FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 48

His blue scales were shivering under the snapping touch of Dante's Freezer, a touch of chill that never bothered his cold blood previously, low temperatures are the domain of an ice dragon while not completely invulnerable to the freezing touch of frost, creatures like him possessed the natural ability of cold protection. Even much more here, on the border between the Freezer and rest of the Dragon Realms where the atmosphere wasn't that chilly.

For an ice dragon it was no different than taking a bath in cold water.

Or at least it should be.

He doubted that many ice dragons were burning from the inside like he was. Stress, a feeling he didn't believe he would experience again came back with an increased strength as if wanting to pay him back for all these years of negligence.

He felt stress. Stress.

Him.

A dragon fighting in more battles than others have living years on this earth.

Cyril dug his claws into the snow, pressing his body against the cold surface of the rocks, his blue scales sinking into the aura of the snowy terrain, turning him into another iced hill like many others on this landscape.

He growled quietly, internal battle of thoughts demanding that he will get a hold of himself, trying to stir awake his warlike spirit which knew well what it meant to be in enemy territory, the wounds the Apes cut on the flesh of the Realms still did not heal after all.

Still no matter how hard he tried to focus on the job at paw his soul could not cleanse itself of the dread, reminding him that this nervousness is caused by something much deeper than the thrill of approaching battle. A thrill that is weak compared to some of the war experiences he went through, his militaristic spirit confirming his suspicions that as a dragon he cannot fail in the task he had planned.

The deeper part of this stress being the perspective of what comes after it.

He buried his snout into the snow, trying to cover the wicked thoughts under the layers of cold puff, directing them at a different perspective, one that would be disastrous for his race as a whole if the parasite that feeds on it will be allowed to exist.

He can live with the blame and guilt, better him alone, individual suffering was worth the relief that will be granted to his kin. Besides, he was an ice dragon, a creature with a chilly heart as the stories go, who, if not him, is more capable of coping with the weight that'll follow after putting destiny on the right path.

There can't be another massacre.

Dragonkind won't survive another purge like that, and he was certain another will come if his kin won't learn how to scare the threats away instead of inviting them with whimpers and cries.

If history taught him anything then it is that danger will always find dragons and whether they like it or not, they need to be ready to face it as a race or face extinction.

Since he was alone, he could admit it, he wished that his race was a perfect reflection of Spyro. That boy is more than just legendary heritage, he is exactly what the dragons need to find in themselves, that specific, hard to describe power.

It had nothing to do with magic, destiny or any other such nonsense. Spyro was simply a boy who marked the soil with each step of his paws. He had flaws, he was reckless, sometimes naïve and catastrophically short sighed due to unwavering loyalty to his friends. Despite all this though, threats stayed away from him, an ideal example of a dragon who doesn't have to flex to make everyone see how strong he is.

No.

The rules are simple in this case.

You don't demand respect, you earn it, and that specific clumsiness in Spyro is what he would want to see in his race. To be strong dragons, yes, but not mindless golems that cherish only rough physical strength.

Was all of this his wishful thinking only? He felt so, but on the other paw he was also aware that he doesn't have enough years left to see the development his race will go through reach fruition and it all might be just fear speaking through.

What he knew though is that to change the course of history, course of a battle, course of a tactic, course of anything else that requires planning, all that is needed is a ripple.

A ripple that requires a shocking pulse to be applied otherwise the chances of it fading into the waves grow drastically and the windows were one can be applied are few indeed.

Cyril smacked his head into the snow, forehead burning so hot from all this processed thoughts that it melted the snow around.

Enough.

This is not the time to play oracle. There was enough of prophecies and fantasies out there, the corruption spreading in Warfang was exactly what happens if one relies too much on it.

And then as if hearing his point of view distant voices reached him, the noise carried by the chilly wind, a touch of frost that made his teeth rattle.

Three different tones, three different souls.

Perfect.

No one ever ignored a good appetizer.

"You think we'll ever leave this cold rock and see how pastures look like without worrying about dragons chopping our heads off? " a young voice, lively and vibrant, clueless and hopeful

"Don't speak ill of your home. Don't disgust it to yourself since you have nowhere else to go. Only young lives like yours can change the fate of our people, do not forfeit this opportunity to impatience" a calm voice echoed in the wind, it was rough and trained, clearly used to giving orders in its prime

"Maybe instead of debating you two would focus? All this blabber only chases prey away and I really don't want to stray far from the border" the final voice swiveled in the wind, an impatient voice, a reliable voice, almost sterile, focused on the assigned tasks

Each of them an irony of his past and current life. The needle that was driving the temperature up sank deeper into his soul, to the point that he felt as if no amount of snowy hills on top of him could chill him down.

"I can't see no prey" the young voice chirped in "What I see though is that we're starting to choke in here. I get it, we lost the war, but how long the Realms can shun us? I mean it would hurt nobody if we were allowed to visit once in a while. I can't be the only one who is getting driven insane by this unending cold"

"Value that you have a spot in this land you can call home at all" the experienced voice spoke up "Dragons had all the arguments to end our existence completely. That we still have something we can call out own is not short of a miracle"

"Miracles and wishes" the direct voice snorted "Foolishness. The only reason dragons didn't chase us further is because they would suffer terrible losses if they did so. Cornered prey fights with doubled intensity, even if they would wipe us out we would slaughter so many of their numbers that they would have never recovered from, in the end following the genocide of the Apes"

"Predicting the downfall of the strongest race in the Realms is not wishful thinking?"

"Malefor was also supposedly the strongest creature in the world and yet he fell. Everything ends eventually, sooner or later something stronger shows up. I hope there will be one of us still alive to taste the satisfaction, just imagine seeing those scaly hides being torn apart"

A sudden blew of wind dispersed the incoming dreamy relief.

Just in time in fact to keep Cyril in place, he wasn't known for patience, limits of which got much more thinner in his late years. His claws were already thrust into the ground, muscles tensed, ready to pounce at the group and simply charge them without a thought, like the enemies they were.

He had enough of listening to bullshit, he didn't leave the city and mushed his scales with soil like some beggar to hear the same crap like in Warfang. He couldn't do anything with that Brill, but there was nothing stopping him from touching his three lesser versions.

That is until the gust of cold air blasted across his features, slapping him like a paw of a scolding mother.

His muscles relaxed, soul sensing deep down as this was another one of those jerks of Fate stopping him from doing something reckless. Everyone experiences like that in their lives, where you are about to do something but are suddenly stopped by an unexpected snap of a branch.

The thing is, hesitations like those usually stopped you from doing something bad.

The plans he had for those Apes were definitely not on the good side of the moral spectrum and yet for some reason he was held back.

Or perhaps he was just making this all up, maybe it was the stress that was getting in his head. He wasn't sure anymore, all this confusion was irritating to the point that he had enough of thinking about it.

He will finish what he came here to do and that's it, stress and other things are no match against the other feeling he hated most of all.

Waste of time.

Just as Cyril finished his internal struggle three apes rounded the snowy corner, their cladded in light fur armor legs crunched the snow below in steady rhythm of a practiced march. Age of each member of the group ironically represented by the shade of the fur they were wearing, with the youngest being naturally the brightest.

They were talking still, but he no longer cared what they had to say, all this doubts and confusion were making him hesitant and as battlefields taught him, wavering in your decisions always turned tragic.

Besides this will also teach those vile mercenaries a lesson, just because the war has ended and the Realms allowed the apes to have a safe haven of their own, that didn't mean that they weren't enemies still.

Taking your borders as safe for granted is a very naïve thing to do.

Murderers.

He watched through the slits of the small snowy hills, completely still, only the pupils were moving as if he was a frozen statue with a trapped spirit inside. At some point, as the three apes were passing him by, he saw the eldest of them looking his way, their eyes met for what seemed to be an eternity and Cyril couldn't help himself but to think that the ape saw him, not only that, the ape knew what is about to happen and he pitied him because of that.

The stress levels jumped higher, numbing buzzing filled his skull as if there would be a crowd of moles inside that hammered at a contraption with their fancy tools. Before all this doubt he felt served only as a moment of hesitation, not being strong enough to make him actually change his mind.

This time was different however, this battle of stares was nothing he ever experienced and as a Guardian he fought the glare battle more times than he could actually remember and the reason for these experiences slipping his mind was tediousness. He was always the one in charge, every other eye looking his way was another arrogant fool who was getting his place shown.

Right now he felt like the petitioner and as stupid as it may sound he wished to be that arrogant fool, at least he would hold to a scrap of confidence, as futile as it might have been.

Here there was nothing but dread.

He felt as if he was falling, sinking in the depths of the ape's milky eyes, the ground opened underneath him opened and something vile grabbed him by the legs. And then a tail rose, ended with a fiery hook that pierced his flesh, it didn't go for the heart though, there was no point as it tear through his scales and impaled his soul, dragging it into a pit of darkness not even a horde of dragonflies would be able to find its way through.

The earth closed behind his pulled down spirit, never to be open again, it was dragged down a path from which there was no turning back from.

Cyril jumped up with a gasp, the snow he was covering himself in burned him like magma, in a shower of white puff he revealed himself to the group of apes, breathing heavily and clenching his neck, tip toing all around the place as if it would be filled with blazing coal, careful not to open the earth again.

"A dragon!" the youngest of the apes screamed

"Here?!" the oldest blurted out in disbelief

"Kill him! Kill the dragon!" the fiercest roared

Kill the dragon.

It was always about killing the dragons.

Not on his watch.

Cyril's eyes flickered with malicious, cold flames, the fear and shock that were housed in them were shoved through the door. A proud, fearless creature stood in front of the apes.

Apparition that didn't escape the attention of the eldest of apes.

"This is a Guardian! We must retreat!"

The young ape's eyes jumped in fear between his companions and the huge dragon, practiced hand that went through endless hours of drills was where it was trained to, hanging near the belt with the bombs and explosives. Unable to reach any of them though, shaking violently and slipping down the surface of each weapon as if they would be covered with grease.

A click echoed in the wind, what the young hand couldn't do the more confident did. The third ape flung a bomb at the Guardian while the second hand reached for hand crossbow and almost instantly fired a bolt right into the hurled orb.

It exploded with a bright, searing flame, the sharp crack stirring Cyril's own magic, cold, natural habitat of his elemental magic paired with thousands of years of experience allowed him to react with the swiftness of a lunging snake.

The snow that was pouring down his body suddenly sprung up, forming a waterfall of snowballs, a twirling, cracking magical shield of blue, chilly sparks and white puff. Cyril jumped forward immediately, the magical shield pushing in front of him, the swirling magic cracked the fired bolt into tiny pieces and blew away the force of the exploding bomb, dwindling the force of the explosion to the level of a lashing whip of an eager torturer who didn't hold back from marking the blue body in his reach.

Cyril made nothing of the wounds, to a dragon like him those meant less than a scratch. He landed right between the apes, separating the two older ones from the youngest who ignored as a threat, immediately turning to the two more experienced fighters.

Not forgetting about the youngest one though who, according to the click, managed to finally unzip the bomb from his belt.

He never got to use it however since Cyril gave the young ape a solid kick with his hind paw, sending him flying down the snowy road and into the nearby rocks where he was buried under a small avalanche of snow. The bombs of the finally released belt popped in every direction, rolling down the pathways and small hills like severed heads.

Cyril immediately clenched his paw into a fist, swinging it at the elder who was holding his scepter already, forming a defensive barrier in front of him. The draconic paw struck the magical shield, the blow throwing both the foreleg as well as the ape back.

The third ape took advantage of the situation, removing a small hand cannon he caught the flailing elder by the shoulders and aimed his weapon over his arms. An elemental projectile was hurled from the round opening, a burning ball of fiery magic that struck Cyril right in the chest.

He growled, fiery pain exploding across his nerves who only made him roar in fury. He wanted to be gentle but the spreading pain made him realize that he only needs them alive, their bones didn't need to be intact for that.

Cyril swiped with his tail, the tip throwing an icy spray at the apes that was as predicated easily absorbed by the scepter wielding ape. The distraction worked as intended, allowing a trail of ice to slip pass behind the apes along the snowy ground before making a turn and closing a circle around them.

The fiercest of them prepared another strike, fingers dancing around one other bomb.

He never got the chance to attack since the snow around the two apes erupted into the air like a volcano, pushed upwards by a ring of ice tendril that shrunk and closed around the two apes, locking them in a freezing embrace, the temperature so low that it immediately caused frostbite in the eager fingers.

The apes cried out in pain when their bones were crushed and fingers that were holding, or about to grab a weapon turned into icicles and broke off.

The freezing flames puffed from Cyril's eyes, the ring of frost around the apes dimmed its colors, no longer hissing with a fog of frost, becoming warmer and tolerable to a fur covered armor.

"Why you att-" the elder rasped but he was immediately silenced by Cyril's paw punching him across the head

The old mole passed out instantly.

Before he could speak up, the same fate befell on the second locked ape.

Cyril licked his dry lips, groaning as another shock of pain tormented his nerves, with a hiss he clenched his paw over his chest where still a burned out wound stung.

There was a commotion from behind him, the youngster seemed to scramble out from the pile of snow.

"You should have stayed where you were boy" Cyril turned around with a disgruntled sigh

Bent and clenching his stomach the ape reached for his sword, the moment he withdrew it the sole weight of the steel dragged his arm down, making him lean over the blade like an elder does against a cane.

"I'm...no coward" with a snarl he lifted his shaking arm, stumbling on weak legs in search of balance that he eventually found pointing the tip of the sword at the dragon

"Perhaps, but bravery is sometimes easily mistook for foolishness and in your case you reek of the latter"

"Give...back..." the ape coughed, flinching as a sharp sting shot through his hurt stomach

"There is nothing to give back boy" Cyril stated coldly "Go home and heal"

"I will tell..."

"Good. Tell everyone what happened, tell everyone that this is a fight you can't win and maybe you will be the spark that will change the future of your race" he looked at the unconscious apes, his own reflection shimmering back from the icy cage "We old ones can only jerk you in the right direction, but after that its for the young to carry over, whatever it might take"

The wound in the chest burned again, reaching far deeper than mere flesh, grazing over the hooks attached to his soul, making them jingle with fiery licks that scorched slices of his soul to a crisp, never to be recovered again.

With a snarl he glared at the wounded ape.

"Turn around, tell what you will, but do not follow me. You know where this path leads. Do not listen to stubborn old fools and do something else, opposition is necessary, as a fail-safe option at least" he touched his wound, running claws over it delicately as if it was the most valuable silk "In case I'm wrong"

Without waiting for the ape's response Cyril turned around, dragging the two captures behind him.

"I...!" the youngster rasped, the sword hitting the ground with a barely audible sigh as its owner fell on his knees

I know boy.

Let's hope that the "I's" will sound louder than the "we's".

*

People called him many things, after such time and the things he had seen, and the doubts he had to deal with, he would most likely agree with majority of them. Not loudly of course, he was still the arrogant Ice Guardian after all. The only thing that the populace forgot about is that the cauldron of stereotypes is boiling with two ingredients, one being the flaws and other the perks and luckily the limited comprehension of aggressors usually focuses on the first.

Ice dragons are also reliable and focused on details, having the natural push towards greatness demanded that you knew how to identify, reach out and finally act on opportunities.

The idea of going for the apes wasn't a new one, it was brewing in his head for quite some time now, he was aware that capturing the apes wasn't the main issue here since they would not expect a dragon to attack them, the biggest problem was getting them into the city without causing too much of a ruckus.

People failed to realize just how much a simple touch of civility is worth in a branch as stressful and duty focused as serving in the Guard can be. The guards that he sent home some time ago when he crossed the doorstep of the City Hall late at night were a perfect example of this.

All he needed was to find the most excited one and wait for his shift to come up in the spot he wanted him to be, after allowing the youngster to be there several times already so he could get bored of it.

Little things like that separate him as a Guardian from the rest of the population. Attention to detail my dear friends is what elevates you above the tedious and mundane.

He waited for nightfall until approaching the entrance where his favorite was stationed, he could already see the eyes of the boy light up when he spotted him. No amount of torture and pain can grant you as much as a trivial notion of good will.

He never considered himself to be a mind reader, but the burning, hopeful eyes of the boy were like an open book to him. Cyril was certain that he didn't even have to say a word, all he had to do was to nod his head.

And so he did.

And the boy with a grateful nod that almost snapped his neck was gone, his legs carrying him off duty easily as if he would be gliding through clouds. He should be mad perhaps that a guard like that is having a watch, but then again he was the Guardian after all and if someone like him gives a permission to leave its only natural for a guard to obey.

After all they are here to guard them and according to the laws of duty a guard must trust his Guardian.

He respected the boy for that, it was rather humbling to see him go without a trace of hesitation, the youngster giving him his full trust.

Cyril hissed when the hooks against his soul rattled again.

He only hoped he would repay it properly.

When the path was clear he returned back for the cart he previously prepared, with its arms reaching past his shoulder, attached to a harness that was crisscrossing his chest he started to pull it towards the gate, the pair of apes covered under a black blanket, their armors clicking against other ceramic stuffed in there.

It is unusual to see a Guardian pulling some carts in the middle of the night, but since the atmosphere in Warfang was thick with worry after the recent events he knew that even if someone would pay him any mind, none would dare to approach him. Citizens wanting to stay away from trouble, having enough of it already, and his reputation of an arrogant bastard only guaranteed the thing they wanted to avoid.

Without the guards at the gates he could enter the city without much worry, when he stepped onto its cobblestone streets he was already certain that the risk of being exposed was over.

But the warmth that kept his blood pumping only got worse. The cobblestone, usually cool, felt disgustingly homely under his paws. He looked down onto his paws, his toes were curled anxiously, delicate tendrils like feline whiskers rose up and dangled from underneath the blue feet.

A faint steam of cooked water that appears whenever ice meets fire.

The monster's hunger reaching even as far as here.

He felt the warmth tasting him, licking his paws, the wagon's wheels, he could feel its abhorrent attention crawling up his body, dragging itself over his scales, reaching towards the cart, knowing precisely what hides there. Understanding perfectly the gifts he was bringing it.

And it liked it very much.

Despite the heat, he never felt so cold before.

The process of turning Flare against the proper dangers was a complicated one, only getting harder and harder as time passes by. The thing that boy is chaotic as the flames itself, controlling it was possible, like any flame, but the thing with fire is that it only needs a brief window to spin out of control, stopping it after that before it sows destruction was an almost impossible task for one dragon.

So when he wasn't trying to convert the boy he spent his time examining the ancient dungeons with the intention of finding an additional exit if things turn sour. Despite the popular opinion he knew his way around history too, especially when it came to warfare and how information were recovered, every dungeon needs another entry point besides the main path, a prison cell with valuable assets is just like another political floor, the only difference being that dark deals and smuggling is not taboo.

Following that logic he didn't have much trouble locating another entrances to the complex, one such entrance was inside a fountain on the bottom floor of Warfang, where one of the buildings suffered destruction during the recent crisis, a building that was being renovated into a ceramic workshop.

And every such building needs some decoration.

Again, seeing a Guardian doing such manual labor was uncommon to put it mildly, but just like before his reputation will serve as a shield here. If people will gossip they will speak about him making a mystery delivery to a renovated workshop in the middle of the night, whatever tales they add to that fact was unimportant to him, all that mattered was that they won't shut up about it and even the more curious ones will try to find out just what exactly he brought there.

All of that will drag their attention from the fountain and the main goal of this whole act of delusion.

And unfortunately for the citizens he knew the population of his city perfectly.

If it would be anything else, he wouldn't have to do this in the first place.

Meekness is a crippling plague.

So he followed up with his plan, stopping the cart between the tall fountain and the building, each turn he made for another vase he used to scan the city around, looking for any too passionate cases of curiosity.

There was surprisingly no one like that to be seen anywhere.

He should have felt relieved when he touched that one specific slab of stone to open the secret passage into the ancient dungeons, after all his plan was progressing without interruption, not only that, if at some point things would spin out of control there would be no one to testify that they saw this one Ice Guardian behaving quite weird.

Instead of relief he felt up a strange case of building up blame.

There was a piece of him deep down that screamed silently for someone to stop his progress.

He began unloading the remaining vases, leaning each one against the fountain, even though he saw no one around, he still pretended to work diligently, everyone would admit that he was simply speeding up his work by unloading all of the cart.

They wouldn't think about him wanting to limit the field of view of the entrance, nor would they suspect that among those vases were two living apes, frozen so bad that they also felt like a piece of furniture now.

No one also noticed him kicking the two covered apes down the secret passage, by the time they'll recover, both from the magic and the rough landing down the slope he will already enter the dungeon through the common entryway.

He pushed the slab again and during its slide back he instinctively pushed his head away from it, feeling a more intense wave of heat grazing his snout, touching him with an almost affectionate caress.

He shivered all over, cold grip of dread clenching his spine.

*

The moment he entered the tight halls he immediately started to sweat, it was impossibly hot down here, the heat seemed to come from everywhere that he couldn't tell if it was own body temperature or the walls themselves. His previous visits already felt as if he would be stepping inside an oven, but this time he sensed that it was far worse.

He had a strange belief that it was from fire and heat like this that the Destroyer was infused with its apocalyptic flames.

He traversed the corridors quickly, each step causing an ominous hiss as his cold body fought its natural battle with the heat. The struggle adding more speed to his step, each click of the claws bringing more and more fear in his legs, last thing he needed in all this mess was the apes shaking off the frost before he could get to them.

If they won't be there then that's it, he leaves it all behind, finishes the boy like he would any murderer and he closes this chapter, announcing his failure. He won't be running like some unexperienced youngster any longer.

And yet again, the same hidden pull nagged him, wishing that the apes won't be there and that it would be all over.

This hesitation, this double edged motivation, it was driving him insane, he didn't become a Guardian, served the city for so long and learned so much to be still held back by doubts.

Cyril rounded the right corner finally, with one final click of his claws feeling the fading essence of his ice magic he used to trap the apes with slinking back towards him.

The two apes were there, now completely free from their freezing shackles, with their bodies still dealing with the consequences of being held by them however, their bones rattling, shaking away the cold wildly.

Both still on the ground, even though the younger one was struggling to pull himself up, but the shaking limbs did not allow him to fully stretch out.

"Save the energy for walking when the shivers will fade away" Cyril stated icily

"Fuck you" the ape hissed, as expected not listening to the Guardian's suggestion and trying to lift himself up and landing back on the ground after each attempt

"Suit yourself indignant brat, mind only that I will have no objections about dragging you behind me even if it means turning your ugly mug into a pulp across this floor"

The ape continued his stubborn efforts.

"Rest my friend, it's already over" a rough rasp came from the older ape who was sprawled, completely still on the hot floor

With a roar full of anguish and frustration the younger ape tried to lift himself one more time, the desperation bringing him closer to his goal than all of the rest attempts, but ultimately it ended the same way, with a tragic fall just before he could straighten his legs.

"This place is vile" the older one mumbled in between the cries and blares of his companion who couldn't accept his fate still "It reeks of our former general's aura. Primal End. An outsider for this world that should never have been granted the opportunity to exist in our lives"

Cyril rolled his eyes, mercenaries giving speeches, was there any other thing as worthless as this he wondered.

"You should have been more wise Guardian, nothing good can come from inviting a force like this. We apes have learned that lesson well"

"Is the shaking over?" Cyril ignored the elder's words, asking a completely irrelevant question to which he could find an answer himself, yet he still preferred that little annoyance to keep things as uninteresting as possible

He won't mingle with creatures who sold their souls for wealth, they are no better than Skavangers and if it would be up to him he would also send the apes to travel the world, if they have to live in the first place that is, in some rafts for example so this land wouldn't have to tolerate their greedy presence.

Some old fool will dare giving him lectures? Who he thinks he is to address someone like him with his limited and useless words of so called wisdom? They served under Malefor's and Cynder's claws, there was no asking about their permission so the ape's blubbering about invitations is already rendered redundant. They sold their souls and that's it and creatures as dark as the two mentioned dragons twisted them as they saw fit.

That's it.

To compare his decision to something like that only destroyed the whatever speck of some respect he had for the stinky creatures. They had no idea who Flare was, no idea what was going on, yet it still didn't prevent them from spurting their nonsense.

At least pretend to have some dignity you disgusting rodents.

"Why the fuck did you attack us you heartless lizard?!" the younger ape screamed, releasing all of his fear, anger and frustration in a desperate blare, the realization of his life fading away sinking into his soul "Have the courage to tell us this you worthless motherfucker!"

"Shhhhh my friend, shhhh" the old ape extended his shaking arm to rest a hand on his companion's shoulder who immediately calmed down under its touch "Not all is lost. Our youngest friend is not here, he yet breaths I feel it, we might have served a bigger purpose than we are aware of" old fingers clenched over the shoulder

Cyril noticed them moving without any artificial limitation of his magic still taking its toll on the bones.

"It all might not be for nothing"

"Get up. It's time" Cyril snarled heartlessly, treating the mumbling of the killers like an annoying buzzing of mosquitoes that'll soon be over

"Come" the elder pulled himself up with relative ease, the hand on his sobbing companion's shoulder intensifying his grip, acting like a leverage for the younger one to pull himself up

"Walk" the Guardian commanded, pointing down the corridor

The apes complied.

"This heat. It's unnatural" the old ape commented after some steps

Cyril growled, of course he had to wag that tongue, mercenaries are unable to retain even their questionable dignity even in their final moments.

The old ape sniffed deeply, his colorful snout contracting, displaying rows upon rows of thick wrinkles. The ape's hand landed on the wall, trailing its length as they walked, the stench of his burned fur lifted in the air, yet despite it all he kept his hand pressed against the blazing rocks, even when sores appeared on them.

"It is stalking us. Craving. Hungry. A feral beast. Outsider. It doesn't belong here, it's a primal power of raw destruction. It will bring catastrophe, you must know this Guardian"

Cyril didn't give the old ape the satisfaction of answering, even though he had to admit that he was right. He already learned that whatever Flare is, he becomes feral in his new form if pushed far enough. He wasn't a typical wild animal, but he still showed aspects of one and every wild animal has some manner of resistance when it comes to taming.

It was all about pushing against that resistance and there was nothing better than showing the beast you can give it food so it won't turn you into a snack first.

"Stop" Cyril commanded, stepping in front of the pair of apes and turning himself towards them

The two mercenaries looked him straight in the eyes, in their pupils he had seen burning pits that had to be the reflection of the warm, red walls from nearby, yet he couldn't help but to think that he was staring into a fiery pit where his soul was being roasted for lunch.

He couldn't stand the sight of it. He extended his paw, pushing against the special button like he did many times before.

The secret wall creaked.

A powerful gust of scorching heat wafted from the opening the size of a millimeter, it burned the fur and skin right off the apes faces, clean bone winking at him. The apes didn't have the chance to scream since momentarily a pair of twisted, spitting flames everywhere blazing tentacles shot forward, roughly slapping against pair of mercenaries, turning them into a pile of ash in a matter of seconds.

The most otherworldly howl he had ever heard in his life came from behind the secret door, a blare, a laughter that was a mixture of unimaginable anguish, triumph and sexual relief topped with a crescendo of different tones of a voice that changed so quickly that one might think that there were dozens of people screaming all at the same time.

He felt his heart shrinking, being so close to this sound made his head hurt, he couldn't stand this otherworldly wail no longer, it was driving him insane steadily. With a roar Cyril pushed the heated door close with all the might he had, the moving slab sliced the two flailing in ecstasy tentacles, they dropped down, puffing out of existence in a cloud of fiery sparks.

This blood freezing concert lasted only a few seconds and when it was finally over everything went silent, the heat from the walls lowered its intensity. The rocks were still warm, but there was no longer this ominous sensation of something stalking you behind it.

There was only one way to find out if it was truly over.

Cyril opened the door, this time not even bothering to step in to block the passage, allowing them to open fully on their own. Magic was pulsing in his veins just in case, that creature inside is way too unpredictable to take any things for granted.

The usually black cell was brighter than a sunny day, flames were everywhere, clinging to walls, ceilings and floor, pulsing and burning like restless torches. At the far wall, deep fiery cuts were clawed across the stone, glowing with boiled blood and fiery aura, cuts forming thick, burning letters.

Forming names and words, clearly starting from top to bottom.

The shapes of the letters almost ideal considering that the creature writing them supposedly didn't have the skills to read properly.

MUSES

IRIS

CORIZA

CYNDER

SPYRO

SPARX

CLOUDAS

MUSES FRIENDS

IRIS

CORIZA

CYNDER

SPYRO

SPARX

CLOUDAS

FRIENDS MUSES

IRIS

CORIZA

CYNDER

SPYRO

SPARX

CLOUDAS

MUSES MUSES

IRI-

The letters were cut here by a long, deep dash down, there was more of everything when after this point, more thickness, more flames and more blood.

Letters rough, ugly and aggressive. He was no expert, but even he could say that someone the letters after the cut came from under a different claw.

DIAZEN

DIAZEN

DIAZEN

DIAZEN

WORMS

WORMS

WORMS

WORMS

The bottom of the wall was one, big burning fresco with only one words being repeated over and over again.

BURN BURN BURN BURN BURN BURN BURN BURN.

He pulled his eyes away from the psychotic rant, unable to handle the choking feeling of the growing insanity blasting at him from the fiery ramble.

Finally his eyes were drawn to the creature that mattered here the most, Flare was lying on the ground, curled like a scared hatchling with his tail tucked in between his paws. The dragon's red chest was heaving sharply as if he just finished a murderous sprint. His body was glistening with fresh, red scale, the only thing that differed from the typical image of Flare he remembered was his wings, the pair was flared open as if living their own life, forming a massive, fiery, sophisticated aurora over the dragon, his wings being twice the size of a an adult dragon like they would belong to a creature that outgrew even a fully grown drake.

He would call it merely a side effect if not for the shadowy reflection casted by the wings on every tile of floor and wall in the cell, it was there only for a while but he could swear that the shadow did not resemble a dragon at all.

He couldn't also shake the feeling that it was smiling at him.

"Worms are back" Flare whimpered, his voice trembling "Beast keeps talking again. My head. My head, worms are crawling in my head. Stop the Beast, stop the worms. Make them stop. Make them stop"

"Only you can stop them" Cyril swallowed, his voice lacking confidence, the typical authority of a jailer, but he doubted that Flare even noticed

"How? How? How? I want it to be silent again. Like before. I don't want the worms"

"Exactly like you stopped the two of them now. You must destroy the hive and it will over forever"

"Forever? No more worms? No more Beast whispering in a tight place? Back like before?"

Cyril's heart started to race.

"Yes. I will tell you when the time is right and then everything will be back the way it was" he swallowed "Exactly the way it was"

Flare's wings burst with hungry flames, flaring the room with blinding, scorching light that forced Cyril to protect his eyes. When he opened them again his mouth went agape, there, between the two massive, burning wings that formed a pair of huge cleavers, stretched the shadow of a massive, unknown, demonic looking creature.

"When?" the shadow spoke with an otherworldly, blood freezing voice of a hellish blare and Flare's childish cry, it's dark mouth stretching, enveloping the bloodied, burning letters into a bloodthirsty, psychopathic grin

Cyril gasped faintly.

One of the glowing fangs flashed brighter than the others, he felt a cling inside his chest as he stared at it, feeling his soul departing, replaced by a bag of metaphorical gems.