Chapter 5: Escape
Hunter broke into a fit of coughing, the tin cup slipping from his paws as the cheetah struggled to get a hold of himself. Zara snatched it from the air before any of the precious liquid inside could spill out.
"Careful! The remedy is not easy to make and I'm short on ingredients already."
"Remedy?" Hunter asked once the fit had finally subsided. "I thought for a moment you were trying to poison me as well!"
The fennec rolled her eyes. "Oh, get over it. You'll be thanking me once you're back on your feet. Besides, if you want to blame someone, you can start with yourself." Her eyebrows furrowed as she handed him the cup back.
Hunter looked up from his sitting place on one of the empty and open wagons. He opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it. He limited himself to accepting Zara's offer. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and gulped more of the dense, brownish concoction. The cheetah winced, suppressing the sudden reflex of puking it out.
"There. Wasn't so bad, was it?" Zara grinned. Hunter gave her a weak nod. The fennec glanced away and towards the barred set of doors on the other side of the train station. The smile morphed into a visible frown.
"They should have been here by now."
Hunter said nothing. He didn't need to ask who they were. He could share her worry, though he would have not admitted it aloud.
Zara fidgeted at her knife's hilt, the weapon secured to her belt. Her fingers tightened around it. It was something Hunter had seen her do before yet hadn't placed much attention to. Now he finally noticed the characters etched along the hilt.
"What do those mean?"
Zara shot him a quizzical look, until the cheetah gestured at the knife by her waist. "These? Oh, it's nothing, just an auspice. One of . . . one of mum's gift. Her last one."
Her voice had turned suddenly serious. Hunter nodded once the realization struck him.
"I understand. My apologies for prying. It was not my intention."
She shook her head. "It's not that. It's . . . well, I'm not sure."
Slowly, Zara sat down in front of him, legs crossed. She carefully slid the knife out from its sheath, twisting and turning it in her paws as she examined it. The faint light danced across the sharp blade.
She tapped at the characters along the hilt, a faint smile on her lips. "It reads, 'Never far away'. Her own way of saying she would always be with me."
"I'm not sure she would have approved of the use I'm making of it now," she spoke quietly, mostly to herself.
"Why do you think that?"
"She was the clan's herbalist, though that's probably reductive of what she actually did. Her medical and alchemical knowledge was unparalleled across the entire Crimson Lands. Everything I know about, well, everything I owe it to her. She would always make sure to bring me along during her travels in the wider world."
Zara glanced up at him, their eyes meeting briefly.
"It was fun."
"What happened then?" Hunter asked.
"What always happens. I grew up. My two brothers were going through training to become warriors and then the Dark Master's apes started trickling into the Crimson Lands. My and mum's interests grew distant over time and then . . ."
She trailed off, the sentence hanging heavy into the air, never to be finished. She glanced back to the knife as her thumb stroked the engraving along the hilt.
The silence stretched on for several more seconds, Hunter mulling over thoughts of his own. Admittedly, he was not sure what to say; he wasn't even sure whether he should have said something. After the time spent traveling alone, having someone else talking and sharing their experience with him felt strange.
Eventually, Hunter cleared his throat. "Your mother taught you her craft well, and in all likelihood we wouldn't be having this conversation had she done otherwise. If nothing else, I hope she would have approved of that at least."
He paused for a moment, gauging her reaction. Her eyes shot up, regarding him with an unreadable expression.
'I hope she didn't take offense. Maybe I should have remained silent.'
Zara's face brightened. "I . . . I hadn't thought of that. I think she would have, yes."
"Good," Hunter said. He glanced down at what remained in his cup, wincing. "The taste remains terrible though."
"Bite your tongue, Hunter of Avalar." The corner of her mouth curled upward. Then came the buzzing of wings.
"Oh, look at those two! One moment they're on the verge of biting their heads off, and then the next they're sitting together, having a nice heart-to-heart," Sparx said, a grin plastered across his face. Both felines shot him unamused looks.
"What are the long faces? I was joking."
"To be fair, I think the joke kinda fell flat." Scrapings sounds were heard as Remy climbed over the cart. He wiped away some dust from his clothes and fur.
"Nice to see you're all still in one piece. Sorry for the delay but we did run into some problems."
"Yes, we've heard it," Zara commented as she rose back up. "What was that?"
The otter shrugged. "Eh, let's just say something that was not supposed to catch fire ended up catching fire and let's leave at that." He scratched at his left ear.
"So, uh, mind giving me a hand loading some supplies on the train while we are at it?" He gestured at the crates still dotting the platform, the same ones the rats had been busy loading up. "I bet we can find something useful."
Zara hesitated, glancing briefly to Hunter. The cheetah simply nodded.
"I'll be fine. Go and help him."
Despite her visible uneasiness, Zara replied with a nod of her own.
"Alright then. What do you need?"
"The usual. Food, clothes, weapons; if you find them, pile them in the cart." Remy tilted his head to the coal-car right behind the locomotive proper. "Fuel shouldn't be a problem for a while. Did you keep her fed while I was away?"
Zara blinked in confusion. "Her?"
"Yes, her. The train. Did you add coal to the engine to keep her going?"
"Was I supposed to do that? You didn't mention how this contraption works before leaving."
There was a moment of silence. Then Remy let out a groan.
"Oh, for the love of . . . 'right then, change of plan. You collect whatever you can while I restart her." He turned around and climbed over the back of the coal car, making his way to the cab and past the pile of coal.
"And let's hope those two get a move on!" Remy called out to none in particular. "Otherwise, we might as well change our names to rat-bait, cause that's what we'll soon be!"
Cynder snorted, the sound echoing down the tunnel before them.
"I carve my way through a rat-infested hole to save your behind, and only after getting tossed around for half an hour I discover that you were in a different place all along."
Spyro chuckled by her side. "Yeah, I guess they could have placed a couple of signs around. Maybe a big, flashy one, you know. Something like, 'Hey Cynder, Spyro's this way. Make sure to pick Tunnel A instead of Tunnel B. No, we won't tell you which one is what'."
The dragoness giggled, struggling to keep a straight face. The joke was probably stupid; a ham-fisted attempt to lighten the mood after Cynder was done retelling her ordeal. Spyro couldn't help himself though; hearing her laughing felt right. And the way her emerald eyes shone . . .
The secondary tunnel was dark and cramped, Spyro's golden horns constantly scratching against the hardened earth and rock making up the low ceiling. Furthermore, the occasional pair of wooden pillars squeezed the available space even further, forcing them both to carefully negotiate their way forward.
"I think somebody here has put up some weight, hasn't he," Cynder muttered, their wingtips brushing against each other.
"Oh, now it's my fault these tunnels are small," Spyro said. His following attempt at keeping a serious and hurt face crashed amidst the fit of snickering they shared.
Cynder had recovered enough to finally walk properly, even if her shoulder sagged under the weight of exhaustion and fatigue. The dragoness was tired, yet she pressed on regardless.
He had sent both Remy and Sparx ahead; the otter wanted to get the locomotive ready for their departure, while Sparx . . . well, officially he was to warn the others of their coming, though in reality it was probably because Cynder was never going to open up with him around.
"You mind if I ask you a question?"
Spyro blinked. "Uh? I mean, sure."
"Right, well," Cynder began, "back into that laboratory, while I was facing that wolf warrior and you burst in, I shouted at you to attack immediately while he was distracted. And you did that."
"I also set fire to a powder keg."
"Never mind that. What I, well . . ." Cynder hesitated. "What I mean is, we had barely spoken to each other back there. You didn't even know what was happening, and yet you decided to step in when I asked you to. Why?"
"I mean, I think I had a pretty good idea of what was happening," Spyro pointed out. "You were injured and that, uh . . . what was the wolf's name?"
"Ludovicus."
"Yeah, Ludovicus. He had a sword and he seemed very keen to use it on you." He shrugged. "And besides, of course I was going to help you. We are friends!"
He shifted his head to the side to avoid an old and broken wooden bean sticking out from the wall. In doing so, he glimpsed Cynder furrowing her eyebrows.
"Friends? Spyro, me and you don't have the best track record. I've tried to kill you and the Guardians multiple times; you gave me a chance and I left the Temple anyway; and finally, Gaul used me to bait you into the . . . the . . ."
She stopped the moment her voice began to sound hoarse, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. Even then, Spyro didn't need to look at her face to realize something was wrong. Her shoulders were shaking.
"Cynder?"
The dragoness shook her head and took a deep breath. She resumed like nothing had happened.
"W-What I mean is, you and Sparx are friends because you have been knowing each other for years. I can't believe I'm saying this, but he is there for you, right? You know him."
"Well, yeah, but we know plenty about each other too."
Cynder shook her head. "No, we don't. I know about the Purple Dragon, while you know about the Terror of the Skies." Then, she sighed. "I appreciate the effort, really, but I don't think it's the same."
Spyro opened his mouth to retort, but the words failed to come out. His mind slowly processed what he had just heard. For her part, Cynder said nothing more and turned her gaze back ahead as they navigated their way through the secondary tunnel. The deeply unsettling silence between them stretched on for what felt like a small eternity.
And then an idea burst into Spyro's mind. He cleared his throat.
"Sooo, what's your favourite colour then?"
"My . . . what?"
"Your favourite colour," Spyro helpfully repeated with a grin. As the only answer he received was an expression of sheer bafflement, he elaborated further. "See, I've been thinking on what you said, and you are right, we really don't know much about each other. So, I think we should start from the basics."
Cynder said nothing, her eyebrows arched in confusion.
"Alright fine, I'll start first. Mine is green."
"Ah . . . you . . . what?"
"I know, it's not really original, is it? Still, I think it looks neat. Not sure why though." He glanced at her, still grinning. "Your turn."
Cynder blinked, slowly. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times.
"I . . . I-I'm not sure I have one."
"Really? That's strange."
She shrugged. "I guess I'm strange then." Spyro arched an eyebrow.
"It's not purple, is it?"
The answer came in the form of a solid elbow delivered into his side.
"Does that answer it?"
"Yup, definitely does. I'll shut up now," Spyro said, trying not to wince in pain.
The tunnel came to a sudden end before them and, as they pushed open the trapdoor masquerading its entrance, they found themselves back into the small train station. A series of sphere-shaped oil lanterns hung from wooden support beams above, casting their pale light about. The scent of burning coal permeated the air.
Spyro barely had the time to take a couple of steps before Sparx made his appearance back at his side, the dragonfly beaming with relief.
"Really took your time there, didn't you buddy?" he said. "I thought you had gotten lost back there. Glad you could finally join us."
"Yeah, sorry. Small tunnel and all that. I'm surprised it didn't come down a long time ago."
The dragonfly snorted. "Talk about a rat trap, aye?" The gesture was soon mirrored by Spyro as well.
"Alright, be honest with me. How long have you been readying that?"
"Since I woke up surrounded by rats. I was starting to fear I wouldn't get the chance to use it," Sparx proudly announced. His gaze then drifted to the side and much of his good humour faded away. As for Cynder, her eyes radiated anything but amusement.
"Riiight, I almost forgot you were here too for a moment." Sparx crossed his arms. "But hey, you're back too, so that's . . . goodish, I guess. Something like that."
Cynder's eyes narrowed just a bit, enough to convince the dragonfly to add a bit more distance between the two. Spyro shook his head.
"Oh relax, Sparx. She's not gonna bite you or anything. She's with us now."
"Is she?" he countered. "You sure she's not just going to wake up one night and decide she wants a snack and a dragonfly as a side?"
"Oh, I don't know about that," Cynder suddenly spoke up, teeth glistening. "Myself? I'm always open to new culinary experiences."
The dragonfly flinched back in horror. "Yeeeah, uh . . . I-I think Remy wanted me to help him with some stuff like . . . stuff. Yeah, stuff. Important stuff. I'll catch you later, Spyro." And before the young dragon had the chance to speak up, he was buzzing away at blinding speed toward the train cab.
Spyro glanced at her, lips pressed into a thin line.
"You really had to say that, didn't you?"
"What? He started it." The dragoness shrugged, making a poor job at masking her amusement. "Besides, I was joking."
"Were you?"
"Hey, I'm not planning on eating him!" She glared at him. "He's so small anyway. He wouldn't even make for a morsel."
"Oh yeah, that fills me with so much more confidence," Spyro deadpanned. "Look, I know he can be difficult, but is it too much asking for you two to, well, get along? I don't expect you to become friends overnight."
The dragoness raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Go tell that to him. I don't have the patience right now to put up with whatever his problem is."
"Cynder-"
"I'm tired," she cut him off. "I'll see if I can get some shuteye. Wake me up when it's time to depart." The dragoness left without another word, Spyro's gaze following her as she made her way toward and past the waiting, puffing engine, before climbing aboard the open cart behind.
The young dragon shook his head in bafflement.
'And now she's angry. Brilliant. That's a great start, isn't it?'
He decided he might as well follow her example and rest a little bit while he could.
"Troubles?" a familiar voice came from the side. With some surprise, Spyro found Hunter sitting cross-legged by the platform, unperturbed. He briefly wondered how both him and Cynder had missed him standing right there.
"We run into an obstacle or two, but we are fine, more or less. Just tired," Spyro said. The cheetah nodded. He had emptied his quiver before him and was now carefully examining the remaining arrows arrayed before him.
"Zara and Remy are trying to start the engine back up. We should be able to depart in a few minutes." He did not look at him as he spoke, yet his voice was placid. The cheetah picked up one of the arrows and examined it, twisting it in his paws before grunting in approval.
Spyro nodded. "That's good. How about you? Feeling better?"
Hunter shrugged. "Zara's remedy was effective, though she insists I should avoid stress. I don't know whether that will be possible in the current situation." He went back at examining the arrows, the barbed heads shining softly. An awkward silence stretched between them.
"Hunter?" Spyro cut in, his mind struggling how to better articulate what he was about to say. "L-Look, about Cynder, I . . . well, I think there are a few things I should . . . the fact is, she used to . . . you see-"
"I know."
Spyro froze, tongue going flaccid in his own mouth. "W-Wait, you do?" The cheetah nodded smartly.
"Ignitus has informed me about her," he said, eyes regarding him for the first time. "He asked me watch over both of you. I intend to do that."
The young dragon blinked, then exhaled in relief. "Oh. So, you are just fine with her being with us then? Cool."
To his surprise, Hunter shook his head. "I didn't say that. I said that I am aware of her past, just as I am aware of the darkness she carries within her. Her very presence here puts us at risk. However," he added, just as Spyro was about to reply, "as I said before, Ignitus has asked me to safeguard her as well, even despite her past actions. I trust his judgement on the matter, and I will not shrink away from my duty."
The young dragon did not reply. For one brief moment, Spyro found himself thinking back to his old mentor, and he smiled. After all that time, the older dragon still found ways to watch over him. He wondered where he was right now; in fact, he wondered where each of the Guardians was. Probably back at the Temple, he reasoned. He had not been away all that long.
"You really trust him that much, uh?" Spyro said.
"Yes." The cheetah started placing the arrows back into the quiver with deliberate calm, one by one. "You should rest now. We'll speak later."
There was a thump. Faint, almost sinking into a background noise, Spyro's ears would have probably missed it entirely. Two seconds later there was another one, louder and more distinct. Hunter froze, then looked up.
"They're here."
A third thump boomed throughout the small station. And then another, and then another, the sounds building up on each other in one rhythmic crescendo. A chill run through Spyro's spine. He remembered that noise; it had chased them during their flight through the tunnels an hour prior.
War drums.
"They've found us!" Zara jumped down from the train cab, short spear at the ready. "How long until this thing is ready?" she snarled back. From the cab's window, Remy's nervous face peeked out.
"Boiling pressure is building up, but it's gonna take a while!"
"We don't have a while," Hunter stated. The cheetah slowly climbed back to his feet. Though he could clearly stand now, Spyro noticed the way he stumbled before righting himself. "We have no choice but to halt them here."
From the other side of the room, the double door trembled violently on its hinges. Zara and Hunter had taken some precautions, and a pair of robust beams had been lowered through a series of contraptions to lock the entrance in place.
"So, what do we do?"
Spyro glanced to the side and was surprised to find Cynder standing there, her features locked into an expression of grim determination. Sparx had joined the rest of them on the platform, though the dragonfly kept a certain distance from the dragoness.
Spyro raised an eyebrow. "I though you said your reserves were spent. You should stay back this time and let us handle it," he pointed out.
"I can still fight." She gritted her teeth. "And besides, four is better than three."
"Cynder, I don't think it's-" he stopped.
Hunter had removed the old Spirit Gem from his own satchel and handed it over to Cynder without hesitation. The dragoness gave him a puzzled glance, but then accepted the gift with a nod. She absorbed whatever power was left inside before dropping it, dull, its energy spent completely.
She flexed her muscles and flapped her wings a couple of time, testing her newly found strength. She looked at Spyro with a smirk. "You were saying?"
"Enough," Hunter cut in before Spyro could add anything else. "We need a plan, now."
The doors shook again as something heavy slammed into them. Dust fell from the ceiling.
"I do have one," Zara spoke up. "Twin Horns formation. I take the centre while the two dragons take the sides. Hunter, you stay back with that bow of yours. This place is not very wide, so if we fight them close to the entrance that should keep the rats from surrounding us."
Hunter raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
Cynder shrugged. "Fine by me."
"Okay, but they're still going to breach. What then?" Spyro asked.
The fennec grinned. "Then we start killing them."
The waiting was the worst part.
Spyro drummed against the ground with his claws, the rhythmic tapping echoing as his tail swished behind. He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. The only thing breaking the silence within the room was the regular smashing sound against the door. Each time the door would crack open by half an inch, the wooden beams bending ever so slightly under the unrelenting pressure.
And of course, there were the drums. Those had never stopped. The cacophony of sounds pounded violently against his ears, taunting him, as if to give him a taste of what was to come.
Zara stood immobile, a short spear ready by her side. The fennec had lifted a scarf over her muzzle, her narrowed eyes never leaving the shaking door. On her right, mirroring Spyro, Cynder waited as well. Her tail hung still, the tail-blade glowing a pale green. She bit her lips before glancing Spyro's way. The two locked gaze for a moment before nodding at the same time. The message they shared was clear.
'We'll get through this.'
Somewhere behind, Hunter stood over the train cab's roof, an arrow knocked and ready. As he had yet to fully recover, he had begrudgingly agreed to help from a distance. Remy and Sparx would wait in the cab itself, frantically trying to get the locomotive started. Thick clouds of white smoke poured out from the chimney.
Spyro shook his head, focusing his attention on the task at hand. Maybe they would get lucky; maybe they'd manage to restart the train's engine and leave before the rats could burst through.
He grimaced as the doors shook. A visible crack had appeared.
'Ancestors, can't they just get bored and leave?'
Spyro hoped they would; he didn't want to kill them. Killing in general was something he despised, even if it had been forced upon him from a very young age. The very elemental powers he wielded so easily had been born out of rage and desperation, trying to protect his adopted brother from Ape raiders.
Spyro breathed through his mouth, forcing himself to relax and halting the surge of painful memories. It was in that moment he noticed the white condensation gathering around his muzzle and nostrils. The young dragon frowned; was it just him or it had gotten cold all of a sudden?
"Here they come," Cynder hissed, and Spyro snapped his attention back to the entrance. His eyes widened.
The door was no longer shaking. It was, in fact, boiling. Pieces and shards of rotting wood fell down with loud popping noises, the iron hinges themselves rusting and decaying as something ate its way in from the other side. The pair of wooden beams cracked, then snapped, as a green mould seeped through the cracks.
The doors came down with an air-splitting groan, a cloud of dust enveloping the entrance. The drums landed their last, final beat.
The rest happened too fast.
Dozens of armed figures leaped past the dust cloud, chittering and howling. A war horn blared. A bow twanged, and the first rat died by an arrow to the throat, not even past the door.
Everything after that moment turned into a blur, a set of fleeting images flashing through Spyro's mind when he tried to recall them much later.
A spear-wielding rat lunged for his head, eyes wide and jaws opened in a maniacal grin. Scorching fire erupted from his own mouth and enveloped those near; figures writhed as hungry fire engulfed them, followed by the stench of burning fur. Lighting bolts arched through the air, then jabbed out like spears.
Something hit him in the side of the head. Or maybe it didn't. Spyro couldn't remember feeling any pain. He lashed out, razor-sharp claws sinking into something warm and soft, followed by a gurgling. The pavement beneath turned slick with blood.
Spyro fought with everything at his disposal. Claws and tail-blade; Fire and Ice; Electricity and Earth.
Rats died. It didn't matter if big or small, whether they donned simple leather or heavier set of armour; they all died, one way or the other.
Yet they kept on coming, closing in from every direction, swinging swords, axes, and maces, jabbing at him with spears. Spyro found himself fighting with Zara and Cynder by his side, the trio nearly back-to-back to avoid getting overwhelmed outright.
The fennec moved with a water-like fluidity, the short spear twirling in her paws. It was a dance, and Zara never stopped for a moment as she bought herself some space, only to then lash out with frightening speed. Each of her strikes was precise and lethal, each time finding a weak spot in the enemy armour. Those rats that tried to counterattack with crossbows found themselves on the receiving end of Hunter's own arrows and were forced back.
Cynder . . . Cynder was terrifying.
Her claws and tail-blade glowing green, dark scales soaked in blood, she was no longer a dragoness, but a demonic apparition come to drag the Dark Master's servants to whatever underworld they happened to believe in, screaming and kicking.
If anything, compared to the indiscriminate use Spyro was making of his own Elemental powers, Cynder was holding back. The dragoness was a hurricane, severing limbs and pulverizing bones. An axe-wielding rat staggered back, screeching in pain as Cynder took both of his eyes away. Others simply dropped, in silence, Poison seeping into their wounds and clogging their veins. She dodged and weaved amidst the ferocious melee, seemingly impossible to touch.
Her wings flared open, and Cynder took to the air. She swung her head around, found her target, and dived back down, Wind launching her with a small thunderclap. Said target happened to be a trio of rat officers hanging some distance away from the fighting, spurring their comrades forward.
The first one died quickly. Cynder slammed into her with enough force to shatter her ribcage, her body flying back. The second tried to call for help, the war horn already on his muzzle. No sound came out; the rat doubled over, gurgling and clawing at his slit throat.
His dying comrades gave the last one enough time to swing his short sword at the dragoness. It did not save him; Cynder dodged the furious attack with contemptuous ease, before finally spitting Poison in his face.
The rat stopped, eyes bulging out of their own sockets. His weapon clattered against the floor, and he fell on his knees, coughing up blood.
"Vermin!"
Everything fell silent. Countless pairs of yellow eyes swung her way as the fighting ceased.
"You know who I am! You know who stands before you today, and yet you have decided to throw your pathetic lives away!"
Her voice boomed across the station, carrying an ancient, tangible authority. Spyro saw rats flinching away with each word. By his side, Zara halted as well, wide-eyed.
"The Dark Master offered you wealth in exchange for your own servitude! He offered you power in exchange of slavery to him! He offered you mercy from his wrath when you failed him!"
Every single word dripped pure scorn as Cynder spat it out. The rats closer shrunk back, their attention divided between the dragoness and the sight of their commanding officer vomiting his guts on the floor, Poison burning its way through his lungs. Spyro struggled to held back the tide of bile burning in his throat.
Her eyes, once a shining emerald green, were black as pitch and pupil-less. She swung her gaze down to regard the wretched being making its slow way toward death. There was now nothing but naked, hateful contempt in those eyes.
In one swift movement, her tail-blade came around and separated body and head, bringing the rat's agony to an end. Blood, dense as ichor, gathered in a pool under him, his head hitting the floor with a wet smack.
""I am Cynder, the Terror of the Skies, and I make no such offer to you!"
She screamed; a violent, otherworldly scream, assaulting the rats' minds and bodies in equal measure. Their senses were overwhelmed by a cascade of emotions, eyes haunted by unspeakable horrors that froze their veins and turned their guts into jelly.
The last of Malefor's gift.
Fear.
It was enough. The rats ran. Despite their number advantage, their fighting spirit had been thoroughly broken. They scattered, scrambling toward the only exit in a wild primordial panic, eyes wide and frothing at the mouth. The fighting was over just as suddenly as it had begun, and silence returned.
Bodies laid scattered across the floor amidst expanding pools of blood. Spyro tried to count them before giving up upon reaching twenty; it was a futile effort anyway. His attention turned to someone else instead. He made to move, but a paw on his shoulder stopped him. It was Zara.
"Be careful, young dragon," the fennec hissed in the faintest of whisper. Her eyes darted up, showing palpable fear for the first time. "I don't think you should get close to her. Not right now."
Spyro pushed the paw away. "I don't think there's a better time than right now."
"Wait, don't-" she began, but Spyro had already slipped out of reach. He came to a stop some distance away from Cynder, his steps careful and slow. He didn't want to surprise the dragoness by appearing suddenly by her side. Especially not now.
"H-Hey, uh, Cynder?"
The dragoness's head turned around slowly to regard him, and Spyro had to suppress a flash of fear as those pitch-black eyes regarded him. She tilted her head to the side. The analogy of a butcher sizing up a piece of meat came immediately into mind. His mouth went dry.
'She hasn't bitten your head off on the spot. That's actually good. Just keep it cool, Spyro. No pressure.'
"That was . . . uh, pretty cool, I guess? A bit scary . . . actually, really scary. But still, you did chase them out, which is good so . . . ah, c-can you stop doing that thing with the eyes? Please?"
She did not move. If anything, those unblinking, black eyes seemed to be intent of burning a hole in his very soul.
"No? O-Oh, okay . . . ah . . . that's . . . that's fine. D-Do you want to get back on the train? Maybe clean yourself off of all that, ah, you know . . . the stuff you've got on you."
Finally, Cynder blinked.
The darkness receded, her eyes bloodshot eyes returning to her natural emerald-like colour. Her gaze swivelled down, noticing for the first time her claws and forelegs, completely drenched in drying blood. She gasped for air, her breathing growing heavier with each passing moment. Her entire body was trembling.
Spyro shifted closer. "It's okay. We defeated them. It's over now." He reached out with a paw, only for Cynder to flinch back.
"No," she whispered. "Just . . . don't . . ."
Spyro had to strain his ears to catch the next words, her voice growing fainter.
"Let's . . . leave . . . please . . . can't . . ." She almost had to spat out the last word.
The dragoness lost her footing and collapsed. She clawed at her throat, unable to breath. Her jaws opened and closed, but not a sound came out. Her eyes bulged out from their own socket.
"Cynder!" Mind racing in panic, Spyro was at her side immediately. Something was wrong. He tried to hold her still, but she thrashed in his arms, fighting for breath.
"Zara!" he finally called out. "Cynder is ill! I need your help, now!"
"Oh, she isn't ill."
The voice didn't belong to the fennec. Spyro looked up and saw for the first time the rat standing in the entryway, just past the collapsed doors. Throbbing lights from burning glyphs stood out against russet robes. He held a staff before him, the Spirit Gem atop pulsating with gathering sorcery. A pair of hungry red eyes glowed under the cowl.
All around, pools of blood began to boil. Spyro rose back to his feet, a burning fireball already taking shape in the back of his throat.
"Fear not," the rat spoke. "The Elder wants you alive. I wouldn't dare to harm his future pet project." He tilted his head to the side. "As for her? I don't believe he would care that much."
"What do you want? What are you doing to her!?" Spyro snarled. He took a step forward, his eyes darting between the rat and a still gasping Cynder.
"That's it? You're not going even to ask who I am?" He harrumphed. "So full of yourself, aren't you, Purple Dragon? But don't worry, I think proper introductions are in order."
He gave him a polite nod. "My name is Baos, appointed by Elder Agzot as High Sorcerer of this Warren-"
Spyro launched the fireball with a furious snarl. He watched in horror as the rat swatted it aside with a flick of his staff, the projectile detonating against the far wall.
"That was rude," Baos said. "I was hoping we could reach an understanding as civilized beings."
"Let her go!" Spyro roared. Electricity was gathering already for another attempt.
"Oh, how boring you are. I walk all the way here to finally meet the celebrated Purple Dragon, and the only thing he wants to talk about is his companion." He rolled his eyes.
"Fine then."
The butt of his staff struck the pavement with a sharp metallic crash. Some distance away, Spyro watched as Cynder stopped struggling and went limp. His only relief was seeing her chest raising and falling rhythmically.
Spyro clenched his teeth, eyes narrowing to slits. "So help me, if you hurt her . . ."
"She is asleep now. Her problems will begin once she wakes up though," Baos informed him, as if the matter were trivial. "You see, me and the Elder have reached an accord as of late. He wants you for whatever inconsequential project he has going on right now. I have little interest in that." His eyes glinted, claws tightening around his staff.
"But your friend there? She's a living, breathing link to the Dark Master; an excellent yet imperfectly designed key to unlock the power He harbours. Imagine the consequences of this discovery, the power a master of the arcane could wield by tapping in such a limitless reservoir. You can see the real value behind her too, yes?"
Spyro shook his head. "I don't understand half of what you're saying, and even if I did, I don't care. We are leaving. Now."
"Of course you are! And I wish you good fortune to your travels as well. I merely ask for a little, modest toll in exchange for you and your friends' passage." His eyes drifted away from him and toward Cynder's immobile form on the ground. Spyro stepped in front of her, wings flared.
"No. I said we are leaving. All of us."
"Oh." His smile faded away. "Then I guess there is no point in drawing this out any longer, is it?" He stretched his neck with an audible pop.
"Tell me, young dragon, do you feel tired? Exhausted perhaps?" He waved his paw around. "How much of your own reserves did you expend for this?"
Spyro said nothing as he regarded him, yet couldn't help but bite his own lips. It was true; he could feel his elemental reserves running low, the first signs of exhaustion settling in as the effects of adrenaline finally run out.
Something brushed against his rear leg. Instinctively, Spyro looked down.
The blood was moving. Leaching through the cracks and between tiles, it snaked across the ground as countless and long crimson tendrils, pouring out of the mauled bodies littering the ground and converging toward a single point. The smell of iron was overwhelming, seeping into his mouth and nostrils. Spyro could almost taste it.
A blur rushed past Spyro, his eyes catching a metallic glint. With unprecedented speed, Zara bolted for the sorcerer, her spear ready to sink into the rat's chest in one swift motion. She never got the chance.
Baos flicked his paw and a wall of unseen energy smashed against the fennec. Zara was thrown back and she hit the ground with a snarl, landing heavily with one side. Then a bow twanged, faintly.
The rat merely snickered. A few feet away from his forehead, one of Hunter's arrows hung still in mid-air. He swatted it away, like an insect.
"Your primitive weapons are amusing, but I won't allow anything else to distract me right now." He flashed Spyro a wild grin.
The blood coalesced around him into a giant pool, lapping at the rims of his robes. The glyphs sewed onto them burned, throbbing like a living heart, their mere sight enough to cause Spyro's eyes to water. Baos raised his staff.
"Dark Magic require sacrifices, Purple Dragon! And you have given me plenty to offer!" He brought the staff down.
"And now they come."
Ripples spread across the blood pool's surface. The ripples turned into churning crimson waves, and the waves morphed into-
"Spyro! Out of the way!"
Hunter's warning came not a moment too late. A long, multi-jointed limb lashed out from the pool, striking the ground where Spyro had been standing a moment before. He leapt sideways, hit the ground with a roll and scrambled back up.
A thing had burst its way out of the pool. Blood dripped down from irregular limbs, as a mass of bulging eyes and sharp teeth struggled to stand upright. The thing had eyes, mouths, teeth, and beaks; bloodshot eyes came out of mouths, and eyelids turned into gaping maws of razor-sharp teeth.
Limbs ending with hooves and claws waved and lashed about, bending into unnatural angles. Faint traces of flesh and sinews held them together. An aroma of rot hang about its bulging flesh.
Whatever Spyro was about to say died the moment the eyes swung to him as one. Any further hesitation ended as the thing launched itself at him, wailing as a dying animal.
Spyro dodged the striking limbs and unleashed a barrage of lighting bolts, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh. Yet the thing did not stop. It stumbled and cartwheeled towards him, its frenzied appendages lashing out.
Spyro was forced back, eyes struggling to keep track of each limb as Fire burned in the back of his throat. He ducked beneath a claw aimed at his head, only for a second one to rake him across the chest. Spyro stumbled back but not before unleashing a stream of burning fire. The creature backed away, screeching.
Pushing through the exhaustion and pain, Spyro launched himself into the air with a powerful beat of his wings. The next moment, Ice shards rained down onto the screaming creature, sinking into its flesh and piercing eye-bulbs. They burst like pus-filled balloons. Undaunted, it let out a gurgling wail.
"Elemental magic won't save you, dragon!" Baos called out to him. "That thing is already in pain for simply existing. Do you think your tricks will make it stop?"
"What the hell is it?!" Spyro banked hard to the left as the creature jumped, a spiked tentacle-like limb missing one of his rear legs. It hit the ground hard before scrambling back up.
"The Amalgamate? Oh, just a little discovery I made during my many studies. Isn't it cute? Come back down, I think it likes you."
A missile of pure Earth smashed against the thing, bursting into countless shrapnel into its side. Bones cracked loudly, yet the thing staggered back to its feet like it was nothing.
'Oh come on, this is ridiculous, why is it not stopping?'
His muscles burned with fatigue, his head pounding as his own elemental reserves were progressively tapped dry. Yet he had to maintain its attention focused on him. Cynder still laid unconscious and somewhere behind Hunter was helping Zara get back to her feet. What if the thing grew bored and decided to go after them instead? Spyro refused to let that happened. He unleashed another stream of Fire against it; skin popped and crackled.
"Is this the best you can do, Purple Dragon? A few Elemental tricks?" Baos scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. "I mastered Elemental magic when I was but a novice, and I'm supposed to be impressed by the 'Saviour of the World'? You are a child invested with powers that go beyond imagination, capable of bending reality itself, and yet you willingly choose to waste them."
"But no matter. I've grown bored of our little fight." He tapped his staff against the ground, and the Amalgamate screeched to a halt. Baos raised a single clawed digit, pointing at Zara and Hunter, the fennec still struggling to stand upright. The Amalgamate swung its body around and charged them without hesitation, mouths agape and limbs clawing at the air.
They wouldn't make it; that was the only certainty in Spyro's mind as the thing barrelled towards them. He saw Hunter pull out a knife as he readied himself for a final stand against the approaching monstrosity.
Spyro did not think. He dived, wings closing around his body as he gathered speed. White vapour trailed behind him as he opened his mouth once again. Ice shards cut through the air with piercing whistles. The Amalgamate stumbled in its run, spears of frost piercing its legs. It never saw Spyro charging into its side until it was too late.
Calling upon his Earth element, he slammed into the Amalgamate horns-first. Bones snapped with a loud crunch under the assault of his increased strength, and the beast was lifted up from the ground and sent flying across the room. It crashed against the far wall before collapsing on the ground. Its waving limbs went still.
Spyro stood there, panting and heaving, keeping an eye on it just to make sure it wouldn't get back up. It was then he heard clapping.
"Congratulations. You defeated a being with the brain of a puppy through the arcane art of hitting things very hard." The smile on Baos face was thin. Crackling sorcery danced across his fingertips. "Oh, and of course, you bought your friends two more minutes. I wish I could say this whole endeavour was interesting, but that would be a lie. From the tales I had heard, I expected so much more from you."
"Shut up!" Spyro snapped. "Seriously, just shut up for once! Nobody here cares about what you expected!"
The rat blinked, Spyro's sudden outburst catching him off guard.
"The only thing I've heard from you is how powerful you are or whatever, but you know what? I've yet to see proof of that. As far as I am aware, the only thing you did was summoning a whatever-that-thing-was and having it fight in your place!"
"It's called tactical think-"
"No! You let your allies inside and stood back while they did the actual fighting! You used them as literal sacrifice so that you could show off your fancy magic to us!" Spyro grinded his teeth. "And you know what? I'm not impressed. A sorcerer, you say? You are nothing but a snivelling, egotistical coward!"
For the first time, the rat scowled. He raised his staff, the Spirit Gem on top glowing red, throbbing.
Spyro let out a scream. Pain unlike any other washed over his body, thousands of hot needles stabbing his skin everywhere. His legs gave up from beneath him and he collapsed. He tried to look up, to move, yet his muscles refused to obey him.
"If you wished to make me mad, dragon, I congratulate you. You did it."
Spyro summoned just enough strength to glance up, only to then wince again as a fresh wave of mind-breaking pain slammed into him.
"I will enjoy peeling your scales off, one by one."
His eyes watered, his breath growing shorter with each intake, as if his lungs as well were on the point of giving up outright.
There was a crash, and the pain ceased.
Baos stopped, then looked down at the lantern that had missed him by mere inches. His eyes turned upward, to the ceiling, where he spotted the glow of a hovering dragonfly.
"Yeah, that's right! That's what you get for hurting my brother!" Sparx shouted. Baos raised an eyebrow in amusement, then chuckled.
"Was that supposed to do anything?"
"You mean aside from distracting you?" Sparx countered.
The rat didn't have the time to reply. He screamed, the staff slipping from his paws. Blood stained his robes and dripped on the ground.
Remy drove his knife into the rat's side again and again. Spyro couldn't say how the otter had even managed to sneak behind him, only that he had. Baos howled in pain, claws reaching for the smaller thief, only for him to remain behind him, clinging to his robes.
A blood-curling howl echoed throughout the room, and the Amalgamate stumbled back into view. Many of its limbs were limp, and the creature had to drag itself forward with just its forelegs. Its maws kept on gnashing.
Another strangled scream rented the air. Barbed vines shot out from the ground and seized Remy. They coiled around him, trapping arms and legs, wrapping around his torso and neck in a vicious grip. Then they began to squeeze, turning his screaming into a faint, breathless whimpering.
Eyes wide, Spyro fought to get up, claws scratching against the ground. He was too far away.
Hissing in pain, Baos turned his hate-filled eyes to the otter and raised his open clawed hand. He clenched it, and the magical vines obeyed.
The sound was akin to cloth being ripped apart. Burning bile raised up in Spyro's throat. The otter's mauled body hit the floor.
"Enough of this," Baos growled. The sorcerer stepped gingerly around Remy's gore-dripping remains and picked up the blood-stained knife.
"Make yourself useful and deal with them!" he called out to the Amalgamate. "The sleep spell is fading; I'll have to rush the ritual." He began to limp his way towards Cynder, the dragoness still laying on the floor where she had fallen.
Spryo grinded his teeth, jaw tightening. Every single fibre of his being burned with pain or exhaustion, his brain pounding violently as if called upon Fire, or Lighting, or whatever element he could.
He saw Cynder laying on the ground.
He saw Baos staggering, careful not to sleep on his own blood as he started muttering to himself. The curved knife glinted in his paws.
He saw what had once been Remy, someone who had done nothing but helping them reduced to a mass of minced meat.
He saw the Amalgamate crawling forward, jaws dripping with unknown fluids.
Everything became clear in that moment. Pain; exhaustion; his own fear. All was gone. Sparx shouted something, but that receded into the background as well. There was only Spyro now.
He opened his jaws, and Aether surged out.
The Amalgamate died.
That by itself wouldn't have been a problem. Amalgamates died constantly; that was the only thing they were good for. They were brainless, brutish creatures 'living' through eternal pain; foot soldiers and pawns in a war they couldn't conceive, and one Baos didn't like to think about too much. The sorcerer didn't question why they existed, or what sick and twisted mind had created them. There was much in the world, and outside of it, that none could know fully. Amalgamates existed, and Baos made us of them. And inevitably they would die and get thrown back to whenever they came from.
Not this time.
As the thing trashed and died, letting out a blood-curling wail, Baos knew that something was wrong. There had been a finality in the Amalgamate's dying scream, as if its primitive mind had actually understood that there was no going back; its existence would end right there.
Baos glanced up and away from the dead beast. The fur on his neck raised up.
The Purple Dragon stood there, battered yet unbroken, yet there was much more to it than his mere appearance.
Baos could feel it; power beyond any imagination wrapping itself around the young dragon, swirling and gathering around him like a maelstrom. Pure Aether permeated the air so heavily that Baos felt he could have reached out with a claw and touched it.
For one eternal moment, Baos stood still, dumbfounded, his mind unable to come to terms with the power displayed before him.
Everything became so much clear in that instant; he understood why the Dark Master had been so utterly obsessed with finding him. The sorcerer would have sold his soul on the spot for a drop of that pure ancestral power.
Baos threw his head back and laughed. The bleeding injury in his side had become inconsequential, the pain forgotten.
"Yes, yes! I waited three years for this moment!" With a flick of his paw, the staff returned to him.
Baos raised his paws, muttering words of power learned by heart long since. Sorcery flowed through him as he gave it shape, his own staff aiding the process. Walls of runes blinked into existence before him, shifting and interlocking into each other. Magical shields weaved into place until there was nothing but a solid barrier of enchantments between him and the Purple Dragon; five layers of defensive spells, joined together into a veritable wall that had never been breached.
"Now, show me your true power!" Baos intoned, a savage grin stretching across his mouth, his voice hoarse. "Spare me your Elements, I don't care for child's games! Give me a taste of what power the Purple Dragon truly wields!"
Baos's eyes filled with delight as he saw Spyro's jaws parting. He laughed as Aether flowed and gathered before his mouth, concentrating in one single point. Light twisted and bended unnaturally around it.
Finally, Spyro unleashed it. A blinding beam of pure Aether cut a path through reality itself. Baos had only one second to admire it fully, to contemplate the sheer beauty before him.
The first layer of protective sorcery snapped like a twig.
The second crumbled.
The glyphs making up the third unravelled and burned.
The fourth exploded.
The fifth and final one held it back for a single moment. Then it shattered like a broken glass, and everything became bright.
Consciousness didn't return to Cynder immediately. In fact, her eyes took some time to crane open, and slowly at that.
She tried to lift her head, only then to realize how overwhelmingly tired she felt. Every single muscle of her body had apparently decided to rest, whether or not she agreed with it. The dragoness shifted around and to the side.
A cursory glance around revealed that she had been laying on a train cart. A moving one to be exact, if the constant rattling and shaking beneath her were any indication. Her head had been resting on something soft, so it was certainly better that waking up in a cold cell.
'Uh. I guess Remy actually managed to make that damn thing work. Good on him.'
Cynder sighed in relief. If she was on the train, it meant that they were finally safe, right? It wouldn't have made sense otherwise. Besides, even if they weren't, Cynder felt too tired to care; whatever it was, it could wait for her to fully wake up.
Even then, the dragoness tried to put some order into her mind. How did she had gotten on the train in the first place?
Her memories were a blur, fleeting images refusing to come into focus. There had been a fight, that was certain. Cynder remembered her and Spyro returning to the underground station, just when the rats had tried to breach in. After that, it got hazy.
She had fought hard; harder than she had ever done up to that point. They had repulsed the rats, then Spyro had called out to her and . . . and she had . . .
'No.'
Cynder breathed out. A cold hand of pure horror tightened around her chest, squeezing hard. Her lips were trembling.
'No, no, no, no, no-'
He had seen her.
Spyro had seen her. The real her.
The memory played itself over and over again before her eyes, more details coming into painful focus. She remembered the look Spyro had given her; the sheer terror in his eyes as they had locked gazes.
Cynder cursed her own carelessness. For one moment she had let her guard down. And that mistake was all it had taken for the Terror of the Skies to burst out and delve back into the slaughter with childish abandon.
Panic building inside her, she searched frantically around. Where were the others? Where was Spyro?
She caught the sound familiar voices, but they were faint, hidden by the clanking and roaring coming from the locomotive somewhere behind. It meant they were in the train cab, away from her.
'You know, I think he's scared of you. You can't really blame him for it.'
She grinded her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut.
'Shut up.'
'Come on, what do you think they are talking about right now. Maybe they are wondering why they let a psychopath and mass-murderer tag along with them-'
Cynder hissed as she held her head with her paws.
'Shut up, shut up, shut up!'
'-and let's be honest here. You enjoyed that, didn't you? It was fun. It was liberating. And most of all, it was powerful. You felt powerful back there, didn't you? Like you were finally in control. There's no shame in admitting it, girl. We both know you did.'
Cynder wanted to scream. She bit the inside of her own cheek, hard, until the iron taste of blood invaded her mouth.
'You don't know anything about me. You're dead anyway, so leave me alone and shut up!'
There was laughter. Cynder could have sworn mocking laughter was coming from somewhere. And deep down, she knew who it belonged to.
'Leaving? Oh no, I don't wanna miss what comes next. Me and you are gonna have some fun together. Just like good ol' times, aye?'
Cynder said nothing. She curled herself into a tight ball and cried, silently.
