Spyro the Dragon: Creation and Destruction
By ValkierieDjermegandre
Disclaimer: Sigh...hey! I still don't own Spyro or any related characters that appear in this story! They belong to their respective creators at Vivendi Universal! I own Spyro's god form, his powers and any original characters including, but not limited to, Atlas! I also own the scenario and not...much...else!! Rawwrr!! Okay? Okay.
Plot: Through time, there has always been one god who has been the object of fear; one who's right hand is chaos…who's left hand is destruction…who's very breath is pestilence. Creation and destruction will clash…as forbidden myth becomes black truth…
Notes: It's here! The next part in my Spyro the Dragon God saga, Creation and Destruction. Mostly inspired by my own need for another story to write and an answer to the requests for the next part of the saga (I'm looking at Draganta the Dragonlord and Nightmare King). Hope you like this too!
Book I: The Chaos God
Chapter XIV: Betrayal
He was less than an inch way from the throne. Atlas kept walking forward, but it seemed as though the further he walked, the further the throne became. He was slightly puzzled by this, but then he charged forward and after a few minutes came within touching distance of the chair. However, when he touched the arm of the throne, his hand was badly scorched; he remembered having a feeling like this before. He looked at his smoking hand and then to the dark and foreboding environment around him…what is this, he finally asked himself.
"This is your final trial, Atlas Twilight…" came a voice that sounded all too familiar. A black rush of energy formed behind the God of Destruction and Hinarious appeared, except his robe was black and had purple designs on it.
"You…you're the one from seven years ago…" Atlas said. His voice was somewhat warped and he seemed to speak as though he were speaking to a different dragon.
"Yes…seven years ago, when you were merely nine years of age, you were forced to partake in the trials that were to deem you 'God of Destruction'…" Hinarious began. He paused and looked at Atlas, "However, you refused to finish the final Rite. You were hurt and injured from the trials of Courage, Wisdom, and Power…you couldn't take anymore…"
"What are you trying to say…?"
"Well…" Hinarious smirked, "I'm trying to say that you should accept your ultimate destiny…you are the most powerful dragonian god to ever exist…"
"I thought that the other one was…the God of Creation from the Pure Dragon Realm…" Atlas seemed to not remember Spyro either.
"Hmph…lies. Destruction is much more powerful than…creation…" he spat to emphasize his disgust, "could ever be. Darkness is much more powerful than light. However, you cannot bring your full wrath alive without the final Rite. You cannot use the power of your Shinigami Ryoku to their fullest strength unless you accept the final Rite."
"Why me? Why was I chosen as the God of destruction?"
"I've told you this already. Your heartache…your loneliness…your nature and most importantly, your race…these factors in you create great power, but you yourself must bring this power forward and make your mark upon the world."
"…am I really…?"
"Look, Atlas…" Hinarious pointed his staff at the throne behind Atlas, "that throne seats whoever has the potential to rule heaven and hell alike…to rule all clans of dragon. That throne seats beings made of pure power and nothing else. Do you know why that throne appeared before you?"
"Why…?"
"Because it was meant for you, my boy. You, the God of Destruction, are meant to rule all…to be the true hand of judgment. A true superior being who wouldn't squander the name of the Gods…and all it takes…is one small Rite."
"This…this will make the pain disappear? I can finally be complete?"
"Yes. You will be able to live out your true purpose: to destroy and kill as you feel."
Atlas was torn for a second. His life had never gone like he wanted; he never had any friends he could count on and anyone that he did meet simply ran from him or betrayed him in short order. He had always cursed his fate to death, even the marks that befouled his crimson scales: the devil's script. He tried to brush the pain away, but that brought him nothing but more pain. Atlas looked at Hinarious and a thin black aura emanated from his body.
"What do I have to do?" Atlas growled.
"Simple…" Hinarious responded.
Hinarious walked up to Atlas and whispered something to him and as soon as he did, the entire area began to tremble and quake as a cruel smile creased Atlas' maw. He spread his ethereal wings and took off into the skies, leaving an enormous crater where he took off from. Hinarious watched as the God of Destruction vanished and smirked…than he felt a presence behind him. The silver bishōn, Terra, stood behind him, clutching his Atlas toy in his hand.
"Did you do as I asked?" Terra solemnly said. He started bobbing "Atlas's" head back and forth.
"Yes…he should be on his way back to his body now…" Hinarious growled. The two birds that were holding Atlas' collar chain hovered down to Hinarious and rested on his shoulders, "He's been kept here ever since that day…biding our time until just the right moment. And now…"
"The moment has come. Let's watch, shall we?"
Meanwhile at the Temple of the Edge, Spyro stood straight as Djermegandre looked him up and down with an intense fire in his eyes. The blue dragon god, Spira watched from the background with his arms folded. He was hiding it very well, but he was proud of his son, the God of Creation. Spira somehow hoped that this would all go well and Spyro would finally become a true god…also he hoped that his son would stop picking at him to teach him how to use his powers. Spyro folded his arms and was clearly getting impatient.
"Okay, you've stared at me long enough. What's the final Rite?" Spyro said.
"The final Rite for the dragonian God of Creation…is to cast away your evil for good." Djermegandre said.
"Cast away…my evil?"
"Three years ago, you succumbed to the darkness in your heart by allowing Lucid to infest your body. The dark spirit took advantage of the anger you felt toward Spira for lying to you about your birth and nature…"
"Oh yeah…I remember that now…"
"Spyro…" Spira chimed in, feeling guilty once more, "I could never apologize enough for that. I just didn't think that you would properly understand. It was nothing about our relationship…"
"Hmph…" Spyro smiled back at his father, "I think we all have had our regrets in life. I think you've apologized enough for that. Besides, now that I think about it, I freaked out and got angry for pretty much nothing. Even gods have to lie sometimes, right?"
"I should've known you'd give a response like that."
"That's me. Now we're past that."
"Yes, but here is the final question…" Djermegandre finally interrupted, "Have you forgiven yourself?"
Before Spyro could answer, Djermegandre reached out his palm and released a small beam of light that connected right to Spyro's heart. The white dragon was confused until the beam thinned and was replaced by a magick glyph that briefly appeared on the floor. The glyph produced a sizable black dragon whose form that Spyro recognized as the form he took when he was possessed by evil, despite its featureless form. Spyro was stunned for a second but then his expression hardened; he knew what it really was. The white dragon stood straight as the black shadow moved in on him…ever closer, ever more ferocious. At the very moment that the beast tried to swallow Spyro in its darkness, in a flash of movement, the white dragon had sliced the shadow into oblivion with Adamatinacor, which gave off a vibrant light. The God of Creation sheathed his sword and gave Djermegandre a sharp look.
"Congratulations, young dragon god…you have conquered the trails and have become…a full dragon god!!" Djermegandre called.
He pointed his gavel at Spyro's right shoulder and a mark appeared when the light dimmed. Spira knew this mark; it was the very same one that he carved into Spyrol's egg on that fateful day. It was a tornado-like emblem with a small globe in the center. Spyro looked at the mark and smiled.
"So…this means that I can call upon my full powers as the God of Creation?" Spyro asked.
"Yes. But, it will be up to you to discover how to awaken your dormant abilities." Djermegandre said.
"Hey Spyro, close your eyes for a second; I want to see if you can use your mind to look across your world." Spira said.
Spyro shrugged, closed his eyes and concentrated. The white dragon suddenly seemed to be standing in an ocean-like setting with white orbs floating about; he figured they were souls. However, something seemed wrong…one by one, some of them were being snuffed out followed by the sound of screams and roars. Spyro looked deeper and he could see…
"Fire. Blood. Destruction." Spyro thought to himself. The ethereal brain wave seemed to be coming from…
"The Artisan Home!!" Spyro said aloud.
"What? What about the—" Spira started.
Before he could finish his question, Spyro pushed his father out of the way and dashed out of the temple. Spira shook his head in exasperation and ran after his son; something was amiss. Djermegandre stayed behind and bid farewell to the dragon gods, then turned away from the door and crossed his arms. The Supreme Judge looked at the carvings and illustrations of Dragonian and Yokkureian gods and beasts on the ceiling and had a hunch about what was happening.
"Spyro the Dragon…your real test is now…"
He didn't care how he got there; he just knew that he needed to get back to the Artisan Home. Spyro dashed over the White Mountains on all fours, through rivers and caverns…valleys and craters. Spira chased his son in the same way that the latter was running, but couldn't catch up to Spyro no matter what. Finally, Spira lunged forward and grabbed Spyro's shoulder trying to slow him down, but came to no avail as Spyro merely pushed him away and kept running. Soon the white dragon found where he and Djermegandre entered the White Mountains; by now he was gasping for breath.
"Spyro! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Spira asked. He demanded to know.
"Grr…Rinkai Wing!!" Spyro called.
The white dragon used a spell he didn't even know he knew, and conjured up ethereal wings as white as the mountains themselves. He ignored his father's calls and let his wings take him back to the Dragon Realms. Spira looked up at his son flying away and a worried visage took his face. He wondered what was bothering his son…even more so, he was wondering why he didn't want to tell him anything…
Once Spyro had finally arrived in the Artisan Home, he was completely distraught. The peaceful day that he had left behind was no more as the signs of destruction and devastation were all over the grounds. In various places, the earth was split open by fissures and even completely raised out of proportion. Blood was all over the grass, staining it a solid red in some areas and fires raged over grounds and homes alike. Spyro couldn't move; how could this happen? More importantly, who was the culprit? The white dragon took a few moments to pull himself together, then he dashed toward the palace. On the way, he decided to see if he could mend the land or heal anything at all, but he found that his ether was rejected. Putting it out of his mind, the God of Creation finally made it to the palace…or what was the palace. A pile of rubble replaced his former home and the first thing that hit his mind was Sachés' and Archema's safety. The white dragon used his sword to move and blast most of the rubble away until he came upon the bodies of the two dragons that he came to love so much.
Spyro was fearful but took their pulse; they were breathing but only slightly. Acting quickly, the young god used a quick spell to encase the injured dragons in a protective bubble that would heal their wounds over time. Spyro knew that he couldn't save everyone, so he concentrated all of his energy on finding the bastard responsible for this horrific atrocity. The white dragon made his way through the ruined plains, holding back his rage when he came upon a dead body or a desecrated home. Spyro ran through fissures, ruined land and weakened flames until he reached the tunnel that led to Town Square. That was when he came upon a familiar body; it was Tomas. His staff was broken and he had many a bruise and gash on his body and the membranes on his wings were slightly ripped. Spyro covered his mouth in horror and took the elder dragon's pulse and when he did…
"…Sp…Spyro…urk…" Tomas choked out.
"Tomas!" Spyro said, relieved to see the elder dragon alive, even in this weakened state.
"Spy..ro…be…caref-ful…At…las…go—"
"Tomas?! Tomas!"
Spyro continually tried to jar the wounded elder dragon, but he would not wake. Spyro took his pulse and found that he was just barely clinging onto his life. The white dragon god tapped Tomas with his sword and encased him in the same bubble that he used on Sachés and Archema; he hoped that it would help. What was Tomas trying to say about Atlas? Was Atlas in trouble? Or maybe…no way. Spyro put all of his thoughts to the side as he heard a distant roar and then felt a slight surge of evil energy followed by a tremor. The white dragon held his divine blade firm and made his way through the ravaged tunnel to Town Square. The town wasn't in much better condition than the Artisan Home; in fact it was worse, considering there were more buildings. Spyro only needed to walk a few steps before he saw something that his heart wasn't prepared for.
On an outcropping overlooking the town stood a crimson dragon. His scales and claws were caked in blood and some kind of black grime and he was quite big. Enormous, black ethereal wings with blood red coloring near their insides flared upon his back and they seemed to flare more as he charged up a demonic incantation in his hands. The crimson dragon raised his palms and the ground below seemed to shift before rising in a display only rivaled by the most powerful of earthquakes. Magma was bursting from the crust by his order and engulfed a whole of buildings and dragons. A cruel and demonic laugh escaped his mouth; Spyro was distraught…his heart broken. Finally, the white dragon stepped forward with Adamatinacor bared; the divine blade radiated with its owner's rage.
"Atlas!!" Spyro roared. His voice boomed through the sounds of the menacing winds and made the red dragon pay attention. Atlas turned around and smirked darkly at the site of the God of Creation.
"God of Creation!!" Atlas boomed back, "What a nice surprise. I was worried you wouldn't make it to the party. You look like you've grown stronger since I last saw you…"
"What the hell are talking about?!"
A cruel smirk creased Atlas' maw at the sound of those words. Spyro was about to question him once more until he finally noticed…something was different about Atlas. Besides his obvious change in demeanor, the God of Creation looked at the red dragon and the ethereal wings finally clicked into his mind. He also noticed the savage aura rising from Atlas' body; it rivaled the Supreme Judge's in strength and was causing the grass below his feet to melt and decay. His eyes were also solid green except for the black serpent-like pupil and his body was caked in blood and black. The chains that stretched from his body floated freely in midair and there were two horns sticking out the end of his tail. The ridges along his back and tail had grown and his collar had some kind of writing that Spyro couldn't read; Yokkureian no doubt. What struck Spyro the hardest was that on Atlas' chest, he bore the same mark that Djermegandre had given him not to long ago, except it had a slash mark going through it.
"You look confused, God of Creation…allow me to explain." Atlas started. His smile only grew as he witnessed Spyro clutch his sword even tighter, "You see, that dragon that you now know as your little friend was never really me! I, the God of Destruction, was dormant in a parallel existence…biding my time. I had gone there after our battle only a few months ago, gaining strength and waiting the right time when I could do the most damage to your world. I simply waited until you trusted the illusion that I had so easily set and that was way too easy."
"What?!"
"You Pure Dragons are all fools. You trust others so easily that it's disgusting. It was easy for me to gain your trust and when you said that you were going to train far off in the White Mountains, I knew I had done it. With the time that you bought for me, I was able to regain my power under the noses of those idiotic sage dragon and that pathetic supreme furball! Now look, Spyro; this is Godhood. This is pure power and I have it!"
"You…you led me on from the start! You dirty, filthy, Yokkureian abomination!! Red scaled bastard!!"
"Grr, yes…you're angry. I can deal with that, considering that you'll be losing your life force very soon. I will bring my world to life…and watch as the Dragon Realms crumble without the protection of their precious God of Creation!!"
Spyro was enraged; he had never felt this much anger and hatred toward someone before. Not only did Atlas trick him and destroy the Artisan Home…he betrayed his trust and ripped his heart in two. The white dragon was fully convinced now; Tomas and the Elders were right about those Yokkureian scum. The God of Creation exhumed a powerful aura, but Atlas wasn't impressed. The two dragons stood beneath the fire and flames of war; the land rising around them and many hopes and dreams burning forever. Desire burned in the eyes of one…and retribution burned in the eyes of the other as the two principal Dragonian Gods stood off for a battle that would shake both worlds and those in between…
End Chapter Fourteen…next chapter, Hopelessness…
ValkierieDjermegandre: We're closing in on the end of book one. The outcome of the battle will surprise some of you and may anger some of you, but emotions keep me going.