The haziness of the Ancestors' will perplexed those who wouldn't listen, the deviants from their beaten-down path whose minds drifted off to hubris. The day when the true cleansing began was marked red. Even the deviants had the chance to repent moments away from retribution.
A book slipped off the shelf as if moved by an ethereal string, tugged at by the claws of the Ancestors themselves. It was as heavy as dusty hardcover tomes could get, yet the noise it made when it fell flat on the marble floor was the equivalent of a dismal choir performing its most twisted, blood-chilling cacophony. The din of ominous whispers chimed as the book shook and revealed all its pages, the screams of agony coming from within its disturbing representation of souls no longer wandering the world of the living.
The ruffling of stained, aging pages halted abruptly at the latest addition to this ever-growing collection of grotesque imagery. A single name, with no description, no complimentary picture of some wicked death, scribbled harshly on the page, which wrinkled and blackened at the edges. It was merely just a name
Malefor
The book fiercely shut as if containing unspeakable wrath and remained still, humming a low tune on the floor. Only the living would suffer from the echoed of the dead.
A few meek thumps broke the serenity of verdure all around him. It was only his tail wavering up and down vividly, a sign that it had stayed unmoved for quite some time. He barely recalled why he was in such comfort, stolidly taking in his surroundings.
There was no logical reasoning that would explain the absurdity of this situation. It was clearly beyond this world. He was laying on a green pasture with wavering stars all around him. The sky was fragmented as if the Ancestors misplaced a few pieces of the intricate puzzle that were the atmosphere. Despite the cool breeze, nothing helped his increasing fear of the unknown. There was nothing vibrant and relieving to the Dragon Realms that extended beyond him. It was a doleful scenery.
A scenery he could not take his eyes off, it was his creation after all. Malefor's plan may have not been realized to its true cataclysmic potential, but his influence wasn't all that containable. It seeped through the cracks of a wasted world, that he held together in his own paws.
Maybe Malefor had no part in this unsavory result. It was he, Spyro, who had the final say in the shaping of the Realms. Could he truly blame it on a dead dragon? A despicable one, but dead nonetheless.
A brief examination of his immediate surroundings proved that during his last-ditch attempt to undo all the damage, the earth had elevated his broken body to the surface. And what a broken body it was… He deducted all of that from the position he woke up in, in pain, withering.
Spyro moved one front leg, instantaneously all the muscles needed to perform the most basic of movements stiffened, aching and sending acute jabs to his chest and shoulders. The paw itself was twisted at the joint, prompting him to roll to his back and avoid crushing it any further.
As soon as he set the rest of his body into motion, that's when the true suffering began. His limbs flailed, swollen and shattered. Up until that point, he had his teeth gritted to the point his gums were pierced. A moment of cold realization allowed him to only listen to his shallow respirations and frantic heartbeats.
Spyro stared to his left, then to his right, his neck cranking with every turn, like a rusty periscope. Through all his torment, he managed to scan the area on all fronts, no signs of life, no signs of her.
He threw his head back, releasing the single-most agonizing scream, it contained all of his pent-up guilt, fear, and fury that he had never vented during this unjust war. The cry left him hoarse, blood splattered from his maw and over his snout, that was never a good sign. The purple hero cared little about who heard him, finally free of any chains, he had nothing to lose.
He dared not turn on his side, for fear of seeing his guts spill out from the large gash on his stomach, he wasn't far from vomiting them either. The iron taste of blood and scent rotting cracked scales caused his stomach to pile up in his throat. Not that he had anything else but innards to puke, he was late to the dinner table for about three years.
All the adrenaline from the race against time had abandoned his body, all the mana reserves depleted and well-wasted. He had done his part and was nothing but a sack of flesh, ripe for the taking by any hungry wild beast of Malefor's that would still roam these gloomy lands.
It was a wicked irony. After his otherworldly stunt, all that was lost was the thing he had feelings about, he had freed her from Malefor only to lose her in his own power-trip to save the day. He could imagine the Ancestors, whoever they were, pointing claws at him from the sky and laughing. It felt blasphemous to even think against the beliefs his mentor had taught him, but it's not like the Ancestors spared him either.
Jerks…
Was it really like him to blame some obscure entities that may even be fantasy? He was still high on the drug of unimaginable power, even in this downtrodden state. Had a single drop of mana remained in his veins, he would already be redoing all of this just to see if he could save one more person.
Instead, all he was useful for now, was laying in his own puddle of tears and blood, pondering why there weren't any dark minions in sight yet. He was finally slipping away, allowing the wounds to loosen up and his blood to flow freely. It was excruciating, no one around to provide a helping paw or deliver the finishing blow at least. He was truly forgotten in every sense of the word.
His mind begged him to go back to sleep. Why had he woken up in the first place, was the pending mystery. Just to be put through one last session of torture before the inevitable… There was nothing to see or be scared of, it was him and his thoughts.
He'd be ashamed if she saw him like that if she was watching right now! He took in account that possibility, unaware of how death worked yet and tried to put on his best face, struggling to keep his shallow breathing steady and mitigate his painful shrieks to whimpers. A silent and tacky exit for a dignified hero.
If only that clicking noise would stop.
He squirmed in place briefly, wondering if his death could've been any slower. He could barely make out the chatted scales on his rear and back, courtesy of the scorching fires at the center of the world. The continuous flow of blood from his mouth was proof of internal bleeding. The pain was concentrated on his chest and belly. That damned clicking was nearing him.
It's not coming from my head?
His hearing was way too keen to mistake an actual living being for illusion. He clawed at the grass patiently, finding therapy in stroking the glass blades with his chipped claws. The approaching menace neared him. Whoever they were, no matter their intentions, they'd find no resistance from him. He was way past that tiresome game of evading anything fate threw at him.
The rustling of leaves sounded closer, he lost track of all direction, his brain was dizzy from all the blood loss. Clearly, the thing that was out for him moved swiftly, like the occasional thunder that decorated the purple and grey sky.
With newfound vigor, the instinct of survival kicked in and motivated his few functional muscles. He wasn't fit for combat, yet could more or less perform a few pathetic maneuvers on the ground to spare himself from a gruesome end. It was astonishing that despite him letting go, his body, hardened as it was, still reacted to any potential harm. Legs scrambled to push him away from the source of incoming danger, his shallow breaths picked up again.
Any sort of pneumatic strength he had, he focused it on a silent prayer for Cynder.
Please give her the life she deserves…
The figure emerged from the treeline in a blur, escaping Spyro's sight in an instant. He couldn't keep up with it in his hazy state. The cursed creature probably waited for him to pass out first, it could smell his helplessness like any formidable predator. In retrospect, he couldn't smell anything past his own fear.
In those tense few moments, his last ones presumably, he had traveled no more than a few inches by crawling along the ground, leaving a trail of blood and cracked scales peeling off him as he grinded his back against volcanic stones. There wouldn't be much to recover from the despondent dragon if he kept this up.
He heard a mad dash headed straight to him, the final push. He focused all his will into forming the last memory of Cynder, her picturesque form along with one of her brief smiles. He wanted that to be the last image he would carry with him to the afterlife, assuming that's where he was meant to be. What if he was judged based on his scale color? What if there was only blackness? All that was unimportant.
The only thing that he knew was to hold on to his love tightly.
He closed his eyes, his breathing came to a standstill.
He waited for a moment.
C'mon! Do it already!
After the tormenting silence got to him, he dared open his eyes to half slits, barely making out the form looming above him. At least it was something and not his imagination, that would mean his mind was already tainted and hopeless.
Spyro had encountered such creatures before, it was, to his surprise, a deer. He had never been close to one before, they would run off long before he spotted them. The maple colored critter paced around the still, bleeding predator and whined. It eyes him with beady black eyes.
Those are a common peasant's dish according to Cyril, venison feeds the masses.
It seemed very serene up-close and carefree, too much in fact. It didn't seem to account so much for its own well-being seeing as it was standing next to him. He had never had venison before, so he wouldn't know any better on how to hunt, skin and cook them.
Maybe even the deer pitied him if it had a soul, to begin with. In his state, even the weakest of prey wouldn't mind stepping over him. He couldn't believe he cowered before it seconds ago. Now he was definitely sure about his theory that the Ancestors were toying with him.
From the multitude of enemies he had faced, even Malefor himself, none came close to instilling such fear and send him into a catatonic state in anticipation of doom, except this clueless deer.
Perhaps it was the fact that in any other case he had a fighting chance, now he had a deathwish. He cursed through hollow rasps for his cowardice and resumed his painstaking attempts to lift his limbs, extracting more and more grief and unnatural cracking sounds from them.
"Cy… Cyn… Bring h-her…"
He extended his bloody paw up, the deer next to him perked its ears up and tilted its head, curious about the dragon's antics. Spyro ignored its fluffy company.
No more tears to shed, no more blood to spill. His scales were unrecognizable from pallor. That last scare only served as a testament that there was no one there for him, he was well and truly alone, as his nemesis had predicted.
The deer saw him doze off into slumber and casually hopped over him, nosily sniffing his neck. The repulsive, pungent smell of death sent the little animal away. And before he knew it, the only sign of life in this new world he shaped was gone, not before it completely humiliated and dumped him to the side.
To Convexity with you!
His wings, mostly tattered and unfit for flight, with the core skeleton, splintered and bent flapped awkwardly as he struggled to lift his upper body and rest against the only form of luxury he had earned in some time, a perfectly comfortable albeit slightly prickly rock to lay upon. The sturdy mix of cold magma and volcanic ash was better than being sprawled on the muddy ground.
His grunts were soon muffled by the canter of hooves on the distance once again. It was intriguing how one deer could cause such a ruckus. His downcast eyes focused on the incoming surprise, it was not one, not two, but six of them galloping towards him, a faint glow in their mouths.
The critters pranced over around him, each one setting a tiny stone on the ground beside him, then nudging them with their snouts. He could have sworn they were humbled by his presence, by how low they hung their heads around him.
He eyed the colorful stones, his tongue panted vividly.
Healing gems!
With a greedy paw, he snatched one of them right away, prompting them all to back up and circle him. The broken paw sent a jolt of anguish up his leg, and he retraced his steps.
I should be more careful.
His victory was short-lived. If the fauna of this land had gone out of its way to save him, then where was Cynder? He stared at one of the creatures which was busy grooming its stubby, fluffy tail. It almost felt… Wrong to accept the gift now.
Too late sadly, as soon as the gem came in contact with his paw, it dissipated into swirling particles, the gem's magic was focused on the large life-threatening wound on his belly, allowing him to take a breather. The gut-wrenching feeling of feeling your innards shift inside you was a first for him. His spine shivered and he growled, spasming and coughing blood all over.
This caused me more pain than I thought.
Gone were the reinvigorating effects of healing gems, that was a serious gash and the suffering was unavoidable. He bought himself more time.
Amongst the dropped gems the deer tossed another trinket to his side. He inched his bloody claw to it and was partially stunned when the timely lighting in the sky blinded him. His gasp startled the fearful deer. In his claw was Cynder's bracelet. One of the two she wore through their entire journey.
Another gem in his paw, this time the broken bones were affected. With a jerk, he felt them rearranging themselves, his ribs set back into place was way too much for the poor dragon to handle and he shrieked again. Tears of hope streaked down his cheeks, as the bracelet was held tight in his paw. He could make out faint yells in the distance. The deer, afraid of his intimidating demeanor fled. His vision was blurry and his body felt anything but rejuvenated.
He slipped across the rock, dropping with an unceremonious thump to the grass. A sly smile with crusty blood all around it formed on his lips. The last thing he could make out in the distance was a black shadow sprinting towards him. He blinked, it was gone. He blinked again drowsily.
Darkness ensued after, silent sobs pierced him. All those years he had been chasing hope.
Now hope found him.
Hey guys! This is probably the sappiest read I've put out so far, but it is a joy to be back and writing for my fav purple boy (I love torturing him). This is an entry for a writing-challenge over at our Spyro Fanfiction Discord (inv link in my profile). We all decided to write our own stories about Spyro or Cynder with the general theme being "Separation". I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
On another side note, you may have noticed my main fic, The Link To Connect Them All, is poofed. Don't fret! It may be gone, but I plan on rebooting the story into a much better, less convoluted, digestible plot with more focus on my OC, Zephyr!
Stick around for more!