Author's Note -

Ta very much for the reviews, guys. I appreciate them; they motivate me and keep me writing. And I don't just mean the fact that it proves people are reading my story; I also love all the hilarious ideas people come up with!

I decided to go with Spyrofan777's ingenious idea of an overdose, since it seems the most fitting for this chapter. I was originally going to have Cynder get roaring drunk and smash a bottle over Ember's head, but hey-ho.

Again, be warned that this contains lots of violence, sex and swearing. I had a review that told me the characters swear too much, so I've tried to tone it down a little in this chapter.

Please enjoy.

Ten Ways to Kill Ember

Chapter Two

Death by Overdose

"Vodka tonic, please!"

Ember winks at the bartender – a robust, red-head satyr with a disgusting beer-belly – and I feel the urge to kill myself there and then. Is she determined to flirt with every single creature that talks to her? He's a satyr, for the ancestors' sake, and isn't even a good-looking one at that. He grunts and pours her the drink, and I feel almost sick when she pushes her chest out and bats her eyelashes at him.

"Thanks, Steve," she smiles.

Gosh, if that whore pushed out her chest any further she could practically polish the glass cabinet where all the drinks are kept.

We ended up going to a club after our day out shopping in Warfang. I wasn't going to come with her , but after I failed to kill her by strangling her with a scarf I reckoned I needed another shot. It seemed silly not to take the opportunity, especially as we managed to get in here for free. The bouncers drooled over Ember's body as she shimmied in; their eyes followed her until she disappeared in a haze of smoke and lights and bodies. I think they were too hypnotised by her voluptuous curves to take a proper look at me. I don't think they would have let me in otherwise, if they'd known who I was.

But despite that, it's going to take a lot for me to actually enjoy this place. It's too fucking hot, for starters. The club – Magma Cone, I think it's called – is based inside a volcano which means that you're attacked by a wave of heat as soon as you walk in, and that's not mentioning all the people in here packed close together. It's too hot to even stand in the fucking crowd, let alone dance.

The coolest place in the entire volcano was the bar because all the drinks are kept in refrigerated glass cabinets. Ember seemed quite happy to get a drink when I suggested it. The little pink bitch probably has drunken sex every night.

"And what can I get for you, miss?" The bartender looks at me expectantly from under his bushy red eyebrows.

It's going to take a lot of alcohol to get me through this night.

"Red-headed Slut," I say.

"Coming right up," Steve grunts and reaches for a shot glass.

I slap my tail on the floor in irritation. "No, no. Not a shot. I want it as a drink."

He pauses, frowning. "Er, I don't think that's a very good idea, love."

"I do," I snarl. "Pour it as a drink, you red-headed slut."

"Now don't you be calling me a red-headed slut here..."

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I like, asshole."

"At Magma Cone we do not tolerate abuse towards any member of-"

"Do you know who I am?" I lean in so he can get a closer look at me. His eyes travel to my thin, almost skeletal body; my scales, black as night; the markings on my shoulders and forehead; my crimson belly; my magnificent wings and my long, sinuous tail, both ending in notched silver blades; my three sets of sharp, ivory horns; and finally they meet my own eyes: intense slivers of emerald, deep and dark and calculating.

It's always the eyes that does it. People could catch a glimpse of my knife-like claws or a flash of my pointed snout and they wouldn't recognise me, but as soon as they see my eyes they know it's me: the Black Dragon Cynder, the Terror of the Skies.

Usually I hate it when people act differently when recognising me, but tonight I feel a glimmer of satisfaction as I watch the colour drain from his face and the fear flood into his eyes. With shaking hands he pours the drink into a large glass and pushes it towards me.

"Thanks," I smile, deliberately giving him a view of my devilish fangs.

Then I chug my drink.

It's good.

"So, I was thinking that we could, like, pull some guys tonight."

I nearly spit out my drink. Ember is leaning towards me, her blue eyes wide and serious. Is she for real?

"Ember," I say, taking another swig of my drink, "is that all you think about – fucking boys?" Because the drink has made me a little more confident, I add, "Your pussy must be so fucking wide from all the sex you have that you could fit my fucking head in there. One day you're going to get pregnant and you won't even realise it because your pussyhole is so big the egg will just fall out."

"Hm." Blank stare. Then, "So, I was thinking that we could, like, pull some guys tonight."

Ancestors, give me strength.

Another swig. "Ember, why would you want to pull any of the guys here? They're all fauns and satyrs."

I glance at the dancefloor, hot with bodies. Indeed, most of the people here are satyrs like my friend the bartender Steve, or fauns – short, blue-skinned men with goat bodies from the waist down. Many of them are dancing with faun girls who all speak with the same annoying lingo as Ember. Multicoloured lights chase across their breasts and asses.

We don't belong here.

"So what?" the pink dragon shrugs, sipping her vodka tonic. "I fucked an armadillo once before."

"Ember," I say in the calmest, clearest voice I can muster, though I realise it probably sounds like a bumbling slur, "if you want to pull some guys, and go back to their place after and get drugged or raped or murdered or all three, you do that. But don't expect me to come along with you."

Her eyes widen in excitement. "So you mean I can fuck any guy I want, and I don't have to, like, share with you or anything?" She wraps her wings around me in a dragon hug. "Thanks, Cynder. You're, like, the best friend I ever had!" Then she bounds away into the crowd, abandoning her drink.

I gulp the last of mine.

What a hussy.

X

I'm spinning towards oblivion with her front paw interlocked with mine. No matter how hard I pull or struggle, her hand stays clasping mine, like a limpet sucked to a rock. I flail around, trying to free myself from her – from this vortex of light and shadow. I spiral down in a daze of swirling and flashing lights.

Red.

Amber.

Green.

Green. Green means 'go'.

'Go.'

'Let's go. With me. Outside.'

She pulls me further into the vortex, her eyes two blue beacons of light. She's pulling me towards the shadow-people in the vortex. They're jumping around in slow-motion, their narrowed eyes glittering hungrily like a row of monsters.

No. I don't want to join the shadow-people.

Help.

Confusion.

Weightlessness.

We fall faster and faster until we hit the darkness at the bottom.

Then nothing.

X

Oh, fuck. I think I just pissed myself.

X

Freezing.

But calm.

I breath in the cool night air. It's too hot in there. Far too hot.

I lick my lips and feel that they're dry. It feels like all the moisture has been sucked out of my body; I can barely produce enough saliva to even swallow.

But I feel better.

I look around for water and see a faun leaning against the brimstone wall of the volcano. She's watching me as she smokes a cigarette – thoughtfully, though, not fearfully like most people do. Her bluish-green eyes glimmer with curiosity like a scientist watching a particularly interesting specimen from under a microscope. I can almost see the cogs whirling in her brain going tick, tick, tick. She's wondering what to do about me.

After a moment she walks over to me. The clip-clop of her hooves sound eerily loud in the quiet of the night. I can hear the music playing from inside the volcano still but it sounds muffled, faraway, distant.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

"Hey," she says.

I stare at her, wondering what I should say back. I feel like telling her to fuck off but it won't come out. It feels as if time has slowed; as if my brain has decided to take a nap. I open my jaws, trying to force a word out.

Then I vomit all over the floor.

"Hey," I rasp back.

She looks me up and down. Takes a drag on her cigarette. Breathes out. The smoke hangs in the air.

"You're the Black Dragon, Cynder. The Terror of the Skies."

I'm not feeling brave enough to try and reply so I just nod.

I expect her to look frightened or to walk away from me, but she doesn't. Her eyebrows shoot up and she says nothing. Just takes another drag on the cigarette.

"Who are you here with, then?" she drawls, making conversation.

I want to ask her the same question. She doesn't look like any of the other faun girls I've seen. Instead of grey her skin is a soft peach colour, and her fur is a warm chestnut. Unlike the hair of the faun girls in the club, which was black and plaited, her hair is red and hangs down her shoulders. She doesn't look like she's with the clique of valley-girl fauns I'd seen.

But I like the look of her.

"Ember," I slur. Vomit clings to my teeth. I can taste the acidity of my drink on my tongue. I feel a little better now most of the alcohol has passed out of my system, so I try for a longer sentence. "Little pink dragon. Whore. You know her?"

"Oh, I know her." The faun laughs. "Everybody knows her. The Pink Dragon, Ember. The Bike of the Dragon Realms."

I chuckle, and we subside into silence. The music pumps out from the club. The faun takes a drag on her cigarette. I inspect my vomit. It's thin and orange-yellow in colour and it has lots of little lumps in it.

"Listen," the faun says suddenly, turning to me. "Do you want to buy some drugs?"

She holds out her hand. In her palm is a cluster of little white crystals, all pulsating with some sort of energy. If you were to look closely you would see all the different colours of the spectrum dancing within the gems, as if someone had caught a rainbow and trapped it inside. I think of Malefor, trapped within his crystal prison. He used to give these to me these when I was growing up to make me stronger.

Spirit Gems.

In small doses they make your breaths more powerful, and they make you feel good.

In large doses they make you completely off your head.

And sometimes, if you take too much, and wash it down with a lot of alcohol, it can kill you.

"I'll take the lot," I say.

Her eyebrows shoot up and she says nothing.

X

Oh, fuck, I really don't want to go back in here.

But I have to.

I disappear into the crowd of ravers. It's a nightmare for someone with claustrophobia. They're everywhere, and there's no way I can get past them without bumping into them somehow. In the end I give up and take to thrusting past the lot of them, slithering past them like a snake before they can shout at me.

One courageous faun girl – the grey valley-girl type – whips around when I headbutt her in the back. I try to slink away but she grabs my tail and yanks me backwards.

Bad idea.

Don't touch my fucking tail.

Ever.

"Like, who the fuck do you think you are?" she spits. Her faun girlfriends move behind her, all either glaring at me or looking me up and down like I'm something disgusting they just stepped on. They look like a pack of wolves, ready to attack at their leader's command. "You don't even, like, belong here. This is for fauns, not dragons!"

I was trying to keep a low profile, but there's no fucking way I can get out of this one. Steam billowing out of my nostrils, I hiss, "Who do I think I am? Who do I think I am?" I take a slightly-drunken step forwards, teeth bared. "I think I'm the the Black Dragon, Cynder, the Terror of the Skies! Now do you and your pack of hookers want to move out of the way, or shall I prove to you how terrible I can be?"

The faun-girl pauses, her mouth forming a perfect O as if she's never been spoken back to before, before bursting into tears. Cupping her face with her hands she rushes out of the club, the rest of her clique following her like lost sheep.

The people dancing around us had obviously seen the commotion because they parted as soon as I walked within a metre of them. Rather quickly I locate Ember: standing on her hind legs, grinding her ass against some faun boy. Only she could be completely oblivious to everything that's going on around her.

I crawl over to her, conscious that everyone else has formed a circle around us and is watching us. "Ember."

"Oh, hi, Cynder!" she says, dropping back onto all-fours. Her smile is too wide; her eyes too bright. She's obviously drunk a lot already.

Good.

"Ember," I growl, "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Go, then!" She waves me off.

"I need you to come with me."

She stares at me as if I'm crazy.

"Erm, Cynder," she whispers, leaning in, "you don't actually want to, you know, like, go to the toilet with you, right? And, like, you know – wipe your vagina, and stuff?"

"No!" I hiss. Out of the corner of my eye I see the faun Ember was dancing with looking at us. In a lower tone, I say, "Ember, you're my best friend, right?"

Her eyes light up. "Right!"

"And all best friends go to the bathroom together, right?"

The pink dragon blinks as if she's just realised something. "Is it your period?" she whispers sympathetically.

"Just come to the fucking bathroom with me, Ember. Now."

X

Ember peers curiously at the Spirit Gems under the artificial lighting. I didn't even bother to be secretive about whacking out the drugs – there was nobody in the bathroom. One faun girl was applying some make-up in the mirror and scarpered pretty sharpish when she saw me, but that was it.

"So, what exactly do these crystals, like, do?" the dragon asks.

"If you take all of it, it makes you look really, really beautiful. And if you take it with alcohol you become really slim without losing any of your curves," I explain with a completely serious face.

"Really?" she exclaims, her eyes widening. "That's like, amazing!"

"I know. That's why it's so expensive when you buy it," I say.

"Can I take it now?"

"Go for it!"

She reaches forwards and then hesitates. "Wait," she murmurs suspiciously, her eyes narrowed. "Why aren't you going to take any?"

I roll my eyes as if it's a stupid question. "I've already taken some, you dumb bitch."

"You don't look very beautiful."

For once, the pink pain is right. My eyes look dazed and sunken where I've drunk so much alcohol, and the edges of my mouth are caked in vomit. I pick a lump from between my teeth and flick it onto the mirror. "Just take it."

"OK, whatever."

I feel excited as she places her paw on the crystal cluster. She glows with a rainbow-flecked aura as she absorbs the crystals. They glimmer and shimmer as they are drawn towards her until suddenly there are no more crystals left. She then immediately reaches for the bottle of alcohol I bought for her – and spiked, of course – and chucks it down.

Glug, glug, glug.

Gulp.

She chucks the bottle at the wall. Smash. Then she looks at me at smiles.

No. I don't fucking believe it. Ember, who has never even touched so much as a painkiller before, has just overdosed on Spirit Gems, washed it down with spiked alcohol, and is still standing.

I want to cry.

What a waste of fifteen-thousand gems.

Then something happens. She drops to the ground, and stays there for a moment before convulsing. It's almost frightening; her body shakes violently as if Malefor himself has possessed her, and her legs twitch and spasm. She vomits – not just lumpy, watery, orange-yellow gunk like I puked, but blood, too. She heaves again, and again, and inhales to take a breath but can't. If I were really her best friend I would have put my paw down her throat and scooped the vomit out, but I don't. I leave her there, convulsing, spluttering as she chokes on her own vomit.

I sit on the toilet and urinate. I leave the door open so I can stare at the portrait of death I have just painted. Why, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen – more beautiful than her face when she was being strangled by the scarf. Just seeing her lie there, in a pool of her own blood and vomit. Her eyes are wide open but I don't think she can see herself. It's a shame, really.

Wipe and flush.

Stand and admire.

Then I walk out of the bathroom.

X

"Oh my fucking gosh! What the fuck happened here?"

I smile, hearing the faun-girls scream upon discovery of Ember in the bathroom. It's music; almost as sweet to my ears as Ember's frantic coughing and choking and spluttering.

Almost.

"Is she breathing?"

My heart stops.

No.

Please, ancestors, let her say 'no'.

"Yeah."

…

No.

No, no, no.

Fuck.

-Author's Note -

Apologies if it was a bit long. There was a lot to cram in that chapter. And yes, Red-headed Slut is actually a shot. I thought it would be very fitting for this chapter. :)

About the part that describes Cynder falling in the vortex... I think it's pretty easy to understand what's happened to her, but if you don't then I'll PM you.

I was originally going to use swamp mushrooms for drugs instead, but then I decided on Spirit Gems, the little rainbow-coloured crystals in A New Beginning. I remember when Spyro breaks one and absorbs the crystal shards, and then exclaims, 'It felt as if the power of a thousand suns surged through my body!' Yep, those things definitely make him stoned.

So how should Ember die next? I have an idea of the setting for the next chapter, but not how she should die. Suggest ideas and I'll pick the most fitting. Thanks very much, guys.

Scarlet x