Chapter 66

No wine could prepare him for this mental torture he never believed he could ever fall victim to. Watching Iris limping in that body cage, with slices drilling into scale so hard that he could smell and see blood trickling from the molested spots made him want to strangle the one responsible for it all.

Only to hear his battling thoughts screaming at him about fratricide’s soul tainting crimes.

Everything was simply wrong about it, from seeing Athron’s very daughter in such pain, knowledge telling that it was that very mother who deemed such fate upon her own blood, finally to the fact that he just couldn’t keep his eyes away from glancing at that disturbing sight, sight which made his blood boil so strongly that he could feel it bubbling at his nostrils.

How such an ugly, despicable device could make one so wickedly enticing to look at?

Headache whacked at his brain, stealing a growl from his throat. Pressure burst the bubbles, sending a sting down his nose’s bridge. Hiss guided his paw there instinctively, due to indescribable sensation of shock it found two blood streaks there slowly sliding down to his mouth’s top.

While tasting its metallic tinge, his screaming head couldn’t think about anything else, but a single dilemma which depicted their relationship better than actions or gifts could ever do.

You cruel bitch, why I can’t hate you?

Ignus didn’t know whether it were his whines or spoken out loud words perhaps, yet something called for Iris who threw a glance at him from underneath her breathing mask.

Callous, bottomless sea of ice beating from there made the ground from underneath his paws to slip away, turning it into a mud so strong that if it would pull at his latched legs, he would never be able to scramble his way out ever again.

This single glance was more than enough to slap his eyeballs back in place, certain he saw a border there he was sure he will never cross.

And yet, scratching along the heart, making furrows across his chest claws never before felt as much at home as they did now.

Thoughts dispersed sound of claws clicking against familiar grounds, they reached a place which he called home in far better times. No one welcomed them, no peacekeepers, no guards, no citizens nor conspirators. He knew for a long time that Skyward was dying, world locked in prolonged war has to take its toll, it was about time this forsaken city finally acted as the ghosts it houses within its walls.

A troubling perspective one might think, but they didn’t know that choice is of no importance around here. Spyro was right, Skyward and its citizens finally behave like the specters they truly are.

And honestly, he had no troubles with it. It was better if all of it remained a forgotten memory.

Fiery eyes glanced at the cladded girl, burning tail tip flashing up with brighter flames.

The only worthy exceptions were already plucked out from this equation after all.

They stepped into the cold palace, its chilly ground gripped his spine, twisting it around it squeezed last whizzes of breath away. He never experienced Death’s touch personally, despite all the wickedness surrounding this place, his cleverness and companions kept danger at bay. Right now however he could swear that he was dying, each claw click painful beyond reasonable means, as if he would be trampling his own soul.

“Disappointing.” Resounded the most alluring voice one could imagine to hear, even the palpable displeasure surrounding it didn’t manage to strip it from its charm. Quite the contrary in fact, the empowered flair made them all feel incredibly guilty for no reason at all.

The group couldn’t help themselves but to gaze between each other, instinctively looking for the culprit who was responsible for this terrible crime. Only after a short while finally allowing logic to break through, realizing just how little is necessary to make the world around you collapse.

Athron wielded power that has nothing to do with magic.

Sparx regretted being here in such limited company, if only one, usually dressed in robes dragoness could see it now, it might have made him sign the dotted line connecting them without any remorse.

No matter one’s personal feelings, none of them could really decide what the Queen meant exactly by her voiced displeasure. In her case everything fit and the longer they remained lingering in silence, the more they became sure that it didn’t really matter.

They were screwed either way.

“What game are you playing this time Athron?” Ignus finally spoke up, the way the syllables bubbled he couldn’t really tell if this was his conscience, or booze talking.

Sprawled on the cold pedestal dragoness recoiled back, eyes dragging a visible dash of azure abhorrence behind. Though her snout wrinkled, even the crunches didn’t manage to destabilize the alluring elegance radiating from her entire figure. A trap for eyes so solid that no matter how it wriggles, it won’t let go until it leaves you sucked completely dry.

“I can smell your breath even from here. Drowning in your own bile suits you. Disgusting.”

“I’ve asked you a question.”

Athron rubbed her nose. “You better don’t be around me anymore when that addiction will take you.”

“Athron!”

His voice echoed from the cold walls for quite a while, with each new bounce sounding more and more like moaning corpses digging their way out of the grave. Among the growing silence he could only hear the faint swishes of light green slicing the hall, with time even those died out, leaving him with nothing else but his gaping, frozen in midair jaw, from which not even a tiniest breath was coming out.

He felt so soulless all of a sudden.

The called out Queen seemed indifferent to this evident show of disrespect, yet Sparx’ perceptive eyes managed to catch an aberration in her behavior. She reached towards her neck, toes clenching together something that wasn’t there, rubbing against each other in such a way as if they would be measuring something round.

He instinctively glanced at Iris, noticing her caressing the medallion hanging around the throat.

“My intuition never deceives me.” He wasn’t the only one around here noticing abbreviations. The creak of Ignus’ neck echoed so loudly that it was difficult to gather your own thoughts.

Ignus wasn’t sure if his sister spoke or was it perhaps some random wind’s swish sliding across all this ice. Noise of his pounding heart was too strong to allow any other sound to break through. Irrelevance painted the world black, leaving only a picture before his eyes he never believed to see ever again.

Just as he never expected to house butterflies in his belly ever again.

They didn’t knew Athron long and despite clear similarities to their feathery companion, Iris’ adolescent version wasn’t like her at all. While the cold existed, it wasn’t something forcefully encasing one’s senses, but a dangerous aura that announces the owner’s royal perception on the world. It was a mask possessing the capability to be lifted and the Queen was doing exactly that right now.

No insults and obvious disrespect, even when regarding family, left a mark on that visage. A thing that couldn’t be said about the given glance cast by the fiery eyes.

Nobody would notice anything, they as well if they didn’t spend enough time around, better or worse, representing the Queen reflection. Iris took many after her mother, figure and general physical attractiveness was undoubtedly one such trait, only thanks to her constantly crushing that adoring image by all sorts of snorts and signs of aggression they managed to spot wrinkles appearing on Athron’s usually perfectly smooth nose. They were tiny, almost invisible in fact, youth and practiced demeanor tried its best to mask all disfigurements it deemed unworthy, yet despite its best efforts, it still felt like gazing upon rippled by paws sand to them.

Actions speak louder than words they say, there was no greater example proving this saying’s validity than thrown by Athron look in this very moment.

They were quite certain that they didn’t want to discern what exactly hides behind it though.

With the black cut still marking the underside of a purple forepaw, Spyro, together with his two closest friends, knew all too well, that some secrets are better left buried.

“You are a disgusting failure.” They didn’t know why, but her words lifted each head directly at her, instinctively trying to vouch for themselves, certain that she wasn’t speaking about them.

“All of you.” Turns out that one is foolish to believe in dreams in Skyward.

“Sorry, but I must disagree.” Spyro spoke up, shaking off the numbing awe. Too sensitive to folks simply giving up on someone to let it slide. “We fulfilled our end of the deal.”

“Do not mock me in my own house tool. You fulfilled nothing, this is merely an appetizer, one not so very filling in fact.”

“You wanted us to end the conspiracy against you, perfectly knowing from the beginning who is leading it. We did just that, completed your dirty work. Nobody from us care why you couldn’t do it yourself, we had a deal Queen.”

Claws flashed like pristine steel, jiggling the awoken green strips of light between toes as if it would be a snake. There were no need for words, no need for growls or aggression, gesture proclaimed quite clear who wielded authority over here.

Even the Binding light seemed to obey the wishes of its Mistress, seemingly draining in nature, it coiled around Athron’s slender toes with grace worthy of a cuddly mascot, showing no signs of its withering potential. One didn’t need to face the most terrible villains to realize, that someone who wields power that makes the world tremble, has no regard for social standards.

Especially when it comes to newcomers from another dimension.

“To assume what I treat as a bargain’s end is a bold statement that leads only in one direction. I rule in my house, do clarify what it entails dear.” The Queen waved her paw, leaving it hanging in midair.

Iris inhaled deeply, feeling the brands serving for her outfit drilling deeper into her scales. Blood and pain announced their presence anew, exactly as it always had.

She remembered some old sayings stating that you should never scratch old wounds open. Nobody ever said anything about not allowing wounds to heal though.

“My Mot-“

“Na-ah!” frozen in midair paw sprouted a claw, waving it from side to side “Not you.” the blade bent, pointing ahead of the bleeding girl. “You.”

Cynder balked while staring at the sharp tip, every thought in her head screaming that it has to be a mistake.

And then the snake lunged from the paw right into the floor, spreading a greenish ripple across every cold surface dotting the hall. It caught the black paws, stabbing them with supposedly harmless light’s lick.

If not for the surprising red flash stirred by the joining reflecting somewhere in between scales’ cracks.

“We too believed we could challenge the Queen, she felled us one by one, and those that died when hitting the ground were counted among the luckiest. A drone needs a heart and a mind to prosper, a drone needs a heart and a mind to prosper, a drone-“

“Enough.” Pristine claw waved, room flashed in green, snake bounced back into its nest between the toes.

Cynder gasped, choking on her own breath she started to retch as if trying to spit all her guts out.

“What is this?! Whatever you’re doing to her leave her alone NOW!” Spyro growled, triggering more green across the room, its tips instead of overpowering him however jumped back the moment they sprang nearby, cut down like sliced off heads, devoured by the black dash on the underside of the purple forepaw, a cut no longer resembling a line, but a stretched out tear.

Ahtron narrowed her eyes on the retreating light, a normal reaction one would say when things start to get heated, yet Sparx, as someone who spent way too much time around loved ones battling with possessive demons, knew roused by surprise fear when he saw one. It usually tends to appear when facing cracks on something we deemed indestructible and perfect.

He knew it all too well for his liking.

It was either necessity or ignorance that knocks the first pebble on the freshly marked path.

His mind immediately hurled itself down the memory lane, guided by experience’s unquestionable support it sorted through all recently acquired information and standing out observations, where in time only one image formed before his eyes, serving as undeniable evidence supporting this picture’s claim.

“It’s the meat.” he stated bluntly, feeling a taste not much differing from rot on his lips.

Imagination is a cruel mistress.

Athron smiled, presenting a grin so enticing that one would easily believe that selling your own soul is one of the best deals someone can make.

“Clever boy. Now I suggest listening to smart advice, all of I ever presented to you was just a taste, I would recommend not trying my full potential, there aren’t many who can withstand it. Would you like a confirmation of my skills? I can provide it naturally.” The dragoness waved her claw around, rousing a tint of familiar red around a magenta sliced neckline.

“No! Not again!” Cynder wailed, immediately panting so heavily as if her lungs would be way too small to support her body. One paw tapped at the mouth, scolding it for acting on its own while at the same time looking for the lock that kept its independent spirit at bay.

Yet just like many years ago, during moments where her adult, twisted self looked in the mirror, seeing a reflection with its sealed lips casting a glance back at her, so today she felt the senselessness of this hope. It turned out in the end that it was merely wishful thinking of a heart that stilled carried a child’s direct approach to life in its morphed by magic chambers.

Looks like that no matter how old and experienced one can be, fickle hopes for simplicity and naïve heroism remain until the mind finally gives away to age.

An endless feast for Corruption.

And now its coming back.

She heard words implicating her mental scarring many times before, she believed herself for them to be true, after all her sheer hate for all sorts of hermits is a stupid approach for anyone having a decency to judge someone by his actions and not who he is. However, as serious as trauma might sound, she thought that you may get used to it in time, especially when it was also covered up by your own dreams and happiness. After all, what can stand against in purple wrapped joy when even the most horrid villains one can imagine stir away from it?

Trauma as it turns yells louder than anything held dear though.

Her mind raced back to times mind barely remembered, yet heart still knew all too well, times where nothing mattered but the sound of a voice that didn’t belong to her. Times where heart begged to turn left but legs always kept walking right, times where blood satisfied thirst instead of water. Among flashing conscience she still recalled moments where she was there just for the ride, pounding against a shell she couldn’t identify, seeing the surroundings through eyes that felt familiar but never obeyed her, felt scratches, cuts and bruises inflicted by a world that was alien to her.

And now it is repeating itself all over again.

She had a feeling that her skull started to shrink, pressing against a brain that had the audacity to grow beyond its rightful limits. It forced to clench her paws against the cold ground, leaving deep, dark infused furrows on the cold floor from which even the green light backed away. They sank far, gripping the twisted foundations as if they were a spine of a soon to be dismembered victim.

She can’t let the world fade away, it was hers now, no more losing herself to Corruption, no more obeying orders of those who treat her as nothing.

Never again.

She can’t go through it again.

“Fine.” Spyro hissed through clenched teeth, unable to bare the sight of his struggling mate. Tendrils of darkness swirled around Cynder’s scales, slapping at the Binding power as if it would be a bothersome pest. In her was everything a cold-blooded commander could wish for, signs of a weapon capable of defeating their foes displayed itself in all its subtle glory.

Subordinates, a leader’s tools as Terrador would say, not to be senselessly turned blunt or broken, but treated as respectable devices, loyal and willing parts to be called to action that through sacrifice of one would save many others. Spyro understood immediately that Cynder was one such salvation bringer right now, a push would turn her into an indestructible force that even Athron and all her deadly tricks embedded in their chests or otherwise wouldn’t be able to stand against.

Only a few experienced Darkness’ true power, even less, if any, on this world particularly. She was everything they needed to end this masquerade here and now.

Just a push.

It would leave only her blunt.

And this was something he couldn’t allow to happen.

He saw tears trickling down her cheeks, no matter hoe hard he might have tried, he simply won’t comprehend what it means to be Corrupted, he was certain that even succumbing to Dark Spyro stood nowhere close. If they attacked now, Athron would force Cynder to act against her will, most likely she would break free, but the damage would be already done and no matter if the battle would end in their victory, one member would remain scarred for life.

And he doubted even he would be able to help her after that.

Trauma is such a terrible foe.

“We should have tried harder. A regrettable mistake on our part.” Spyro admitted and though there was no Poison in his magical repertoire, his tongue hissed with acid so strong that it would make more than one black dragon blush.

“I’m glad we came to an understanding.” The Queen smiled, sounding as cold as her ice scales demanded, wrapping every notion in the exact same royal bubble she presented before all her, willing or otherwise, subjects.

Adaptation is a powerful trait to have.

“Now brother” Athron waved her claw at him “Come over here and the rest of you go, take care of them daughter, I’m sure you know how to entertain guests. I will call you again if I’ll need you,” she tapped her chest, “stay vigilant and don’t stray too far, I very do dislike when someone’s late.”

“One more thing before I forget,” she drummed her toes against the podium, cold floor in between the group of dragons cracked, forming a web that immediately sprouted several sharp, coiling sparks. They dashed towards Iris, swiftly serrating the joints that tied her tight armor. Split slices clanked on the ground, spitting bloody droplets everywhere like juices from a mashed fruit.

Ignus gasped when he gazed at her wounded flesh, looking like claw marks wounds on body wielding a way too familiar face roused his heart into a sprint. Imagining twisted times where fantasy mixed itself with reality, becoming more and more certain that all this charade was meant to torment someone entirely else than the one being cut.

Sister no longer needed to tell him what game she was playing.

“Why now?” he asked the moment he stopped by her side. World swirled before his eyes for a brief second, nausea returned whenever he had to deal with her, that was normal.

What wasn’t normal however was that he felt really sick right now.

He really hoped it was all because of the booze.

“I asked myself the same question brother, but you know who didn’t? Also me.”

“I really don’t have the head to indulge you right now.” Red paw rubbed the similarly colored forehead, only this sad world’s walls knew just how much he hated headaches. There was nothing else more depressing mocking your existence than painful reminders stirred awake by your own actions.

“How far are you with the Grazer’s tongue?”

“Are you seriously just asking me if I’ve been doing my homework right now?”

Athron pressed her claw against the cold floor, the tip sank into the ice as if would be butter, carving out a circle so diligently like it would be recalling a lost long time ago, muscle memory.

“If it would be anyone else my little brother, this conversation would go differently. Remaining blind to hints hid in plain sight would renderer me as useless as the drones I command. As the recent events proved I’m still far away from falling into that decadence however. You too would follow a similar path if you wouldn’t allow feral emotions to cloud your judgment.”

Ignus gritted his teeth, at the brink of spilling all manner of curses, yet in the end kept his tongue in check. He didn’t spend much time around Athron lately, so he might have lost his touch when it came to dealing with her humors, it’s from that perhaps where all this nervousness stirs from. Athron had her moments when she liked to show herself as the all powerful and wise, treating everyone else as the vermin they are in her eyes. Normally he let it slip, whether all this boasting held any truth or not didn’t really matter, she held the mantle of rule so she had all the right to boast and show everyone their place.

Something however was different right now, he couldn’t really tell what, but for some reason he never felt more stupid than he did in this very moment. There was something else at play here than simple mockery, something that required his presence and despite the given orders to the trio of newcomers, he had a feeling that their task was merely a bonus in the grand scheme.

He didn’t know at who all this effort was focused on, or why was it commenced at all. Something was eluding him, something very crucial. All he could do now was to wonder what hints he missed and if his future self managed to decipher them in the end. For some reason he hoped he had, otherwise, as Marble unfortunately says, if you waste a lifetime opportunity you might as well kill yourself, this way you at least won’t rot from within.

However while having bloodied Iris’ images flushing before his eyes, with claw marks that could strangely match his own, he feared that his future life smelled exactly like alcohol’s disgusting stench wafting from his mouth right now.

*

Ice, a once hateful, slippery enemy had one undeniable perk that could not be found in any other floor.

Perfect surface.

There were no patterns here, no strange zigzags or dashes that make your eyes go wild if you stare at them a little too long. A balance that screamed stability as roaring dragons do their war cries during battle.

And yet her paws trotted around.

The ground seemed to melt before her eyes, she did her best to avoid the collapsing spots that blinked in and out of their watery existence. Muscles seemed to forget entirely how it is to remain steady, desperately trying to find a pawhold in places which the constantly spinning world didn’t allow to remain in focus for long.

Or perhaps it was her wild breathing that melted the ground, she felt like she was about to implode and the rolled out tongue from her mouth could not stretch her mouth any further to let more air in. There were whispers all around, strange, echoing thuds knocked at her skull, trying to find a crack to slip through and drill themselves into her brain to remain there forever.

There were those around who called them demons.

Many would call her out for being an oversensitive fool considering she has Creep sleeping with her conscience, not to mention she basically switched places with him once. They would never understand that there’s a huge difference between giving away control and having it ripped away from you, it’s the latter that scars you for life.

Especially that damn, humming void in your skull, devoid of anything pocket dimension where even no sound and feeling existed, satisfying you with floating images of a world you never are about to taste. Like watching events unfold inside a transparent egg.

Seeing every vile deed cracking its shell, drawing lines like slithery vipers crawling up to forever poison you.

They can’t understand, nobody who never went through the same thing can, it was an experience she never believed to fall victim to again, not when the purple anchor keeping her in place is still shining strong. This is perhaps why trauma screams so loud, nightmare induced reality slipped past despite that, and her life based on constant danger and abuse withers away when it’s separated from a sense of security.

“It’s going to be alright Cyn.” Sparx pressed against the black, swaying frame, giving it that much needed push to keep it relatively balanced. “We know it was the food, so it can’t be that bad. I can always shove my fist down your throat, just tell me when you’re ready.”

“You can even fly inside. Anything to get it out,” Cynder hacked, “I feel so fucking dirty.”

“I don’t think it’s going to work guys, it would be too easy and you’ll make yourself only weaker Cynder.” Spyro turned his attention on the only one among them who could possess any valuable insight on the matter. “What kind of magic is this Iris? And how do we stop it?”

Iris didn’t respond, all this time she was limping on three legs while keeping the last one pressed against her bandaged head as if trying to keep something from bursting out of there. Her focus devoid eyes were wide, like that of a child listening in to things she should never learn. Spyro was certain his question wasn’t even heard, it would be a success if she was even aware of her surroundings.

This place is a trap. Skyward is a single, big torture chamber. Rime is just a fantasy for these ghosts, if it ever came to such point to begin with. There was no reason to doubt Iris seeing her state, it was quite clear it also missed her expectations and the way she found her way around this place proved it wasn’t just her fantasy.

Nevertheless coming here was a mistake.

Past is in the past, he too would most likely try bringing Ignitus back if he would be the only dragon showing him any care. Yet that doesn’t change the fact that digging in history causes more wounds than actual healing.

Silence confirms this more than anything.

“Iris.” He voiced her name more sternly this time, stirring a reaction, if a head bob could be called such that is.

“Mother never manipulated, always honest, always true.” Blue forehead was scrunched, looking at the deep furrows splattered in blood Spyro could easily guess that they weren’t there due to confusion only.

He exchanged glances with his brother, the only other one in their group who wasn’t tormented by trauma. Sparx shook his head, a simple gesture speaking louder than any words. Iris didn’t know and if she did, there was no way she will share that knowledge, not because she didn’t want to, but simply couldn’t.

“Dead end.” Sparx announced after they reached the end of the corridor.

They all stopped except for a girl in blue scales, Iris pressed forwards until her head bumped against the cold wall. Though her legs halted their advance, it wasn’t a reaction many would expect from someone who lost sense of his surroundings since her head kept knocking at the wall as if begging it to open.

This family had secrets, many they couldn’t even imagine most likely, yet even they doubted that this particular corner will react to blood in any way.

“Skyward to princess, please respond.” The dragonfly dashed behind the girl, giving her medallion’s chain a small tug.

It scratched perfectly against the now practically faded mark pointing at the time when she was almost decapitated.

Despite the wounds, Iris turned quickly around, craning her neck behind the shoulder she swiftly snapped with her teeth, ready to tear at anything her fangs meet. Sparx could only be grateful that as a dragonfly he was born with such quickly beating wings, his reflex was nothing to be ashamed of,but even it wouldn’t save him from the incoming, rabid maw if his wings wouldn’t be such close friends with the air.

The clanking teeth snapped basically in front of his nose, the gust they created, paired with deep exhale wafting from the nose threw him back with the strength of a small tornado.

“There you are! I would prefer an entrance with little less biting, but everything starts with small steps, I get it.”

“Next time I’m going to eat you, you damn annoying fly.” Iris hissed.

Sparx grinned, ready to respond that she has to get in line, but in the end decided against it. Cynder was barely holding as it is with all that trauma poking her, provoking a beast known for its aggression, with mental problems to top it, wasn’t probably the most safest idea.

Still, after everything she done, a little ass kicking wouldn’t hurt her too much.

Iris glanced back at the wall, rubbing the faded cut with movements that reminded Spyro of someone very dear to him scratching her neck in thought. She couldn’t understand why they were here, lately she very rarely could tell what was going on anyway. Everything was clouded in a fucking fog so thick that she could barely focus on one thing going on before it vanished, only to be replaced by a completely different picture.

Guess nothing brings clarity of mind stronger than approaching danger of losing one’s head, literally.

Head pounded, she could swear she saw her own brain’s folds projected upon that wall, many scrunched so hard that they were basically withered worms, others floating in indecisiveness, unable to tell which crunch exactly will lead them towards direction named reality. Among them were also some thick spots, unmovable bumps looking like cooked scabs that spread twisted roots like some cursed trees. Entirely black tumors were devouring the brain, the longer she watched them, the more she felt the walls around her spread apart. She didn’t even know when she reached out, claws at the ready to scratch against the bumps, instinctively trying to slice them open.

The sound of slashed stone was the only sound she got in return.

“This might be shocking princess but try to keep calm, okay?” Sparx cleared his throat, “You can’t drill your way through stone with claws only.”

Iris pulled her claw away as if it would be electrocuted.

Dead end.

It was truly a dead end.

She pulled back from the wall, letting eyelashes flap again and again, her brain’s image didn’t want to disperse easily, keeping concentration focused on the tumors which grew in size the farther she stood away from the projected folds. Tissue was shrinking, leaving less and less room for thoughts to travel across, becoming nothing more than dead, black stone.

Void filled her head after yet another blink, a place where nothing existed but Silence only. It screamed loud in here, showing locked forever in a frozen heart images. Locking her in a cell with a culprit and a victim she abhors and is ashamed of simultaneously.

Locked in a diamond prism twin didn’t have that much blood on her though.

The scabs vanished when eyelashes bowed once more, leaving her standing inside a corridor as cold as her entire adult life was. Moments when she switched between dimensions were the times where she realized that neither is a truly welcoming place. There’s no big difference between silence and chill as one might expect, both leave you shaking, only to leave you begging for relief when they’re done tormenting you.

No alternatives. No escape. Everything a big, incurable scab.

There are times where a dead end doesn’t sound too bad.