A/N: Yeah, it's been ages and I suck. Thanks very much to those who have left feedback.
--
It was his nightmare, for Kitt.
It started on the battlefield, as he reflected upon what they had lost. He heard Myrtin's voice inside his head, calling him by name. It surprised him; for all the work they had put into refining this method of communication, the synchrony they had achieved as a result had meant they were far more comfortable without words. "She…wants to speak with you. Hurry."
He dreaded what he would see, and he was correct; Andraste was deathly pale, blood pooling inside her mouth and staining her chin. Another killing he had no wish to witness.
"The priests spoke of the network," she managed. She reached out for his sleeve with her left hand, able only to scrape it. "My…most of my powers are lost now."
He had taken from Armeggaddon, and yet had not regained what was hers. Stupid, he told himself, fool demanding revenge at all costs.
"Andra, you should…rest," Myrtin said, kneeling beside the rough bed, her face turning the blotchy shade that meant she was trying to keep back tears. He put a hand on her shoulder, for whatever comfort that offered.
"No," she said. "I still have enough of it in me. I need you to take me there, Tieran. Let it begin."
"Let what begin?" Utan said. "She has done enough for your cause, Dragon Booster."
"The return of the gold," said Silrillion, entering the tent; her robes were flawlessly arranged, dark red and immaculate. The perfect Dragon Priestess, her tone steady and commanding even now. "For all she is—was—my daughter, she knows her duty nonetheless."
It was rare the old woman expressed her kinship to the Fire Booster; Tieran supposed it was yet another indication of the desperate situation.
"Thank you," Andraste said. "Take me there."
She gave no final words to Myrtin or Utan as he mag-lifted her as gently as he could from there, and said nothing as they travelled underground to the nearest nexus.
The ground was dead around them, pale gold disappearing into brown—not black—earth, like the spines of long-dead giants. They laid her on a simple blanket next to one of the largest, and watched her reach out to it with the still-bleeding stump of her hand to it. He moved to help her, but Silrillion placed a firm hand on his arm.
"She will start the balancing," the priestess said, and with him stepped back to watch.
"Unleash the flame," Andraste said slowly, and though she lacked her amulet the power still seemed to encompass her. Red-eyed, she raised the stump to the gold in the walls, and then it was over.
He blinked; red light had seemed to devour him for that instant, passing from empty shell to faded network. And yet the spines of the network seemed as faded as before, and what had once been Andraste lay stiff. No peaceful expression had come to her at the last; her eyes were still open, and she still looked as determined as in the middle of a battle.
He turned away, sickened.
"It is done." Silrillion touched a hand to the golden draconium, and he jumped back as red flowed through it suddenly.
"Then it is…true," he said.
"The sacrifice was required," she told him. "It ought to have been saved to forge a peace rather than to continue a war. But needs must."
"Then can we not all put our powers to it, now, and end the need for battle?" He wheeled on the dry earth, punching a fist into dirt which yielded for him.
"You would have drained yourselves for nothing; the war would only continue," she said. "You must defeat the Shadow Booster, and have him agree to place his powers to this."
He shook his head. "Impossible. You have betrayed her, Silrillion." He turned away and began to leave, unwilling to face her. How could he stand and tell Myrtin this meaninglessness?
"I cared for her, in my way," she said, though he did not turn back. "I sent her to the best schools I could, and she repaid me by running away to join the Red Army. She swore that she would only return once the prophecies were fulfilled, if ever. I was right in the end, of course."
Her voice continued to carry in the air as he walked to where the moon's light reached the underground caverns, moving back towards the fresh air.
"She was trained to keep her oaths. I do not regret that. We did not trouble to forgive each other, and our relationship was most serviceable. We both kept our oaths…"
He left her still talking and rode silently on Ceph back to the camp, exhausted.
And then he remembered whom he cared for, and that Kitt was alive.
--
She watched the gear forming under his hands, green-blue and supple, polished in golden sheen that grew brighter every second.
It reminded her of the days he'd spent figuring out how his amulet worked, and Kitt walked to him to get a closer look. It was fascinating to watch, really, his long hands moving over it with a grace he did not normally display.
Parmon looked up and saw her standing there; his hands slipped slightly, and he hurriedly bent down towards it to fix the error. She waited patiently for him to finish.
"I would appreciate it if you refrained from walking up so suddenly," he said, a trifle tetchily.
"Never mind that," she said, crossing the distance between them in swift strides. "I wanted to talk to you. About…the way things have changed."
He looked confused for a moment, and then shook his head. "We brought back the gold dragons, like we always wanted," he said.
"And saved the city?" she asked.
"Yes, and saved the city. Don't you remember?"
"I remember fighting," she said. She touched his arm. "I remember you. Saying something. About fiery hair."
He looked still more puzzled. "Lance? Mortis?"
"Not them." She took a step away from him. "I guess I just wanted to know if you were happy. If you like gold more than green."
"I'm Artha's friend," he said.
"And I care for him," she returned swiftly. "I dream of gold. So much of it. Like an endless circle."
--
He was bloody observing.
THE CITY HAS GROWN.
Mid City, plummeting past the familiar racing tracks, inactive for the time being.
NO DOUBT YOUR DRAGON SLAVERY WAS OF ASSISTANCE. WAS THIS WHAT I FOUGHT FOR, SERF?
Work Town. Factories punching out their neverending labour. He remembered the translator's shack here, briefly, and cursed the day he'd encountered the grave.
THE MACHINES MAY BE USEFUL, IF I MUST WAGE WAR AS KING.
Precinct, passed all too quickly, the blue flashing by them in an instant. Decepshun's roar, continuing high-pitched in the air.
IT HAS CERTAINLY GROWN SINCE I WAS LAST PRESENT.
Shadow City, darkness whistling around them. He thought he saw pale faces looking up in shock as they passed through.
PEACE, MY ANTOX.
Down City, houses pressed closely together and his own Crew headquarters in the distance. Decepshun's voice ceasing, replaced by the air crying around them.
There's only Old City after this! We're going to die
And then there were the ancient temple-tops of Old City, and a dark cavern below them.
I SAID SILENCE, SLAVE.
The darkness swallowed them.
--
Lance stared out of the window, paper-white.
"You saved my life," Artha said to him. "You saved me, okay?"
"But I killed Moordryd!"
"It wasn't your fault," he said. "Listen to me. You did exactly what you needed to. It's okay. It's okay."
He wrapped his arms around his brother, somewhat awkwardly with the armour in his way.
"He—" Lance lunged for the window as though about to throw himself from it in a desperate attempt at rescue, but his brother kept hold of him.
"You have to stop this," Artha said. "There's nothing you can do. Stay still. It's okay."
"Poor boy." Sentrus, rising from the wreckage like a pale ghost. "The younger Paynn. I had no idea he was so desperate for an Academy position."
"Yeah, well," Artha said. "He was always cheating. So I've heard," he added hastily.
"It wasn't him!" Lance said loudly. "The Shadow Booster made him get possessed!"
"He was the Shadow Booster's friend, Lance," Artha said. "You know we've seen them work together before."
"That doesn't matter!"
Kitt shook her head at Artha. "Never mind, kid," she said. "Let's get you home."
Sentrus stared at her, grey eyes widening. "Fire Booster," she said finally, and a susurrating sigh went through the Academy racers who stood around them, like the release of breath held for centuries.
She knelt. The remainder of the Academy followed her, in reverence to the Boosters, as Artha and Kitt stared at each other in shock.
And then Mortis broke the silence. "Have you completed your mission?" he asked, his face suddenly on the screen.
"Yeah," Artha said. "He kind of went out the window…"
"I felt the power," Mortis said. "Follow him down. I fear what may have happened."
"He's dead!" Lance cried.
Mortis shook his head. "The ancient warrior I sensed would not be killed so easily. Follow him, Dragon Booster. For what may be all our sakes."
Artha looked down at Lance, and then at Parm and Kitt. "Let's go."
--
His elbows alternately scraped against stone. He didn't want to think of how Decepshun would be wounded by this. The dark felt oppressive by itself, suffocating him, and then green light burst out beneath Decepshun's feet and loose earth rattled around them.
The Spirit Booster was opening up tunnels, he realised. Tunnels that slowed them in the fall.
Tunnels which led to…what?
Another ancient tool of destruction, obviously. Scales—no, schit. Schit. He just hoped this one wouldn't cause him as much trauma.
--
Mortis had set up a rough map for them on their screens, and they raced down ramps towards the Old City.
"My temple's power sensors remain mostly intact," Mortis said. "I can chart you a path to a certain point in Old City—but I fear he will have gone much further."
"He's not dead, then," Lance said.
Parm shook his head. "No. I suppose we will remove the ancient influence from Moordryd, once we catch up."
"Whether or not he wants us to," Artha said, and ignited his thruster gear. "The sooner we get there, the better."
--
Nothing but gold, at first; and then Moordryd realised that in fact there was less of it than he had thought, a thin coating of golden draconium across the vast bowl below them.
POWER. AT LAST.
It had been full once, perhaps; a sudden flash of memory captured him, a sea full of draconium melded together into gold.
And then the Spirit Booster's thoughts battered him again.
GONE! HOW HAVE THESE DAYS DEGRADED.
You could…make some more, right? Moordryd attempted to console him, fearing the pain of his foreign anguish like a heavy tide battering the ocean. Or just use what's here? There's a lot there, for Dragon City anyway! He sounded perky and cheerful, and hated it; but the Booster seemed to listen to him.
VERY WELL. I WILL TAKE WHAT POWER THERE IS.
He dismounted and reached down a hand to the vast golden hollow, and Moordryd's mind exploded for the second time that day.
--
The tunnel led straight down through Old City.
"I cannot track it further," Mortis said. "Go down there."
Artha looked down dubiously; he couldn't see the end of it. "Uh, how? It's too narrow for Cyrano and Beau."
"I presume we lack alternatives." Parm slid off Cyrano determinedly, and patted him on the nose. "Will you remain here until we reappear? Good dragon, have a treat while you wait…"
Kitt did the same, unclipping the remnants of her rappel gear from Wyldfyr's saddle. "Pass me yours, boys. We're gonna have a long climb."
The bonemark Artha carried was their only light as they clambered down the tunnel, holding on to rappel gear and penning gear bound together. The walls became more smooth as they got further down, carved flat by…something.
"Lance, are you all right?" Artha asked. The gaps between handholds were large, almost taller than he was now.
"Yes. I want to make sure Moordryd's okay after I hurt him." Lance took a deep breath, and then let himself further down in a slide that took some time to career into a stop.
"Shhh," Kitt commanded suddenly, and they all quieted.
"What?" Artha asked after a while.
"Wind from below," she said. "We're nearly there."
"An auspicious prognosis," Parm commented. "By my calculations, we're nearly out of line."
Artha gulped. It was their only way back to the surface, and he did not wish to fall through darkness for the Magna Draconis knew how long.
"Do you have enough for a mag-lift?" Kitt asked him, slightly peremptorily.
"I think so. But—"
"When I scream, stableboy. When I scream."
She threw herself from the ledge before he could say anything more, and Artha watched her slide down into the darkness. He prepared the mag-lift; too late, he tried not to tell himself, too late, but with another part of his mind he could sense the falling fire, the amulet that he had touched first.
"Hurry!" Her voice echoed up to them. "Come down here!"
--
Madness, pure black blazing madness, the strained-howling stone of Utan Fist and the faint shadow of Armeggaddon and the roiling torrent of the presence.
Inky black churning like bloodstains from a heart ripped from a living body, white-hot black fury like burning chains and flesh, screaming black nightmare-torments begging the living to join the dead.
Tears ran down his cheeks, and hacking sobs burst from his chest as though he was being ripped limb from limb, torn apart by rack and pincer and screaming in pain for a relentless eternity. Blood ran down his wrists as the nails of his gauntlets cut into his palms, and his knuckles were as white as bone.
not you get out get out get out you liked him you were guilty—
WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?
Cease and allow me the boy—
no get out get out get out—
A high scream shattered through his head.
STOP IT I HAVE THE POWER HERE—
three thousand years in pain three thousand years in hate three thousand years screaming captive
I SAID STOP IT NOW!
The storm of madness surrounded the stone, beating on it in roiling fury, and he felt its frenetic whirlpool rise, a tempest filling the earth.
Iron hands unravelled his; the broken skin stretched as the stigmata unfolded.
"Hurry! Come down here!"
It was obvious, foreordained, inevitable. The madness was like a thousand silver needles piercing flesh, whirling fluidly in impossible patterns which formed and reformed in every passing moment.
NO—
Stop—
alone leave me alone get out GET OUT
It shattered the world as it flew, spun; the stone crumbled rapidly beneath it, and then it screamed again as the shadow was crushed completely. The green amulet flew from his chest, and the mind reached out to feel Decepshun.
know you keep you come to me
She reared up and roared around him as the green bone mark fell from her, the Vysox' mark glowing on her forehead.
"Moordryd! Calm down!"
A woman's voice, and as he opened his eyes he saw red armour.
not you leave me alone
He ripped his hands from her, throwing the woman to the ground as she lost her balance.
"Hey! Leave her alone!"
He looked up, and saw the familiar golden armour.
no no no no no stop it stop it stop it
A mag-blast burst from him, sending the Dragon Booster into the cave's wall. Behind him, the woman had regained her footing; she struck him as flames appeared in her hand, and by then his other opponent had recovered.
The mag-trap materialised around him, gold tight around his arms; he screamed like a wounded animal until it tore his throat.
stop pain fear hate no no no no no NO
And then it stopped, like the snap of a clubber band collapsing, and he reeled forward as his mouth went dry and the presence inside his mind suddenly became quiescent.
He was crying as though his world had ended, and he was a captive of the Dragon Booster. The amulet under his sleeve felt cold, and he knew that Armeggaddon had gone completely.
He had been left humiliated, and with nothing. He tried to stop the tears, at least, as he looked up in shame.
"Are you okay now?" Penn junior spoke up.
Of course I'm not bloody okay. They took me and used me and hurt me. I don't even think I'd be standing without the rope holding me like a dracboar.
"I'm sorry," he continued. "I didn't mean to try to kill you."
"What did you mean?" Moordryd snapped hoarsely, trying to stop the tears from entering his voice.
"To save the Academy. From you," the Dragon Booster said sternly, taking a step towards him. "You listened to the Shadow Booster. That makes you responsible in my screens."
"I'm sorry!" Moordryd yelled as best he could, wanting this to be over. "I made a mistake. Cut the lecture and let me go."
The red-armoured woman—he might have known her name, the Booster like the red statue, but he could barely think let alone try to remember others' histories—put her hand on her waist. "Real sincere, Paynn."
"How do you know my name anyway?" he spat at her. Her grave hadn't contained anything Armeggaddon had been interested in, he could remember that much; why she had chosen this moment to reincarnate he didn't want to know.
"The Dragon Booster," she said blandly.
"Whatever. Just let me go."
"One moment," the Dragon Booster said. "No tricks? You're not going to call the Shadow Booster or anything like that?"
"No tricks!" Moordryd cried, hating the way his voice was cracking. "Do I look like I'm going to try anything else?"
"Not today, anyway," the woman said. "Let him go now, Dragon Booster."
"Be careful in future, Paynn," said the Dragon Booster, suddenly releasing the mag-trap, and Moordryd stumbled, wrapping his arms around Decepshun's left foreleg to stay upright. "We'll be watching."
He slowly clambered to Decepshun's saddle; the bone mark had faded from her head, and she seemed almost as exhausted as he, her sides and tail scraped from the fall.
She swayed slightly, and to his further shame he leaned over her neck and threw up as the Dragon Booster watched.
"Actually, I don't think there's a way out," the Dragon Booster said, looking around at the vast underground area. "You'll have to wait for us to lift you back up."
--
He let himself into the Crew-compound long hours later after stabling Decepshun with a dragon-medic, thankful only that not one of his crew had dared to ask him what had happened.
Cain watched him nervously once he'd driven the other Dragon Eyes from the communal kitchen. "Uh. Do you want a cookie?"
"Get me a drink," Moordryd commanded, his voice worn to a rasp. "As alcoholic as we have."
No, not alcohol, he realised. It would only weaken his mind, but before he could speak up Cain replied. "We have Red Dragon Energy Drink," he said.
"Cancel that. Make me one of your lemon…things," he said, and then broke off into a cough.
Cain patted him on the back worriedly. "I'll be right there."
Moordryd watched him bustle around preparing the ingredients for the Eye cold-remedy, and felt a little better.
"Here you go. How are you feeling?"
Moordryd breathed in the lemony steam, thick and fragrant. "Tired," he said. "And sick of being used as a psychic chew toy."
"Yeah, I know the feeling," Cain said sympathetically. "Well, I don't. But you look really bad. And, no offence intended, smell really bad."
He glared at Cain, and then turned his attention back to the drink, clasping his hands around it as he waited for it to cool.
"Moordryd!"
The screen on the wall blinked to active, Word Paynn's larger-than-life face spread across it.
"Put that thing down and pay attention. You've disgraced me today. I've spent the full afternoon convincing the Academy administrators that you were in a state of sane automatism during your frolic this afternoon, and given away two valuable mining contracts to franchisees unworthy of it. Your meeting with the Academy board is scheduled eight sharp tomorrow. Now. Let me salvage what I can out of your foolishness. Where did you find the artefacts?"
Moordryd looked up at his father's anger, and attempted to resign himself to the lengthy interrogation that would follow.
--
He had edited out Armeggaddon's involvement as well as the most recent presence inside his head, claiming that the Shadow Booster had promised him power in return for some previous assistance with the Dragon Booster. His father seemed especially interested in the language and history of the ancient warrior, and pressed him to describe as much detail as he could; but it seemed to have all but faded from his head, and Moordryd found himself quickly disappointing Word Paynn yet again.
"And that's all I can remember, Father. I'm sorry," he said weakly, damming his throat.
"Why did he attack me?" Word asked. "I would have agreed to assist a warrior such as that."
"Because he…because you're one of the most powerful men in Dragon City, Father," Moordryd said. "I convinced him to attack the Academy instead, because I didn't want him to kill you…"
Word smiled, though there was no trace of humour behind it. "I see. In unseating me, he thought he could rule the city. How very astute of him."
"Yes, Father."
Word tapped his claws against his desk. "Is there anything you have forgotten to tell me, Moordryd?"
"No, Father. I can't think of anything." It was true; his thoughts felt like cold porridge, lumpen and slow.
"Very well. I will ask you further questions tomorrow."
The screen blinked off at last, and Moordryd reached for the drink. Cain had long departed, and the beverage had cooled to an unappealing consistency and temperature; swearing under his breath meanwhile, Moordryd pushed it aside and left the kitchen, stumbling down the hallways until he could finally collapse into bed.
--
Artha waved the stick just above Lance's head as he jumped to retrieve it, keeping it just out of reach for his little brother.
"Give it, Artha! You've had eight!"
"Lance's estimation is correct," Parm chimed in. "I would suggest that you surrender it."
"Not now, Professor." Kitt lunged forward with her stick, silencing Parm by filling his mouth with its end, and he sputtered in surprise before swallowing the pink mess.
Mortis clapped his hands. "Enough dragonet-play." They had roasted marshmallows to keep themselves awake through the late hour, and in partial celebration of their discoveries; Mortis had expanded on some of the mythological detail that they had happened upon, and seemed inclined to continue.
"As I told you," he said, "the war had raged for long years before the Dragon Priests were able to choose the heroes to end it. An ancient king."
Artha looked up, interest in his eyes.
"A priestess' daughter," Mortis continued, his gaze turning to both his sons. "The Dragon Booster himself, a noble of the Blue Empire. His childhood companion and loyal ally."
Kitt and Parm exchanged glances.
"But even after the Choosing," Mortis said, "the battles yet continued, stealing their youth and that of so many others. But at last the crisis point came through the Fire Booster. You have seen her portrait in the Academy; more than any hero but for the Dragon Booster, she is remembered for her sacrifice. Martyred by the Shadow Booster, she gave her last breath to the network."
"Nice of her," said Kitt. "What about the others?"
"There is even less information available," Mortis said. "One was the ancient king known as the Spirit Booster. Some believed he had a destiny to regain control over the land—but he chose to return to the grave once the battle was over. I believe that it was his remnant which took control of Moordryd Paynn. As to the last, she was called the Warrior Booster, and she was the only human to tame the Samurox. A very formidable soldier."
"I'm scared of her already," Parm said.
"What was she like? Kitt asked.
"And what happened to her amulet? I bet I could be a warrior too!" Lance chimed in, raising his arms as though the air was attacking him.
Mortis smiled at Kitt. "She was the Dragon Booster's truest friend, faithful to him through their lives. She fought unswervingly by his side, and after the war they married. A famous partnership," he said. "As to the amulet, she destroyed it upon war's end, though the priests counselled her otherwise."
"You said it took the five colours of power and balance to end the war," Artha said. "Did the Shadow Booster suddenly change sides?"
Mortis shook his head. "The Dragon Booster destroyed him in revenge. Another representative of the Black Empire agreed to assist."
--
It could have been himself, from behind, a long sheet of pale hair hanging over a black-clad back, but then he saw that the figure wore an old-fashioned robe, and as it turned to face him, he noticed she was a girl.
She had his fair hair and grey eyes, but it was nothing like looking into a mirror. Into a family photograph, perhaps. Her face was more sharply drawn than his, all finely honed cheekbones and large eyes. She was at least an inch taller than him—and looked slightly younger, he hated to note. Most in Dragon City would not have called her beautiful, yet the cool glare from her eyes was compelling, and there was a sense of power to her that he could not have failed to miss after his training with Armeggaddon. She walked proudly, as though since birth she'd been accustomed to being obeyed, and small fragments of draconium embedded in her robes flashed under the cold lights.
She walked to an older man, pale and black-clad like her, but with a red tint to his eyes that wasn't a trick of the light. They marched silently, perfectly in step along the ground, to a hall bathed in red. He saw complex designs etched into the roof, and humans in elaborate embroidered costumes thronging through it; dragons walked freely between them, proud heads raised and scales glittering like dark jewels. Red dragons were ranked along one wall, martial and fearsome; like the blacks, they gleamed with mag-energy.
The room was silent in honour of the approaching two; a pair of large black dragons stepped through him and towards them, roaring in an honour guard. Their bone marks shone with barely suppressed power.
A red woman took her place in the centre of the crowd; buxom and dark, she was the epitome of Sun City beauty, her bright robes drawing almost inexorable attention to her form. She stepped with fine-sculpted feet onto a glowing platform, next to the pale man; she raised her right hand, and the pale girl took it, offering it to the other. They intertwined their fingers, the pale girl watching intently, and the red and black dragons roared. Mag-energy all but erupted from the two black dragons to the clasped hands, followed by a bright red stream; the three stared at each other as the power exploded in glowing fireworks.
A man in a black mask raised his hands above his head, and cried out. Another roar followed, almost so deafening as to destroy the hall altogether. A black dragon took the red woman then, magging her to its back as she sat as proudly as any ancient queen. She called a command in a language he did not know in melodious tones, and a red dragon did the same for the pale man.
The powerful black stamped a foot on the ground. The floor shook then as all others repeated the movement, seeming nigh to collapse. The black dragon bearing the red mistress reared confidently in the air; she easily kept her seating, a bold red smile etched across her face.
The pale girl stood beside her, waiting for whoever knew how long; the black dragon eventually ceased its movements and heeded her, allowing her to formally take the woman's arm as she dismounted.
The dragon went to another of its kind, baying as though in conversation; a bevy of black-clad humans drew the woman among then, and a red-clothed group did the same for the man.
The pale girl stared after them, nothing in her face showing emotion.
And then she saw him, only a slight widening of her eyes betraying surprise.
"You look like me," she said in ordinary Draconian, and raised a hand to touch his face. "I wonder if you know how she betrayed me?"
--