Warning: This fanfiction portrays gore and graphic descriptions of death. If this site wasn't so bad about it I genuinely would have rated this as M but we all know what that's used for, and I'd like for my fic to actually be seen. You've been warned.
Anywayysss so I have no idea what prompted me to make this. I started actually around when I finished up that Darkstalker/Indigo short I last posted. Writing that story drove me to read the Darkstalker book again, and I guess I just had this strike of inspiration. It's literally just a rewrite of Arctic's final moments, but from his perspective. The only reason I wrote it was because I realized I hadn't written anything truly graphic or edgy in ages, and I was kinda missing it a bit haha. I'm not sure how good this is but I'll leave that for you to decide. Also the title was thought up in 10 seconds it has like no true meaning it just sounded cool aha.
If you're here from my Winterwatcher fic rest assured that I haven't forgotten about it, I just fell into a bit of a funk where I had no idea what the direction for the story should be, and I wanted to finish this up first. I've started chipping away at it again, so just know it'll come eventually. Just consider yourself lucky I didn't play around with the other Darkstalker idea I had as well, because I was itching to try it out after finishing the book.
I love The Legend of Darkstalker if you haven't realized.
Pain is such a funny sensation.
Sometimes it is like a blight; a cloud of hazy red that blots out all thought and concept, turning civilized dragons into their most basic primitive instincts. It draws them away from rationality and speaks in only the most simplistic of language. It tells them to fear it, to hate it, to beg for it to be over, even though they might not even know what is happening. It is like a plague upon the mind, taking the universe around them and condensing it into only the torment they are feeling.
And then sometimes it heightens your sensations, turns on your mind, breathes life into your soul. It awakens the body around you, living as you had never lived before, trancing around death itself. It pulls power into your scales, and sharpens your senses till you can feel every last flake of snow across your winged membrane.
Perhaps almost as sharp as the dagger that was embedded into the meat of Arctic's foot.
It was a stab of pain that caught him so off guard, so isolated and alone on his flight to the Ice Kingdom, that he couldn't help but find himself being pulled down into the sandy desert down below, an infuriatingly high-pitched cry escaping from his muzzle. The dunes of the Sand Kingdom are surprisingly soft, the grains eroded down by eons of wind and storms. It did little, however, to soften the skull-rattling impact the Icewing found himself making as he tried to slow his crash with a beat of his wings.
This pain was loud; the blade rubbing against his shattered scales at any move he tried to make. It felt like the dagger was stabbing through his whole body, daring him to break composure. And for a brief moment that's almost what he did. He desperately wanted to give into the pain, sit in the sand and squirm around as he gasped for breath, searching for any abatement from the wound in his paw. But Arctic was an Icewing. He was trained by the royal guard itself. He was a prince, a nobleman, a dragon above all others. He was strong and resilient, whether from his upbringing or the hatred that poisoned his veins. He had left his kingdom as an Icewing, and he was going to return to it as an Icewing.
Just like how he knew Whiteout would soon become.
And so instead Arctic gritted his teeth, trying to control his breathing as he struggled to quell the simmering rage that threatened to boil inside him. He knew who had done it without even looking, even as he heard the multitude of wingbeats closing in behind him. It took all he had to refrain from giving in, to keep himself from tapping into the buzzing power that electrified his claws. He had already pushed himself with the spell that rested within her necklace, he couldn't risk any more of his soul rotting away. Although as the dagger seemed to dig just a bit deeper within his foot, drawing out a wince, he found himself desperately wishing he would. He was of course vaguely aware of the silvery-white hybrid that was beside him inspecting him with intent, but all his attention was directed at the three dragons that were swooping down from the sky.
The Seawing prince, the Nightwing, and the eerily calm animus that stood in the middle. Darkstalker. His own son. His own terrible, horrible son. Born under the gaze of three full moons, blessed with ethereal power as if the magic in his talons weren't gifts enough. Even Arctic had to admit he was perhaps the most powerful dragon that stepped foot in Pyrrhia. And he hated that fact with every fiber of his body. Oh how he disrespected Arctic, his teachings, the teachings of every animus that lived before him. Prancing around with the egotistical streak of a con artist, believing the world revolved around him and him alone. He would pay for his insolence in due time, of that Arctic was going to make sure of.
Some might say that's what he was in the middle of doing before he was so rudely interrupted.
Three dragons, one a sight-weaver, and two with mythical power at their claw-tips, against him, pinned down and injured as he was. His own icy pride almost refused for him to admit it, but even Arctic had to finally accept he was outmatched physically. He growled in frustration at being so compromised. "Just let us go." He spat out. "I let you live. Do me the same courtesy. We never have to see each other again."
Darkstalker seemed rather unphased by his attempt at bargaining, and the Icewing watched as a rolled up scroll slid from the bag on his side into his awaiting talons. "Where do you think you're taking my sister?" He asked evenly.
Clinging onto the power that still resided within the necklace, Arctic was quick to respond. He had always been good at bending the truth. "She wants to go with me. Tell him, Whiteout." In the circumstances he found himself in, the prince didn't even bother to hide the venom in his voice.
"I want to go with Father." The words tumbled out of her muzzle unnaturally, as if planted there and repeated mindlessly. It was a poor imitation of her character, although Arctic hoped it would serve its purpose. He could tinker with the spell and improve it later, when the pair had made it back home to the Icewing's palace. Back to where they both belonged.
"She's going to marry an Icewing Prince." Arctic managed to force out. "Not some lowborn Nightwing." And she was going to become a true Icewing, the Icewing daughter he deserved to have. Not some runt who meddled with uncivilized Nightwing dragonets. This was something he was finally going to fix.
"That's right." He heard the hybrid beside him add. "I'll be an Icewing princess. And have lots of baby Icewings. And live there forever. Where it is very, very cold." Internally Arctic winced. Perhaps the spell needed more tinkering than he thought. Even though the words came out of her mouth, it barely felt like Whiteout's own voice. They'd never buy it.
His internal fuming was distracted by the sight of Darkstalker slowly unraveling his scroll and flattening it down on the ground below. What was that insufferable brat doing now? "You are not taking here to the Ice Kingdom. She would be miserable there, even worse than you were."
Arctic snarled. Darkstalker didn't know him. He didn't know what he felt, why he did what he did. If he knew then maybe he wouldn't be so hasty in the first place. "I'm doing this for your mother." In his anger he tried to sit up, before falling back down as another jab of red hot pain lanced through his foot. Vaguely he was aware of talons upon his paw, although he paid it no mind. "Queen Diamond will let Foeslayer go if she has me instead."
Whatever effect he hoped the reveal might have, Arctic was sorely disappointed. Darkstalker didn't falter, didn't even change expression at the sound of those words. Instead Arctic found the animus staring into his eyes, a darkness within that he had feared to find ever since he learnt of his son's power. Whatever had used to reside within his son, for the better or worse, was long gone now. "Mother is dead." He said with a blank voice, as if even the words held no true meaning to him anymore. "You are doing this for yourself, Father. You have no reason to stay in the Night Kingdom anymore, now that Mother is gone. So you're taking your chance to go home, like you've always wanted." A brief glance at the Icewing was given. "You're planning to tell Diamond all the secrets you know about Nightwings to help her defeat us. You may even use your power again, to launch an attack against us."
Arctic watched as his son dipped a talon-tip into the bitter-black ink that he had set down at the corner of his scroll, still completely lost as to why a scroll would be on his list of priorities out of all things. The scroll wasn't the only thing that was going through his mind however, nor was it even the most prominent. If he had less restraint he would be jumping over and strangling the runt as he spoke. His mind was a sacred place, the one place he could indulge in cruel fantasies without worry of consequence, and his own son had the audacity to root around in it and reveal his inner workings. He didn't have any spells left to give, Darkstalker should know that better than any dragon, he thought venomously. However… "I might, but only to protect Whiteout. If that's the only deal Diamond will accept to keep her alive."
He tried to flex his talons, wanting to claw at the ground before stifling a groan as he felt the dagger send more of that iron-hot pain up his foot. It was about time that pesky piece of metal got away from him. Gritting his teeth, keeping his Icewing composure like he had been taught so many years ago, Arctic reached down and grabbed the dagger, quickly pulling it out and discarding it to the side. He knew it was going to hurt of course, if it had hurt going in it was going to hurt coming out. But he still didn't expect the searing pain that raked through his body as his foot screamed in protest. Annoyingly he wasn't able to silence the aggressive hiss that sneaked through his muzzle.
All of this pain, this violence and suffering. What did Darkstalker know of pain? He had never been hurt in his life; never fought, been clawed, or stabbed. He had never killed before. He didn't even have the faintest of idea what this felt like, what violence truly meant. And now that he was an animus, he never would. "You'll be fine with your invincible scales, don't worry." He snarled. "Now say goodbye to your sister and let us go before Diamond's army finds you."
"I want to go to the Ice Kingdom. I want to be with Father." Whiteout jumped in, evidently not caring or helping the situation one bit. After all, tact wasn't exactly a part of the spell. "You go home. I don't even like you"
For some odd reason that comment, as fake as it was, and as obviously enchanted as the dragon it came from, still was enough for Darkstalker to stare at the hybrid for a few brief seconds, with an unreadable expression upon his face.
Of course, Arctic never really bothered to learn how to read Darkstalker in the first place. If Darkstalker wouldn't even give him the courtesy of learning his father outside his head, then why would he?
Eventually the Nightwing's attention was brought back to the prince that stood in front of him, his wounded foot staining the sand below. "But you made one odd mistake. You should have killed me before you left, like Diamond wanted you to. I'm not sure why you didn't." He said it almost as if he was confused, as if he actually expected Arctic to try and kill his own son.
He wanted to. Darkstalker was a disrespectful egotistical brat who stood against everything he represented, and always played mommy's favorite whenever he got the chance. He wasn't proper or presentable, and he took every chance to make snide comments as if respect meant nothing. Some days he wanted to more than others. Like today. But as much as he hated him, as much as he hated Darkstalker throughout the years, he could not bear to spill the blood of his own kin underneath his own serrated claws.
"I wasn't going to kill my own son. Whatever you think of my soul, it's not so far gone that I would actually do that." The absurdity of the statement finally started to hit him, and he couldn't help but find himself morbidly amused. How much easier this whole thing would be if only he had just done the impossible, then maybe he'd finally be free of the Night Kingdom forever. If only that spell on the necklace was a little more powerful, or a little more complicated, then maybe it would have finally been enough to tip him over the edge. "I know I should, though. One more spell and I'll probably be there, won't I? I mean, what are you going to do to stop me?"
Oh how wonderful that idea sounded in the moment. It almost sounded enticing to lose his mind when he put it like that. Finding a burst of spiteful energy shoot through him, Arctic forced himself up, standing tall in an almost dramatic fashion as he challenged the Nightwing in front of him. "Our magic is equal, You and I. Our souls are equally doomed." It was perhaps one of the few sentences he spoke that day that he truly believed. In a way it was almost a challenge, as if daring him to try and deny it. He never did. Darkstalker didn't even take notice of the Icewing spreading his wings in front of him, he was too busy dragging his talon across the scroll. Finally getting sick of his apparent disinterest, Arctic's smug expression turned to one of annoyance. "What are you writing, you little monster?" He shot out.
"Darkstalker, please, please don't." The sound of a different voice caused Arctic to flick his ears, his attention finally being drawn to the other dragons that stood in the sand. He recognized the voice from Clearsight, the dragonet watching with a desperate look in her eyes, as if she was watching the end of the world unfurl in front of her. He didn't know much about Clearsight except that she was weird, Darkstalker's girlfriend, and the queen's personal seer. He didn't put much faith into the seers of the Night Kingdom; they all spoke in vague prophecies and were impossible to trust. But despite that, it was hard not to trust the growing look of despair that was beginning to cross her expression, as if she knew whatever was going to happen was horribly unstoppable.
Arctic turned to look at his son, his gaze hardening again as he watched the animus finish writing upon the page. He had decidedly had enough with the situation, and was about to say as much when Darkstalker finally spoke up.
"Now, stop talking."
"You arrogant little brat. That's the last time you try to talk back to your father like that." Was of course what Arctic was going to say. Except he found that as soon as he opened his muzzle to lash out, the words got caught in his throat, as if a barrier held his speech back, keeping even a sound from escaping. He blinked in surprise, pulling his head back in his confusion, before trying again. It was like his own body worked against him, disobeying his own orders, stopping him before he could even attempt to talk back.
Arctic was not a stupid dragon. He was not particularly the most cunning, nor the most witful there was, but he was far from stupid. And it only took a few seconds for the pieces to start falling into place, and an idea of his true predicament to cross over him. And as a fragment of the idea came to mind, he found the blood in his veins chilling, growing icier than ever in something that Arctic hadn't felt ever since his destructive escape from the Ice Kingdom so many years ago. Fear.
"Never use your magic again. Never attack me or my friends ever again. Don't try to escape." Darkstalker almost sounded as cheerful as reading out the instructions to a board game, and ever so faintly he could even see a glimpse of a smile crossing Darkstalker's muzzle, as if this was all just one nifty little party trick to him.
Arctic didn't even notice the buzzing in his talons until they were gone. They had been at his claw-tips his whole life, and it was only once that buzz snapped away with a jolt that he even knew it was there. The power to change the world in his paws, to alter reality, to do whatever he willed to do, it had been within him his whole life, and he had taken it for granted. And now it was gone. Arctic tried to shout, to call out, to curse at his son, but as before he couldn't even mimic the motions. No sound was allowed to escape. He brought his claws up to his throat in horror, the full weight of his situation crashing down upon him. Darkstalker controlled him, fully and completely. Whatever he said went, and there was nothing Arctic could do to stop him.
He tried, of course. He tried to jump at him, to jump at the others, to jump away at the sky in a desperate attempt to flee, but it was far too late by then. His feet felt anchored down to the dunes below, as if the sand surrounding them were made of concrete rather than the grains they were. His wings stuck to his side as if they were chained around his body. The only thing that seemed to move was the frantic lashing of his tail, betraying the primal fear that was shooting through his body. And all of that could change simply at the command of his son, a few words across his tongue.
Arctic the Icewing no longer had free will.
"Release Whiteout from the spell you put on her."
It was a command, and so he had to follow it. It didn't matter what he wanted or not, didn't matter that he was fighting with every fiber of his being against it, his body complied all the same. All that his efforts brought were the soft trembling of his talons against Darkstalker's words. His claws hooked around the necklace that hung around the dazed Whiteout, pulling it off before he found himself crushing the jewelry in his hand. It didn't matter to Darkstalker that the shards bit into Arctic's paw, nicking him with little cuts that stung like needles, but to Arctic that's what happened.
From one dragon in chains passed down to another, the effect it had on Whiteout was near instantaneous, as she suddenly blinked in bewilderment, as if awakening from a dream. Arctic could only watch as his daughter let out a gasp of shock, the scene clicking into place in front of her. Arctic could only watch as Darkstalker embraced her, trying to calm the defeated look in her face. Arctic could only watch as Clearsight looked over the scroll, fragile threads of the future snapping away from within her eyes. Arctic could only watch as Fathom swayed on unsteady talons, glancing towards Clearsight with sickening disbelief.
And there was nothing Arctic could do about it. He was Darkstalker's puppet, a toy, a plaything for him to tug strings as he saw fit.
For the first time in years the Icewing felt his heart racing in his chest.
He didn't even recognize Darkstalker turning his attention to him until the Nightwing spoke to him. "Follow us back to the Night Kingdom. Keep up. Don't try anything. Don't even think about anything except flying, one wingbeat after another, until I tell you you can land."
Arctic had no choice. As his son jumped up into the air and spread his wings, and the others quickly followed suit with apprehension, Arctic had no choice but to join them in the sky. He wasn't allowed the freedom of thought, the only thing allowed to circle in his head over and over was the feeling of each thump of his wings, and the feeling of the warm desert air rushing past his frozen scales.
The Night Kingdom was exactly what Arctic remembered of it, complete with all of the things he loathed about the sprawling city below. Dragons of all hues of black and purple littered the streets beneath them, despite the moons being high up in the sky by now. Even after so many years Arctic never was able to adjust his schedule. The city itself seemed so messy, so disjointed. Houses up high, houses down low, ravines in between, and roads connecting it all with winding serpent trails. Whenever he looked down he could only think back to the detail of the Ice Kingdom, the care taken to lay everything out in an intelligent and purposeful manner. It was nothing like the beauty of Icewing architecture.
The Great Diamond was the exception to that rule. The center hub of the Night Kingdom, crafted to be a center of culture and commerce. It was lined with schools and stores and libraries, and the delicately crafted Night Palace stood at the end. It was purposeful and intelligent, and filled the heart of the Nightwing tribe. And it just so happened to be where Arctic found himself diving down towards, not that he wanted to of course. But Darkstalker had begun gliding down to the Great Diamond, and so Arctic had to follow, silent in his seething rage.
There was a stage set up in a widely open area of the square, standing above the sea of dragons that were wandering around below. In previous days the stage might have been used for music or performances, acts that brought mirth and entertainment to the dragons below. On this day though the stage was destined for something very different, and the dragons that were landing on it did not have entertainment in mind. Claws clattered against the cold wood that they now stood atop, looking down at the crowd that bustled below. For Arctic that meant his claws took him over to the side of Darkstalker, landing at his wingside of their own accord. Whatever his command was, was the law, and all Arctic could do was follow it. He was vaguely aware of the rest of the rag-tag group on stage around them as well, but to him they weren't important. Darkstalker's spell wouldn't let them be.
"My friends," The Icewing heard his son shout out beside him, addressing the dragons who had started to take bewildered interest in the scene that was set on the platform above. He sounded deep, commanding, imposing almost, Arctic thought. As if despite his age, every single year was spent in authority. "You're about to see something no dragons have ever seen before. Gather your families; everyone come watch! This is the most important day of your lives!"
Little did Arctic know just how important this day was going to be, or how much it would impact the rest of his life.
Slowly, more and more dragons took note. Some out of their own curiosity, and some in an attempt to fit in with the others who were now standing around below. A sea of eyes began to grow, glowing in the depths of the night that surrounded them, and Arctic suddenly found himself with an itching under his scales, stood so helplessly in front of so many unsuspecting dragons. They didn't know the invisible chains he had shackled over his paws, the magical muzzle that was strapped tight across his face. To them all they saw was the outcast Icewing prince, standing beside his son like an obedient puppy dog, uncharacteristically silent. He was imprisoned in Darkstalker's enchanted jail, and the worst part was that the others couldn't see the bars that held him.
There wasn't much that Arctic could do but sit and wait, wait for his puppeteer master to return. Faintly he heard Darkstalker talking to some dragon behind him, most likely Clearsight. Arctic had always known her as a stressed timid dragonet, but he never would have guessed she'd stand so idly by his side, so complacent in the act that was being set upon the stage. Darkstalker had chosen his mate well, the Icewing thought bitterly. He had made sure no one would stop him from molding his world the way the animus saw fit.
Arctic heard the clicking of talons as Darkstalker stepped back up to the center of the stage, back beside Arctic's side as the Icewing glared at him with all of the indignant hatred he could muster. And then Darkstalker took a deep breath. "Thank you for coming! What a beautiful night!" He declared to the crowd. Arctic saw him briefly glance over, before regaining his attention. "A perfect night to punish a traiter!"
Arctic felt a soft gust of wind hit him as Darkstalker swept a wing dramatically towards him, and all the eyes that stared at the Nightwing immediately snapped over to the Icewing beside him. He felt his tail twitch angrily behind him, the most emotion he could show. Why did it feel so hard to catch his breath all of the sudden?
"First, let's consider the evidence." Darkstalker started. "Arctic, tell our listeners. Tell them what you were about to do, before I stopped you."
Suddenly the chains that laced around his muzzle seemed to disappear, the seal within his throat fizzling away. The suppressed anger that had bottled up inside of him, the rebellious rage that had been bubbling up within his chest finally had a way to escape. How dare his own son try to usurp everything he had done? "I was going home!" The Icewing roared out to the crowd defiantly, his own words finally crossing his tongue once again. "I'm not a traitor!" He wouldn't give Darkstalker the satisfaction of an easy confession, he didn't deserve one. It was his fault for interfering in the first place, for stopping him from the once chance he had back of a normal life.
Arctic watched as Darkstalker took a step closer to him, standing tall in front of his father, a flame burning in his eyes. It almost looked like could be smiling, if the overwhelming hollowness of his stare didn't completely overshadow it. "Tell the truth." He commanded. "Tell them exactly what you were planning." It was almost like Darkstalker was challenging him, daring him to try and defy. It was in his gaze so clearly, that one simple statement that shone into him. I own you.
So what else could he do but comply? Arctic whipped his tail around in ferocity, but the invisible chains still bound him to his spot, his talons refusing to budge. And somehow, his voice seemed to slip out of his muzzle of its own accord. "I was taking my daughter to Queen Diamond. I was going to offer her talons in marriage to whomever Diamond chose, so she could hatch some heirs to the throne who might have animus blood." He admitted with a razor edge to his voice. "I was going to live in an ice palace again, sleeping at night like a normal dragon. I was going to find out if Foeslayer is still alive. I was going to offer the Icewings a detailed map of the Night Kingdom and a way to get inside to destroy you all, in exchange for her life."
Among the silence that hung over the crowd, and the stares that burned into his back from the dragons standing behind him, no one noticed how Arctic's voice quietly cracked at the mention of Foeslayer's name.
Darkstalker was in his element, fueled on by the crowd that looked up to him in shocked awe. Arctic watched as he disappointedly shook his head, putting on a show to the Nightwings below. "You see, he admits it all. He would have wiped out our entire tribe without a shred of remorse. He is the worst dragon who has ever lived, and he deserves to die. Don't you agree?"
A pin could have dropped a kingdom away and still be heard upon the stage.
Arctic's breath hitched in his throat. Why was it doing that? Why was air suddenly so hard to grasp? Did he suddenly forget how to breathe, or did the air get heavier around him? Or maybe it was because, slowly, he was getting a crawling feeling down his spine, a prickling of his back that wormed its way through his body. A sensation that told him exactly what his mind was thinking at the hybrid's words. This wasn't just a performance to showcase his power, or a way to strip apart the prince's ego on stage. Arctic wasn't just going to be Darkstalker's puppet forever, tormented whenever he felt appropriate, or turned into the queen to see her own justice carried out.
Arctic was about to die.
"Kneel." The commanding word escaped from Darkstalker's mouth, cold and soulless. Arctic looked into his son's eyes, searching for any sort of regret, any guilt or remorse hiding behind his pinpoint eyes. He found none.
And so Arctic knelt, getting down in front of the animus as his paws moved for him, forcing him low to the wooden floor below. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to keep himself contained, but as much as he told himself to stand strong, he couldn't stop the fluttering of fear deep within him.
"Admit that I am the greatest animus of all time." Darkstalker spat out. His eyes were like daggers, blades that dug into his snow-white scales. He had taken a step closer, holding himself higher, relishing in the insignificant helplessness that was displayed in front of him."
Arctic heaved, trying to hold back the letters from his throat, but try as he might they escaped all the same. "Y-you are… the greatest animus of all time." He wanted to snarl, to yell, to clutch his throat and hold back every word that Darkstalker pulled from his conquered body, but he couldn't even budge a talon in resistance.
Darkstalker gave him one last look, before turning his attention back to the crowd, throwing open his wings in a powerful display of assertion. "Tell them there is no more powerful dragon than me."
And so he told the dragons below, even though every fiber in his body cried out against the strings that Darkstalker pulled. "There is no more… powerful dragon, than you."
And then Darkstalker turned back around to him, turning slightly away from the horde below, a gleam in his darkened eyes. "Now say you wish you had been a better father."
It was perhaps the one thing that night that Darkstalker didn't have to force out of him. Arctic let out a snort, and then a chuckle, and then escaping from his muzzle a disbelieving desperate laugh. Even despite the situation, despite knowing that Darkstalker was working something up in his mind, Arctic couldn't help but laugh at the irony of his command. "I do wish I'd been a better father. If I were, I would have strangled you the moment you hatched!" He growled out, looking directly into Darkstalker. Arctic had always despised the hybrid, hated how much attention his mother gave him, how stuck up he was, how egotistical he became, how defiant he was to his authority, and how so very Nightwing he looked. If he had known the trouble this dragonet would have brought him, Arctic would have frozen him right in his egg on that thrice-cursed night.
Darkstalker's eyes narrowed, and the gleam that hid within them was long gone. Whatever faint trace of emotion he held had disappeared, replaced with a void that echoed empty nothingness inside.
"Cut off your tongue."
Arctic felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart pressed up against his chest, pounded against it, as if it was trying to escape just as much as he was. His eyes widened as he desperately looked around for something, anything that would save him from what he was about to experience. He was met with apathetic stares. With trembling talons he opened his muzzle, sharply aware of the chill of his rapid breath against his paw, as he slowly pulled out his tongue, and quickly sliced his serrated claw across the organ.
This pain was the kind that sharpened senses, the kind that was felt across every inch of his tongue. The dismembered end fell onto the floor below, discarded by its owner. The dagger had hurt, but this was a pain that burned across his muzzle, that screamed in despair over every ounce that was cut clean. Arctic wanted to hiss, to shout, to cry out in agony, but Darkstalker's spell prevented him. All he could do was let the tears well up within his darkened eyes.
The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, cold and heartless, reminding him of his empty feebleness in front of the animus that stood in front of him. It dribbled down from his maw, staining his pale teeth and spattering onto the smooth wood below as he heaved in pain. How odd it was, that he never noticed how smooth the stage was, or how gentle the breeze, until he was maimed in front of the kingdom.
"Now, take your talons, rip open your stomach, and show us all what you're really like on the inside." Darkstalker curled his own claws against the ground below. "Pour out your life on this stage."
Thump. Thump… Arctic felt his heart stop at his words, and the breaths that had been flowing freely suddenly halted in his chest. His jaw quivered, sending more speckles down to paint the floor. He didn't have anything to think, anything he'd even want to say if he could, except for the horror that had chilled every scale of his body at Darkstalker's command. His claws began to rise again, of their own accord, tugged by the strings his son controlled. Already they were tainted with his own blue blood, clinging to his ivory talons like a disgraceful curse. Arctic could already feel the tingle against his stomach, the anticipation of his own talons burning in his mind. And yet for all his fear, his desperation and his struggle, all he could do was watch as his talons began to press against the soft underside of his belly, feeling it rise and fall at his panicked gulps of air.
At first the agony seared through his nerves, a horrendous line of hellfire that traced down the line he carved in his gut as he let out a choked gasp. Every new scale severed felt like a burning knife was ripped across his chest, a blazing braid of string that dissected him open to the cold night surrounding him. He felt every drop of blood as it trickled down his arm, every warm ounce of flesh that he split apart, and every wisp of air as he exposed more and more of his Icewing insides to the world. It hurt so bad, a pain that he wasn't even able to fathom before, a screaming feeling of torture that echoed through his mind again and again and again, taking over every sense and every thought until nothing else remained but the desperate desire for the torture to be over.
And then his vision began to blur, whether it was from the tears that streamed down his snout or the shock that stunted his body. Arctic was barely even aware of the dragons in front of him, barely even aware of his own talons. The only sound that he heard was his slow breath as it shallowly flowed in and out. For the first time Arctic slowly looked down, the world twisting and tugging around him, as if they were props upon a stage. His paws were unrecognizable, his essence smeared bright blue across the skin, and dug across the length of his stomach, a long trench that leaked into the stage below. Lines of his own intestines were strewn out in front of him, escaping from the hole he had crafted and spilling out with their bloody glimmer underneath the moons. Arctic had successfully opened himself up for the Kingdom to see.
The world began to blur even more, lines twisting into lines, forms into forms. Was this what it was like to dance around the door of death? Would this be the way he was remembered? A dragon that was disassembled, at the mercy of his own talons by none other than his own son? Faintly Arctic wondered if Foeslayer would ever discover what had unfolded on this fateful night, if she would ever find out how he came to his end because of his own hubris.
He hoped she never would.
"As hollow as I had thought." The far-away words of Darkstalker echoed in his ear, and with hazy vision he saw the animus step closer to his side, paw-steps away from his touch. "Now take your heart, and show them how empty it is. Show them how black your soul is, where all the love you had never went to." It was whispered into his ear. At least that's what Arctic assumed, with how close Darkstalker seemed to be. If Arctic was in a better state of mind he might have been able to notice the personal edge that had laced Darkstalker's tattered words. But Arctic noticed nothing except the movement of his own talons, reaching up to his chest this time, digging a claw deep between his ribs
It was supposed to hurt. That's what Arctic faintly assumed at least. Surely the crunching that echoed from his ribs being flayed apart was supposed to be accompanied by that hellish torment that had racked his body before, right? But instead all the Icewing felt was a cold tingling begin to spread through his skin, an icy chill that started numbing his paws and freezing his arms. It was cold, colder than even his own Icewing frost that lurked within his core. He felt his breath suddenly get hard to catch as he buried his talons deeper into his chest, and with each exhale flecks of blue escaped into the awaiting air.
And then he found it, pressing against his paw, slowly drumming out his death in resignation within his chest. His claws began to close around it, wrapping it in their jagged embrace, holding it closely one last time as it pulsed against his palm.
Tha-thump…. Tha-thump… Tha-thump…
The world was beginning to turn grey, colours bleeding out, lights dimming, voices fading.
How odd…I can feel my own heartbeat in my hand.
His claws began to close down, sending a wave of frigid chill washing over him, taking away the last sense of sensation he had left. One last time Arctic looked over to Darkstalker, met his eyes as the fogginess of the world took over, closing in around him. The last thing he saw was Darkstalker's stare, still as blank and lifeless as it was when they started.
If only I saw the monster within you sooner, my son…
And then with a sudden yank Arctic ripped his beating heart out for the world to see, quivering in his grasp.
The world turned black, the noises cut away.
With an echoing thud, Arctic collapsed onto the stage, dead.