, biting her thumb as she rocked the Fallen's leg on his heel. Back and forth, slowly. He gulped. "…All that cheap flattery was quite legitimate I see."

She glanced at Taliopia, nudging towards him with her eyes when she paused.

'It's okay!' –she mouthed.

The Fallen startled again when Taliopia's warm paws slid up his back and settled on his shoulders, her breath washing over the back of his neck.

"I didn't get hit back there." He specified like a moron.

"…Y-You smell real nice…" The medic nervously squeaked, taking another sniff as she doted on his skin. "…Really flowery soap… flowers are my favorite…"

"I could name a type of flower that's my favorite." He mumbled. He mentally slapped himself.

God damn it, brain! You animal.

…But that sweet smell of pheromones.

This wasn't exactly a big room. Two dragonesses? At the same time? Pluming forth such affectionate wafts of carnal intent?

Oh god.

"U-Uhm… i-if Tali' could finish up with the healing salves, I-I'll just be on my way…" The Fallen tried to stand up. He gasped when Taliopia of all dragons, planted her paws on his shoulders and actually shoved him back on his tush.

The medic growled.

When did Taliopia ever growl?

"…Before yesterday, me and Taliopia had been discussing some… things." Morinth said huskily, her other foot coming out and running down his shin. "…There's a lot that we've not quite sampled in our lives, as you can imagine. We've always kept to ourselves, in our own niche. If I hadn't ended up here, I think things would've been different earlier, but better late than never."

Taliopia's tail whipped out, and the door to the little room slammed shut. Morinth took her feet off him and slid down and onto the floor.

Oh god.

"How you went through all that trouble to help us isn't the only story Taliopia's told me about you." Morinth explained, her claws clicking on the stone floor as she trotted up to him, propping her forepaws on his knees and lifting herself to face-level. The Fallen stared back in silent awe. "…Something about you, whether it's…" She took his chin in her paw, moving his head about and examining it gently. "…you alien looks, or your scent, or touch. It just has us thinking, quite a bit."

"Me and Morinth won't tell anyone what I saw." Taliopia hummed, him feeling the warm, wet glance of her tongue sampling his neck. "…W-We were hoping-"

"-wanting." Morinth sang in correction, her tail coiling over his leg as the two dragonesses felt him up and groped him.

"-you t-to not tell anyone either…" The medic blushed, pressing the soft scales of her breast into his exposed back, a deep-seated rumble gathering inside her.

"Tell anyone what?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"If we knew just why Spyra is so caa-rraazzzeeyyy about youuuu~."

"H-How would you k-know that?" He began to twitch.

Dragoness pheromones.

Oh god.

He was quaking in his seat. Soft pawpads glancing over his skin, rotund, feminine dragon-chests pressing into his back and breast, thick and prehensile tails coiling over his legs…

…And holy hell, since when had Morinth's thighs looked so full? She hadn't always been like that, right?

"You'll see~." Morinth giggled, her tongue flicking over his lips. The Fallen froze. "…But first, we have to get that alien jump-suity thing off you~."

"M-Morinth…" Taliopia gasped, her paw wandering down the Fallen's arm. "…I-I can't-"

"So don't." Morinth winked.

Wat

The Fallen felt his wrist jerked back against his own volition. Before he knew what was happening, there was a wet squelch, and a distinct, moist warmth overcoming his fingers up to the knuckle.

He peered back at Taliopia, heard her moan, and saw what she was doing.

The barrier broke.

The stool tumbled away, Morinth yipped in surprise and Taliopia squealed.

The first thing to go airborne was the Fallen's jumpsuit, before both dragonesses were besieged by a naked man, leaping at them ferally from his place like an overeager puma, fire in his eyes and vigor in his crotch.

I can't even visit a hospital without flipping the 'tang switch on.


{🐉}


{Ace Combat 7 OST: Transfer Orders}


From this height, the fires almost looked manageable. Guardian Cyrila knew better, however. Oversight was burning in a way that only the engines of war could cause. Even if she and her kin were able to save Lilith's kingdom, she doubted much of the city could be recovered in the aftermath. The Dark Army had already secured a victory in assuring that the city would never recover.

Black pylons crawled up towards the sky in the distance, obscuring entire streets within Oversight's walls. The lick of fire was invisible at least, but its black breath made the heavens inky and tainted what were normally white clouds.

"They're almost past the first ridgeline, ma'am." Colcrus called from his gargoyle-like perch a few feet away. The white and bright blue Ice Dragon had his tail whipping excitedly as he angled his horned nose down and gazed hungrily at the masses of infantry far below. "I can see them! Elements of Urukal's unit, armored Orcs flanked by lesser detachments. I can already see snow black with their blood."

Cyrila refrained from reminding him to be patient. Dragons never learned to stop grabbing bees until one stung them.

"Rocks set!" Blizzren cried over the howl of the mountain winds. He and three other soldiers glanced and straddled among an organized rack of ice-wreathed boulders sealed in by conjured lips of glistening ice ridging before them like a steep ramp. The whole setup and its operators teetered dizzyingly off the very edge of the cliff face, threatening to tumble to the thousands of feet's worth of sharp-rocks below. "Waiting for your order."

"Excellent." Cyrila said blandly, edging a brow down at the festering masses between the great snow-capped peaks sealing Solemn Pass below. There had to be over a thousand of them. Detachment units advancing prematurely around the siege.

Terradora's forces would keep them from advancing down the eastern coast, but so far, it was up to Cyrila and her men to carry out a stubborn defense in the snowy mountains barring Oversight from the north. If the Dark Army got through, they would have a clear path through lower Avalar and potentially into the heartland of the Dragon Realms.

I think I prefer to deal with the snot-snouted and uncivilized youths over this, Cyrila mentally grumbled, crinkling her nose when she glanced at her forepaw and noticed all the ice rime and mud on her talons. She'd been deployed for days, and the whole 'Living in the Wilderness' deal wasn't sitting well with her own higher standard.

She was the Guardian of Ice after all. She was above this nonsense.

"It's for the morale." –She remembered her sister, Ignitia, saying to her. "Dragons are always inspired when their leaders are at the forefront, soaking up the glory? And arrowheading the charge? Actually, I couldn't think of a better place for you to be! It's perfect. It feeds to your… tastes, and acts as an advantage for us in the field. Please, Cyrila, think about the state of others before you decide."

She had said so much of that like it was supposed to be enticing.

Cyrila enjoyed it when people recognized her brilliance, but at the same time, being brilliant was a nirvana she wanted without becoming a martyr on top of it. Glory meant nothing if all the benefits stood in the wake of your corpse.

And besides, dying in the middle of nowhere was so… ungratifying. Though, at least her body would be beautiful as an icicle, just like her uncle's body was back in the Crystal Tombs of Chrysalis.

"The Ancestors have abandoned us. Look at this! The fires are spreading and cannot be stopped." Colcrus hopped between a few crags and landed beside her in the snow, gesturing to the view of Oversight with a white wing. When Cyrila didn't feed into his statements, the lithely built drake craned an eye- the one with the big claw-scar running across the brow –at her. "Maybe it's because they knew this was all avoidable."

"Or they're tired of the same old shit." Cyrila huffed. "You're wasting time, Colcrus. Oversight has burned before and it will burn again. We can at least stop the killing here, with a singular blow. It just has to be done right."

"It's a good thing they chose us then. The Fires couldn't do it, not with finesse." He grinned, eyes darting around the mountains. "Does overkill count?"

"Only if you want it to." Cyrila backed away from the cliff and crunched through the snow. "Do find me the messenger wingman, I wish to know what my sister is doing. Hopefully not creating another mess for me to clean up."

"Which one?" Colcrus followed after her. "Oh, you mean Volteera. I don't know, ma'am, you don't seem too concerned."

"Mm. Funny."

"I'm not missing the tumble, am I?"

"To be honest: yes, very likely."

"Then why can't we get Blizz' to do it?" He queried. "He's supposed to be the rearline, not any of the other guys."

"How many bundles of cold joy do we have waiting for our ugly friends down there exactly?" Cyrila bemusedly grinned.

"Fifteen. Why?"

"Do you really think you'll miss all fifteen if you start flying now?"

"Permission to speak freely?" He winced.

"Queens and Kings! With the leverage I've given you? Would you stop being a disorderly hatchling and get the hell over there already?"

"Yes ma'am." Colcrus dejectedly grumbled. His wings kicked and he flew off around one of the mountain peaks. Cyrila didn't spare the rhino-horned drake another look as she skirted the cliff's ribs towards the first rack.

She spread her purple wings and flew over a ridge to half her distance. Blizzren, a pale silver-scaled Ice drake, clambered down one of the boulders and used an ice-lip as a sled to land in front of her.

"Everything is in order." His rumbling voice etched through the blizzard's howl. He had a pair of piercing yellow eyes to contrast the near-white silver making his hide. They looked like little fireballs, peering at her through the snowy haze. "Where did you send Colcrus, ma'am? Is he not needed?"

"It's just a checkup." Cyrila chirped. "If I'm not holding Volteera's claw through the maze, no one will, especially Terradora and Lilith. The latter might even try burying her to feed those damned rose-bushes she adores so much."

"I've never seen a noble that obsessed with botany before." Blizzren gave a rare moment of personable musing. He was normally very stoic to the point of being more stone than the mountains his family called home. "Where I come from, the only green we ever saw were blue mountain flowers that grew in fissures and cracks. They only bloomed for three months every year. There were dragons who had grown old there and had never seen one."

"Illusive flowers?" Cyrila was only paying attention partially. Her gaze was fixated on several pre-planned spots lining the peaks. There was a rack there, another there, and another over there. Each of her Ice Dragon teams had a horn-bearer that would sound a note if something went wrong or the enemy was made aware too early. So far, the only things she could hear was the whisper of the cold wind and Blizzren's deep, raspy breathing. She snorted and glanced at him. "You're wheezing again, lieutenant."

"It's the altitude." Blizzren shrugged, flexing his wings and muscular neck. "It's not kind on my bones. It probably won't be trouble…"

"You're not a funny drake."

"Not in a commonplace way, ma'am, no." He chortled, calming and suddenly becoming much more hushed as he talked. "…Ma'am, what do you make of the messengers coming from Warfang? The Purple Dragon? And a warrior said to have dismantled an entire tribe of Apes?"

"Focus on your story right now, so you don't die." Cyrila paused. "But I believe the purple part, if you must know. Guardian Ignitia's closer to that than either of us. I expect when we win today, gloriously, we'll have an opportunity to fly back to the capital and seek truths in person."

"But if the Purple Dragon has come, doesn't that mean we've already won?"

Cyrila chuckled sourly.

"Oh, Blizzren, your great grandfathers said the same thing when Malefora walked through Immortal Square, and so too did mine when the fools tried to build Kar Tuum, on an airless rock-shelf." She said. "Now get on top of that rack and wait for my signal. And tell your secondary Wing to prepare for an assault. They're not going to appreciate us holding these ridges once we start dropping rocks on their heads."

"It is done." Blizzren flew off.

"Clear those!" Cyrila barked, angled her jaw for the ice-lip holding the rack in place. The squadmates atop the boulders scrambled to higher ledges and snowbanks. Cyrila waited for the last dragon to clear themselves before she opened her maw.

The cold, mountain air whistled sharply as a white ball of energy began to develop and swirl in the back of her throat, illuminating the interior of her mouth white and casting her own shape in shadowed contrast on the surrounding snow.

Down in the center of Solemn Pass, the narrow vein of snowy rocklands making the path was shifting with hundreds of hobbling monstrosities moving east. Lumbering Orcs bedecked in cold-rimed plate, wielding greatweapons were flanked by clambering bushels of tiny Grublins. A handful of towering, ten-foot-tall Trolls walked on all fours in the centers of the thicket rabble, filthy maws hanging ajar and drooling green slime into the snow.

Beasts.

Cyrila hadn't lived a day in her life without this army of pests being in the background, polluting everything. Her disdain for Orcs and Grublins was renowned, and her habit for freezing their bodies solid and smashing them into little glittering pebbles had earned her the moniker of 'Snowman Breaker' –in way too many frontal units. Her heart was probably the coldest in the realms, and even she was made sick by their odious presence.

Her tail whipped its purple-tipped blade and the ball of cold in her mouth reached a crescendo in size and glow. The moment the first domino fell, the other units had orders to follow suit. This all depended on her go-ahead, and she didn't plan on disappointing.

The ball of energy produced a seismic Crack~! –that quivered the very air and dislodged snow from some rime ridges nearby. The ice-lip keeping the rack sealed began to whittle away and turn into runoff water down the cliff face.

"Give the signal." Cyrila heaved, cutting off the magic and waving her forepaw. Across the surrounding peaks, fourteen other little white lights appeared in the far distance as the other teams began to melt their ice-gates too. "Once the pass is blocked, all of you will follow me on the first dive. We're freezing targets, Blizzren's Wing is on smashing duty. We work in shifts until this entire phalanx are a bunch of ice-chips for thirsty snow-hares to lap up."

The droning call of a warhorn eerily warbled out over the wind and peaks. Cyrila turned around and tried to pinpoint which of the teams had given the signal. Down below, the Orcs were trundling to a stop, beady little red eyes raised and darting around the mountains.

She wondered for a second if they actually were surprised.

Trying to use Solemn Pass to go around Oversight.

Did they think an ambush wasn't planned?

"There!" One of her soldiers called, pointing a talon at the gray sky. "Those aren't dragons!"

No, indeed they weren't. The Guardian growled when she picked out a cluster of worm-thin shapes zipping out of the masses of Dark ground soldiers and punching through the cold air upwards. They undulated like serpents and caught the mountain breeze under crimson, ragged flaps adorning their narrow ribs in flares. A whole group of them were zeroing in on one of her team rack positions.

Wyverns.

Cyrila opened her mouth to start bellowing orders, but then Ignitia's words echoed in her mind.

Morale.

She clenched her fangs and huffed, winking a snowflake from her eye.

"We knew they'd try that, it's just sooner than anticipated. Scramble a repellent team!"

She couldn't count how many Wyverns there were, the distance was too great, and the weather too poor for even her draconic eyesight to pluck out for her. The wind kicked and five soldiers whisked off the cliff face and dove to meet the enemy formation with their tails trailing loosely behind them. They brandished their teeth, cold breaths and a variety of claw and tail tip-mounted blades. Cyrila spread her wings on instinct, wishing to join them.

But she couldn't.

She had to protect the racks on this side of the pass.

Another horn drawled into the air, and then another. The rumble of thunder echoed across the pass and the first ice-lips melted, sending their payloads tumbling in disorganized bands down the sides of the cliffs.

Cyrila bore her teeth as the first boulders bounced like rubber balls down the peaks and impacted with devastating effect into the flanks and heart of the battalions centering the pass. Each rock created a coning blast of snow-dust and dirt. Bodies looked like tiny specks flying tens of feet. Formations of Orc infantry knocked off their own heels looked like minuscule rows of silvery dominoes toppling in a successive, freakishly beautiful metallic wave.

Bmmm~! –each boulder would rumble out when it hit the earth. The sky was gray enough that someone far away could easily confuse it with actual thunder.

Cyrila's ice-ridge was the next to go. She consciously wandered to the side as the colossal stones rolled and broke off. More booms of impact and the far off screams of dying beasts.

"They're right on top of us!" –Someone on the upper ridge cried.

There was an ear-piercing shriek that penetrated the blizzard gusts effortlessly, and it was right over Cyrila's head.

The Ice Guardian was already springing into motion by the time she brought her maw up to counter the attack, but it was too late.

A crimson, reptilian horror zipped out of the gray and slammed into her breast like a cannonball. The blow sent them both tumbling through the snow, ending with Cyrila shoved into a drift, one eye blinded with slush and her wings painfully bent underneath her curvaceous frame.

The Wyvern straddling her belly blinked a pair mismatched-size red eyes at her and shrieked like a bat, its ugly, goblinoid face peeling open to reveal a hideously toothed maw running green with morose spittle.

Cyrila shrieked back at it, her draconic scream drowning under the cold blast of deathly wind. A cone of white exploded from her mouth and washed over the Wyvern as she kicked it in the gut and vaulted it off her.

The Wyvern's howls of pain were silenced as her powerful Mana-magicks laced through its body and froze its blood solid. Mid-air, the monster crunched and crinkled, falling back down to earth in an eternally stuck position of recoil and totally encrusted in a conjured blanket of translucent ice.

Cyrila jumped to her paws and bit into the monster's frozen tail, bringing the Wyvernsicle in a wide, swinging arc and crashing it into the face of another of its kin diving at her flank. The body shattered like glass and sent the attacker flipping off the side of the cliff, shards of ice trailing gore from where they impaled its face and throat like shrapnel.

"Hold them!" She barked, spitting her victim's tail tip from her mouth as she landed in the snow.

The other soldiers in the Wing engaged with ferocity the crimson mockeries of cousins the Wyverns were to them. A dragon jumped off a drift rise and collided with one of the beasts breast-first, the two of them buckled into a clawing, snarling and spitting ball as they flew off the mountainside and towards the pass valley below.

A Wyvern was bathed in frost-breath from a drake passing directly overhead. It froze solid and careened the rest of its intended path before slamming into a cliff face and exploding like some kind of icy bomb.

Cyrila was always of the belief of her own end of the eternal bigotry between her kind, the Ices and the Fire Dragons.

Ice was mightiest. Even over flame. Watching frozen Wyvern corpses break into clouds of debris like cheap pottery against bricks was a glorious thing to witness as proof.

More boulders slipped from their racks as the rest of her teams did their jobs before taking off to engage the flights of Wyverns. In the pass below, the staccato rumbles of deep quakes and the shrill screams of wounded and dying were evident.

One always had to hope enough of the plan would work when the time came for the situation to be manageable. So far, luck was smiling on them.

Mostly, anyway.

Cyrila brought a Wyvern into the side of a drift and pinned it with her forepaws. It shrieked and writhed, tearing at her with its teeth and little barbed claws on the tips of its wingflares. She snapped her jaws forward like a striking snake and caught it around the throat. She bit down and sawed her teeth into the scaly flesh like she was trying to grind down a loaf of bread into two halves.

The Wyvern screamed until blood clotted its mouth and she dug deep enough to hit vertebrae. Cyrila felt a crunch before she tore back and upwards, sending the severed head and upper neck flipping away, projected on a spewing fountain of gore.

Her dragons were holding a decent line, even if it was wide and invisible. She spotted one or two casualties for every batch of Wyverns that died, however.

Such was the nature of the Dark Army's soldiers. Their advantage came from numbers, not quality. Each Wyvern was designed to die in groups of ten for every dragon its assigned mob killed.

A piercing scream louder than anything either side could muster echoed out from above in a shrill dive. Cyrila rolled off the body beneath her, grinding her fangs as the terrible noise hurt her hearing-holes. It felt like someone was driving a knife into her head.

She looked up and gawked as blood and snow dripped from her face.

"Long time no-see, Cyrila~! Let me embrace you~!"

-Then, Cynder collided with her in a deft swoop.

The Ice Guardian had the wind knocked out of her with a steamed- 'Oof-!' -. She craned limply over Cynder's black shoulder as the Cloudripper lowered her arc and torpedoed for the face of a mountain ridge.

Cyrila was helpless as she tried to twist in the powerful black dragon's grip, to bring her tailblade around and aim for Cynder's belly.

Bmmmmmkk~!

-Her back and wings bore the brunt of the impact as Cynder smashed her bodily into a spanning face of icy rock.

"Apologies for my tardiness." Cynder breathed cheekily, riding Cyrila down the tumbling roll of debris and ice like she was a sled. "I had to make some reserved plans before I went out today. I hope I haven't missed much…"

Cyrila snarled as they hit the end of the slide. Her wings lashed and a blast of cold breath shot into Cynder's face, blinding her as she roared. The Guardian gripped her just above the choker brace and crashed her other claw in a fist across Cynder's jaw, knocking her back in a painfully angled arc.

Her icy tail snared Cynder's neck and yanked the black dragoness off to send her rolling through a loose drift in the snow.

Cyrila righted herself and hunched over, spitting a wad of congealing blood into the puffy white as she snarled.

"Cynder!"

"You still haven't lost that hook." Cynder wriggled her mandible as she stood. "But, you certainly haven't gained as much weight as Ignitia has. Ice Dragons really do skirt their diets as the stories regale."

"Shut up, Cynder. We've already won." Cyrila nodded briefly to the valley behind her. "Solemn Pass is sealed and Urukal's army is crushed."

"I don't give a fuck about Urukal or his miscreant henchmen." Cynder laughed pleasantly. "I'm here because I want you, you silly little Guardian…"

"Come and get me then."

Black Shadow fire washed over Cyrila in a singeing, moaning tornado from Cynder's maw. The cone of onyx flames broke when a ball of solid ice catapulted through the haze and shattered in Cynder's face. Cyrila pounced from what was the interior of the sphere and tackled her into the snow.

Cynder roared as her enemy bit deeply into her neck, trails of blood running down from Cyrila's fangs as she ground her jaw. Cynder's tailblade glinted and curved between their bellies, lashing west and east and opening both of Cyrila's knees with spatters of gore. The Ice Guardian unclamped from her neck in a pained scream, her own blood and Cyrila's spit flecking in Cynder's face.

"I should've done this years ago." Cynder lapped up blood on her chops and brought her wing-blades around. "It took a man from a meteor to wake me up."

Cyrila howled as the twin blades hooked the joints of where her wings met her scapulas. Cynder heaved and smashed the Guardian into the snow below her.

"Let me see that pretty face of yours, Cyrila, I've been meaning to fix it for you."

Cynder's claws clapped over her bleeding shoulders and yanked the Guardian up. She brought Cyrila around and chucked her face-first into a cliff sprawl.

Crunch~! –Cyrila's cheekbone snapped and she became blinded in one eye as blood ran like a river from a gash in her brow. She collapsed into the rocks and snow in a heap. Cynder darted over and was on top of her again in a second. The Cloudripper gripped a horn and tugged her victim back onto her hinds, earning a pained shriek from Cyrila that rebounded across the peaks.

"I know it doesn't even stink like it: but believe me, I'm not here for your pleasant company. I'm not even here to fight you." Cynder grinned manically as she played with Cyrila's teetering form like it was a giant, poseable ragdoll.

Martyrdom.

Morale.

Cyrila wished she wasn't about to die just so she could make it back to the academy and slap Ignitia in the face.

"But don't get me wrong, putting you in your place has been, and always will be a dream, you cunt."

Cynder bellowed at the top of her lungs and headbutted her between the eyes. Scales cracked and scarlet rivulets of liquid trailed through the air like tossed serpents. Cyrila flipped once, twice, and then landed on a lower snow-plateau with a thunderous crash.

For her, the world turned dark.

For her attacker, things were just a bit brighter.

"Lady Cyrila!"

Cynder growled, peering through the blood running past her eyes at a pale-colored Ice Dragon with a rhinoceros-like horn protruding from the tip of his snout. He bounded elegantly over a few rifts and leapt at her to keep her away from Cyrila's prone form.

Touching.

She preened on her hinds and let Colcrus land in the snow in front of her. She batted him across the face with a painful slash, cracked a rib with a knuckled blow to the torso, and sent him careening away from her with a swat of her wing. Colcrus sailed into a hill and vanished in a plume of dust.

It doesn't even take effort sometimes.

"This place is too noisy for what I need you to do." Cynder lamented, landing beside Cyrila's crumpled form. She bit her on the scruff of her finned neck and dragged the defeated Guardian out of the snow. "Come wshh me. We hash wovk th doo."

With immense effort, Cynder flapped her wings until she slowly peeled Cyrila from the mountainside and began to fly off with her, dangling and bobbing in the wind like a corpse.

Just the faintest hint of breath and the ability to sense her heartbeat told Cynder she was still alive.

And that was perfect.

She ignored a cluster of Wyverns as they flew past and into the developing blizzard obscuring the aerial battle from her sight. A few dragons witnessed their leader being carried away, but stubborn Wyvern attackers prevented them from making ground fast enough to intercept her kidnapper.

By the time the Warfangian forces withdrew, Cynder and Cyrila were long gone.


{🐉}