He was falling.

Fast.

And Far.

The void rushed past him in a fury of pitch-black streaked with crimson-red, circling around his plummeting form like a maelstrom of fire and darkness; the roar of the wind drowned out his thoughts, and the heat of the flames licked against his skin. It was as if he was falling through the inside of a tornado made of fire, the winds whipping around in to form a tunnel leading downwards…or perhaps a more accurate description would be it was like he as in a dark whirlpool, being pulled down by the mighty, swirling current into the dark, dark abyss.

Never to see the light of the sun again.

Most people, under such circumstances, would most likely be panicking for their very lives, terrified beyond comprehension. They would most likely scream, cry, beg for help for whatever higher power they believed in for salvation. As was the nature of the weak and the mortal.

But he was by no means weak, or even mortal, and there was only one emotion he felt right now:

Rage.

Pure, primal, animalistic rage.

His own bestial roar of fury was so loud it pierced through the winds like a gunshot through the silence of the night. The flames hot enough to melt metal brushed harmlessly against his scaly skin, leaving not even so much as a smudge of soot; said flames were nothing compared to those burning from his very eyes, the gold and lavender tongues blazing all the way to the bases of his horns. His long tail thrashed through the swirling winds with anger, its long spines tearing holes in the edges of the vortex. His large, featherless wings beat against the winds, desperately trying to gain control of his descent into wherever he was going, but to no avail. His talon-like claws tore at the streams of smoke around him, and his dagger-like teeth snapped shut on empty air, as if he could find the source of his predicament in the chaos around him. And his brilliant purple scales glimmered in the dim light like gemstones, as did his golden underbelly and bronze horns.

He was a beast known by many names, throughout many worlds. Some were titles bestowed upon him by birthright, inherited from his ancestors during the time they influenced the universe, while others he had earned himself through his actions, which influenced millions of lives across the universe. Some worshipped him as a god, singing his praises and giving thanks for all his actions had done to better their lives. While others damned him as a demon akin to the Devil himself, cursing his very existence and seeing him as nothing more than a monster needing to be slain; the majority of these, however, were of the wicked or the cowardly, who didn't approve of the fact he actively sought to destroy their ways of life, purging the world of evil and idiocy alike and reforging them with his power over the elements.

Jendovahzoor, The Purple Dragon, the Son of Akatosh, the Lord of Time, the Heir of Gojira, the Thane of Nimh, the Primal God of Vengeance, and the Son of Malefor. These were but a few of many, many titles he had earned for himself across the world of Tamrizeroth.

But to those who knew him personally, such as his family, allies, and friends, he was simply known as Spyro the Dragon.

And he was fucking pissed.

He could not remember the events that led up to this situation; the entire day itself was a blur of fog, color, and noise. Everything looked and sounded like it was submerged deep in murky water within his mind's eye. And now he found himself here: in this 'vortex of darkness', being pulled down into…somewhere.

He didn't know where, and he couldn't have cared less: wherever it was, it was away from his Home. From his Domain. His People. His family.

His mother.

Whoever was responsible for this…whoever had torn him away from them…they would burn. He promised by his very name: they would burn until even the ashes of their skeletons were consumed by his fire, along with all who would dare stand between him and his way home.

He had just about to start blasting holes throughout this swirling 'tunnel of doom' when a distant glow of red drew his attention downwards, the faint glow of what looked like the late evening sun reflecting in his blazing eyes. There, deep into the abyss but approaching with speed, was the literal light at the end of the tunnel, or the bottom of the whirlpool in this case. He didn't care either way: all that mattered was getting out of this swirling mess so he could find a way back home.

The winds whipping around the dragon began to die down, and the red flames dispersed around him; the darkness of the void surrounding seem to outright crumble away like sand through one's fingers, black chunks of non-existence breaking apart and disintegrating into true nothingness, revealing a dark red sky filled with paler-red clouds rushing past him. His sense of touch also returned in a flash; the hot winds howled in his ears and whipped against his scales. The sensation of being pulled somewhere had shifted as well: from the arcane feeling like he was being dragged in a violent current to the naturally-occurring pull of gravity.

Finally. Now he was back in command of the situation, as it should be.

With a loud *WHOOSH* of air, his mighty wings snapped open to their full length; his fiery-orange membrane caught the air beneath them, and he felt his descent quickly slowing as he took flight. The clouds stopped rushing past him as he leveled into a comfortable glide. His draconian eyes pierced said clouds like a beam of light pierces the dark, and he saw that he was soaring high above a vast desert landscape of dry, wind-swept red stone that stretched as far as the eye can see, lined with great mountains ranges and dotted with many large, twisted rock formations scattered all across it.

His eyes narrowed at the sight; he didn't recognize this land. He had no idea where he was; that was going to make getting home a bit of a-

The moment the thought of going home entered the dragon's mind, he was suddenly yanked to an abrupt stop.

Seven points on the drake's body: his neck, wrists, ankles, and wings were all seized by previously-nonexistent chains, which rattled with an almost crystalline chime as they went taut. His wings burned with pain as they were forcibly pulled downwards mid-flap, nearly tearing them out of their sockets, while his neck nearly broke at the point of connection.

He barely had time to register the pain before he was pulled down out of the sky, once again violently plummeting to the earth against his will.

An enraged roar exploded from his jaws as he bellowed his pain and fury to the heavens, struggling violently against whatever had seized him in their grasp. His scales lit up with a brilliant purple-magenta light as he summoned every last drop of Aetherian power within himself, and his entire body literally burst into violet flames from the sheer amount of raw Aether energy he created, pouring every last ounce of strength he could summon into fighting the pull towards the ground; the sky around him was filled with small explosions as the very molecules of air were crushed by his sheer raw power.

But even that wasn't enough. For all his might, all the legendary power that could consume entire worlds in its wrath, it made no difference: the magical chains didn't give in the slightest, pulling the dragon down with no effort.

And once again, he was falling from the heavens into the abyss below.

In more ways than he had yet to realize.

Any wayward hell-beast currently wondering the mountain range, as well as any sinner seeking shelter from the Extermination within the wilds far away from Pentagram City, would look up just in time to see a blazing purple comet streak across the heavens above with the blinding light of flames and a bellowing explosion that sounded almost like a dragon's roar.

It was a sight they would only get to admire (or fear) for a few split seconds before it crashed into the distant horizon with a thunderous boom, sending a shockwave across the land.

"Hey guys, come look at this."

"Is that an Elder Dragon? The hell is it doing down here?"

"The Hell, indeed…and it's still living? Oh…oh, I see…he's a Banished."

"Oh…oh man. That sucks."

"No kidding, though who would have the gall to make the sacrifice for-…wait…those scales. Is that-…No fucking way."

"What, what's going on?"

"Come on, you idiot! Don't you recognize the colors?"

"…oh, SHIT."

"How is that even possible?! There's hasn't been a new Jendovah born since the era of Malefor! How did this one slip past the oracles?"

"A question for another day: we need to tell the Heaven's Council of this as soon as possible. This could change everything."

"Man, poor bastard. Hate to be in his shoes right now…"

"The bells are sounding. Holy Week's over. We gotta go."

"B-But what about him?"

"We can't do anything for him right now, as this is not our jurisdiction. We'll report this to Adam and Gabriel as well; maybe they know of a way to help this poor beast."

"I hope so…I wish you grace, Son of Akatosh. You'll need it for the road ahead…and good luck."

Pain.

It was the first thing that made itself obviously apparent as he slowly came to, causing a deep, reptilian groan to escape his jaws. It wracked his entire body like the claws of an Odogaron, especially in his wings; they felt as if they had been ripped completely out of their sockets. It was a miracle the joints hadn't been dislocated and the membrane hadn't been torn.

He laid there motionless, his body laid out on its side and spine curled backwards, like the fossilized remains of a dead dinosaur found in a dry riverbed. He didn't move. He didn't speak beyond a pained groan. He didn't do anything buy lay still and wait for his body to regenerate from the damage it took, and for the pain to go away; he could already feel his body staring to mend itself, the ache slowly fading away as his wounds regenerated from their damage; broken bones snapped back into place and sealed their fractures, and torn muscles knitted back together. The bruises under his scales began to clear, while said scales grew back from where they had broken from the impact.

Only after the pain had completely subsided did he finally move, rolling himself over onto his armored stomach and folding his still-tender wings to his sides for protection; it would be a while before he would attempt to fly anywhere again. He gathered his limbs under himself for stability before finally using his long, snake-like neck to lift his horned head above his body...at which point he coughed harshly, hacking up the mouthful of dirt he had swallowed during his crash, showering part of the crater floor in molten-hot, magma-like saliva, which hissed loudly with steam wherever it landed.

Then, after all of that, he finally opened his eyes.

Spyro was an Aetherian Safi'jiiva, a subspecies of an ancient member of the Elder Dragon species, and thus had six limbs in total: four legs and a pair of wings, the latter protruding from his shoulders. His hind-legs were saurian in nature, complete with a digitigrade ankle structure and four-toed bird-like feet, while his forelegs were outright primate in build, complete with five-fingered hands with one being an opposable thumb; both fingers and toes were tipped with sharp, curved claws, obviously used for slashing prey. The dinosaur-like tail was incredibly long, twice the length as the rest of him, while his wings were large and bat-like, with four long fingers lined with a fiery-orange skin membrane and a single clawed thumb on each of the wing's 'hands'. His underbelly was lined with overlapping gold-colored scale-plating from chin to tail-blade, while the entire length of his spine was covered in hundreds of long dorsal spines that looked sharp enough to pierce through metal, the longest lining the back between his wing-shoulders and the thickened end of his tail, turning the latter into a deadly weapon. His neck was long and snake-like, yet thick and strong to support his head, which was more like a prehistoric dragon's than a traditional dragon's in appearance: outright saurian in structure, with a therapod-like snout and jaws, forward-facing eyes, bony eyebrow-ridges, a pair of backward-facing horns that curved upward in an S-shape from the back of his head, under which several smaller horns and chin spikes lined the back of his head and jaws. His eyes glowed with a fiery light in the dark, blazing pools of bright gold and magenta-purple with snake-like slit pupils.

Said eyes glowed so brightly that they lit up the dim area of the crater with a glow that was very much like the dimmer light of an evening sun; fiery in nature, yet dimmer than actual sunlight. He slowly lifted himself to his feet, turned his head back and forth, taking in the details of his surroundings: of the newly-formed crater his body had smashed into the solid clay-red desert floor. Broken pieces of gravel and rocks tumbled down the sides of the pit, crumbling from the broken ground, while the howling of how, sandy desert winds could be heard above, the crater ironically providing shelter from their biting gales.

The sound of rattling chains, as well as a heavy, dragging weight pulled on his neck as he turned it, and he looked down at his fore-paws to see the source of the noise: to get a better look at what had literally pulled him out of the sky.

Chains. Seven of them. Seven great crystalline chains that were attached to the dragon's body at several points, with cuffs carved to resemble the heads of snakes biting down on their captive, their eyes burning with yellow-orange flames. There were seven points of attachment: his neck, both arm-wrists, both wing-wrists, and both ankles, leaving only his tail free. The teeth of the snake-head cuffs seem to be biting into the dragon's flesh, holding him in place, though there were no wounds caused by the teeth, and no blood spilled at the points of supposed puncture. The ends were just as peculiar; rather than being tied up to something or fastened on the other end, they seem to 'fade' into the ground, the last links seemingly fading into non-existence just above the floor.

These 'snake-chains' that clung to his body like the jaws of a gator clung to their prey; despite clearly seeing their fangs passing through his scales and burying themselves into his flesh, he didn't feel any pain from them. At least, not on their own; when he had been yanked from the air, it had felt as if someone had jammed red-hot hooks into where the chains held him from before pulling down as hard as they could: not to tear the flesh, but to prevent him from going home.

Home...it was the exact moment he thought about going home when these chains first seized him...

And when the thought passed through his mind again, the chains suddenly glowed with a red light before pulling taut once more, causing the dragon to lurch forward as the red-hot fangs burned into his flesh. A pained shriek escaped his jaws as he was pulled forward; he was just able to catch his footing before he fell, but he was unable to fight the unbelievable strength of the chains as they pulled him to the ground, forcing him to his elbows and knees with a heavy thud.

And for all his strength, for all his legendary power of the Aetherian Safi'jiiva, or Purple Dragon as mortals put it, he was unable to do anything.

His tail thrashing back and forth at dangerous speeds, slamming into the walls and leaving even more holes punched into the solid rock, he gripped the earth with all four legs and pushed with all his might. So much so that the very ground beneath him split from the sheer force of his strength, splitting the very crater in half with a thunderous crack. Almost as thunderous as his roar of pure, primal rage he bellowed as he poured everything he had into the fight to break free.

And even then, they didn't budge an inch.

A dark growl of a murderous blood-lust escaped his throat, promising a death by hot, painful flames to the one who had cast this spell upon him; to whoever had not only sent him to this realm, but sealed him to it. That's what these were: a seal to this realm, made to ensure that he stayed in it and never escaped.

It was with the acceptance of that fact did the chains finally stopped glowing and went slack; Spyro exhaled in relief, a cloud of smoke billowing from his mouth as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. The chains appeared to 'ripple', as if becoming made of water, as they slowly faded into nothingness. Soon, they were gone completely, along with any sensation of them being there in the first place.

He couldn't see them, hear, or feel them and their weight. It was as if, for all intent and purposes, they had ceased to exist...and yet, he could still tell they were there. Sense them, in a way.

Sense that they still held their unbreakable grip to his limbs, keeping him bound to this very realm.

But that was the real question: what realm had he been bound to?

A huge reptilian hand larger than a fully-grown man burst from the dust-cloud settling over the crater, grabbing onto the edge with a grip so strong it cracked the very rock it clung to; claws as long as a human's arm carved deep grooves in the earth as a second hand joined the first, as a long tail swished through the air like a great serpent dancing to a charmer's tune. Then, rising from the dust like a great demon from the depths of an even deeper, darker hell, the massive, draconian head of the beast slowly lifted high up into the air upon his long, serpentine neck; the head alone was more than three times the size of a man, casting a large shadow over the desert, as a deep, rumbling growl of a breath thrummed from between its teeth.

Head clear from the hole, Spyro looked around to see that he had landed on a plateau near the peaks of a large, forested mountain range, the crater he made forming a new circular hole in the mountain's face, almost resembling a single eye in the earth, overlooking the vast expanses of forests and open fields.

It would've reminded him of home, were in not for the peculiar plants that made up the forest: the grass around him (at least the bits that hadn't been blown away from the impact, was a deep rusty-red in color, and each individual blade was shaped more like a thorn, though it bent beneath his feet without issue as he stepped out of the hole and onto solid land. The trees were just as uninviting; pitch-black bark with long, thorny branches filled with deep-red leaves that looked more like twisted blades soaked in blood. As if daring anyone to try and touch them.

The glow of crimson light drew his attention skywards, and his eyes widened at the sight above him.

There, floating high above the clouds and filling the entire sky from horizon to horizon, was a massive red pentagram that glowed with a baleful pale-red light, radiating with an evil energy. And a blackened sun that looked more like a solar eclipse than an actual star shone balefully through one of its points, casting the world in what would only be described as 'black light', for lack of any other term.

'What is this place?' The dragon asked mentally, the crimson light of the pentagram reflecting in his eyes.

A sudden bestial roar behind him was the only response he got.

Spyro whipped around, teeth already bared in preparation for combat, just in time to see the massive bear-like monster smash through the trees, outright shattering the trunks as if they were made of cheap glass, their thorns breaking against its armored hide. It was easily his size, if not a little bigger, with a body that was outright ripped with powerful muscles visible even under its thick coat of black fur and layer of armored plating across its back. It reared up on its hind legs, making itself appear even larger than it already was, letting out a thunderous roar as its four eyes burned with red fire.

The dragon responded by mimicking his newfound opponent by rearing back on his own hind legs, matching the bear's height with his own. He spread his large wings to even greater effect as he let out a thunderous roar of his own, one that crackled with the sound of open flame. But the bear didn't back down, falling back to all fours as it stomped and snarled in preparation for battle. Spyro's eyes narrowed as he dropped back down to all fours as well, claws digging into the dirt as his tail swished back and forth in anticipation of battle, a deep growl rumbling from his throat.

It was going to be a bloody battle for survival; one that only one of them was going to walk away from.

And Spyro, for one, had no intention of backing down. Even if it meant injury that would take days to heal, dragons never backed down from a fight, especially with so much at stake.

He didn't know how, but he was going to make it home. And no number of hellish beasts or armies of evil were going to stop him from achieving his goal. If he had to mow down an entire army of giant bears and whatever other monsters this realm would throw his way, so be i-!

A new smell was caught on the passing wind, and the battle was thrown the second it registered in his sinuses.

The bear gave a gruff bark of a roar before charging, its claws tearing up the earth as he ran with all its strength. But the fight never came, for the second it got close enough, the dragon unleashed a bout of his fiery breath at the ground in front of him, between him and his attacker; the intense bout of Dragonfire was so hot it melted the very rock of the plateau into a patch of boiling hot lava. The bear stopped just short of the raging flames and bubbling magma, the sheer heat being more than enough to cause it pain, its eyes burning from them. It stumbled backwards, pawing at its eyes in a desperate attempt to relieve them of their pain before its opponent had a chance to attack.

But said attack never came. By the time the bear was able to open its teary eyes and see again, the dragon was already taking a running leap off the edge of the plateau, spreading its massive wings and taking flight, flying fast and far out of its reach. The great beast rose up on its hind legs and gave a powerful roar of anger and defiance at the winged reptile, ready to fight again, but the dragon was flying away from it, taking to the skies above the mountain range, growing smaller and smaller into the distance.

To this, the bear gave a triumphant grunt of approval, satisfied that it had scared the trespasser out of its territory.

And Spyro looked back just in time to see it turn around and approach one of the fallen logs that had lined the clearing, from which a pair of small cubs came tumbling out of, squealing happily that their mother had chased away the big, loud monster that had shaken the earth.

Dragons may never back down from a fight, but a mother trying to defend her children from a supposed threat was not a fight. It was an act of desperation. And Spyro had no intention of destroying an innocent family, even one made of giant hell-beasts. The second he had picked up the scent of the cubs in hiding, he knew he was throwing the match, no matter how 'cowardly' it might've appeared.

He knew what drove the mother bear to face him, the Jendovahzoor of all creatures, to fight to the death: a fear that he was all too familiar with himself.

A fear his own mother must've been feeling right this very moment.

If his departure from his home-realm had been as sudden and unexpected as finding himself in the void had been, then she must be worried sick now…but, thankfully, that was all any of them would endure: they weren't bound to this wretched realm as he was, and it eased his mind to think that they were safe and sound back home, away from this strangely-hellish realm.

His eyes drifted up to the Sky Pentagram above him, its light once more reflecting in his eyes.

Hellish, indeed…

His eyes hardened with resolve, and he flapped his wings to pick up speed, soaring through the mountain range like a small comet of purple. He was going to escape this hellish realm. He was going to find his way back home. He was going to see his mother, his siblings, and his people again. And if anyone or anything even thought about trying to stop him, be they man or beast, then they would taste the full wrath of Jendovahzoor.

That was a promise.