(A/N): And here we are. It's been a long road, but we've made it: the last chapter of Snare of Darkness. I want to say a massive thank you to everyone that has stuck with this series so far. I know it's been slow going, and I'm always so grateful for the patience that people have shown over all that time. With this chapter, Book 2 of the series is a wrap. I hope it's been a fun ride, and I look forward to starting Book 3 soon. :)

Now, enjoy!

Chapter 37: Aftermath

Silence.

The city was quieter than a graveyard. No one dared to utter a single sound, petrified by the fear that the shadowy monsters which had only just retreated into the broken earth would re-emerge at the slightest provocation. Those that weren't paralyzed by grief were rooted to the spot in terror, unwilling to believe that the battle was really over.

In a square residential courtyard in the southern quadrant of the city, Spyro lay in a numb trance. His eyes stared vacantly forward, locked on the bodies of the fallen guards all around him. His mind didn't know how to process the sight. Now that his fury had abated, he had nothing to shield him against the true gruesomeness of what had happened. It all seemed like something out of a nightmare, but this was as real as it got. Not since the golem's rampage had Spyro seen the city in such ruin. So much destruction. So many people...

He jolted when he felt something brush his shoulder. When he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the grisly scene ahead he looked up to see Cynder standing beside him.

"Spyro?" she asked, her voice tight with concern. "Are you okay?"

The purple dragon couldn't answer. Everything was blank.

His eyes turned to the ground, and with slightly shaky movements he pulled his forelegs under his chest and pushed. Before he even made it an inch off the ground a fierce stab of pain erupted through his muscles, forcing a hoarse cry out of his lungs and dropping him back onto his underbelly. His eyes clamped shut, his teeth clenching as a wave of pain travelled through his entire body. His bones and muscles ached more powerfully than he could ever remember, and his upper back and right wing especially felt like they were caught in a roaring inferno.

"Spyro!" Cynder exclaimed, immediately crouching down and gripping his shoulder with her paw. "What's wrong?"

The purple dragon hissed through his teeth, his voice failing him momentarily. He tried to shift his forepaws again only for a fresh bolt of heat and pain to shoot through him.

"I'm not sure," he groaned. "Everything hurts..."

Cynder's worried gaze swept over his form, her forepaw brushing over his scales and gently prodding to feel the tissue beneath. Spyro went rigid, expecting the pain to flare up in response, but to his bemusement there was no effect. The burning ache persisted unchanged, not diminishing but not increasing either, even when Cynder pressed down near his wing shoulder where the pain had been the most intense.

"I can't feel anything wrong..." she spoke up at length, frowning. "But you were beat up pretty badly during that fight. Maybe...maybe it was too much to heal all at once?"

Spyro couldn't think of a response. It seemed logical—his healing magic was still so new to him, he had no idea what limits it might actually possess. That theory didn't help ease any of his discomfort, though.

"Come on," Cynder said, catching his attention again. "Let me help."

She wrapped her wing over his back and braced her shoulder against his, trying to take as much of his weight as he could. After hesitating for a moment Spyro let out a sigh and grit his fangs, preparing to push once more. The pain assaulted him again the moment he did so, a fresh gasp squeezing through his jaws, but with Cynder's help he was able to keep his balance. Finally, after a great deal of struggle, he was standing at his full height again, though he was left panting for breath with small tremors shooting through his limbs. Cynder's gaze never strayed from him, worry and sympathy pinching her expression.

"Think you can walk?" she asked. "We should probably go join the others."

Spyro's eyes automatically turned toward the small gathering at the edge of the courtyard, and a knot formed in his gut at the sight. Probably the only sliver of relief that could be pulled from this situation was the fact that out of all of his friends that had engaged Tyrannica in a direct confrontation, this many of them had made it out alive. Granted, it wasn't anywhere close to unscathed, though, and both Spyro and Cynder had tense, grim expressions as they examined the scene.

Nexus, who had probably fared the best out of all of them, was having nearly as much trouble as Spyro with the simple act of standing up. His face hitched with frequent flashes of pain if he so much as stretched a muscle wrong, his teeth clenched tightly, and he nearly stumbled and fell several times. His right forepaw was clamped over his chest, and his breath was coming in wheezing gasps. Whatever Tyrannica had done to him before Spyro and Cynder arrived, it had taken a very obvious toll on him.

Enigma seemed to be in the second best shape, already on her paws as well, though her hide was marred by multiple deep scratches and bruises, many of which looked like they hadn't come from dragon claws—leftovers from the wraiths, Spyro assumed. Her scales were coated in her own blood, and her wing was dangling limply by her side. From the looks of the shoulder joint it was a miracle it was even still attached.

Currently the shadow dragoness was standing over Chinook, one forepaw braced against his shoulder as he lay splayed out on his side while the other gripped at one of the shards of dark crystal that were embedded in his side. With a quick, sharp yank she dislodged it, a few droplets of blood trailing behind it, and the wind dragon jerked as a hoarse moan of pain rattled out of him. His entire flank was overcome by a blobby purple discolouration, thin streams of blood leaking from a number of puncture marks in his side similar to the one left by the crystal shard Enigma had just removed, and every breath he took was unsteady and forced.

Flash lay nearby, the white dragon bearing a dark crimson stain over much of his body like Enigma did, though in his case most of it was from the deep, wide gash that ran across both shoulders and through his wing. A huge flap of the membrane was hanging loose, the angle of the cut just narrowly missing the tips of his wing digits. Gems would be able to fix it, but it was no doubt extremely painful. Of greater concern was the volume of blood that he was losing, the young dragon's eyes sagging heavily. While Enigma worked at removing the dark crystal from Chinook's side she was talking to both of the males, doing her best to keep them both conscious and responsive.

Spyro could barely stand the sight, a surge of nausea rising within his gut. He had thought he was in pain, but his friends were barely clinging on. This was worse than anything he had seen before, and all of it had been caused by one dragoness?

His eyes shifted to the Guardians next, and his heart fell even farther. Cyril was the most alert out of the three of them, lying on his belly with his wings drooping heavily at his sides but with his head held up, his cold blue eyes fixed on Spyro and Cynder as they slowly staggered over. His body was absolutely covered by dark bruises and freely bleeding cuts, however. One of his horns was badly chipped and cracked. One eye was nearly swollen shut, an ugly gash splitting his brow just above it. Large patches of his scales were raw and cracked, though whether the burns were from fire or poison Spyro couldn't quite tell. Volteer was in a very similar state beside him, though the electric dragon was completely unconscious. The only indication that he was even still alive was the very slow rise and fall of his flank.

And Sirius...he was probably the worse off out of everyone. He was conscious, but his eyes were glassy and stared blankly forward, his breath coming in weak, rattling gasps. Blood absolutely covered him, most prominently along his side where numerous long, messy gashes stretched from foreleg to hip, the skin and scales at the surface mangled and discoloured like they had been eaten away by some kind of pestilence. One forepaw was wrapped around under his chest to press over the area, but with the size of those cuts it was useless. If he didn't get help soon...

Spyro cringed and looked away, shaking his head to drive off the thought. No, Sirius would be alright. They would all be okay. They had to be. They had to.

By this point the black and purple duo had managed to cross the rest of the distance to the group. Cyril shifted, clearing his throat.

"Spyro," he said in a weary voice, inclining his head. "That was...an impressive display you put on. Are you hurt?"

The purple dragon opened his mouth to answer, but at the same time his paw struck a loose piece of stone and he stumbled. The sudden jolt sent an eruption of pain through his muscles, and he couldn't stop the high-pitched snarl that broke free. It was only Cynder's steadying wing and shoulder that prevented him from hitting the ground.

"I'm..." he gasped, fighting to catch his breath. "I'm okay. I'm not injured."

"We think he overworked his healing power," Cynder explained, her concerned gaze never leaving her companion. "His wounds are all gone but he's still in a lot of pain."

"Hmm," Cyril grunted, his features grim and sympathetic. "Well, I'm glad that you both made it through that battle in one piece at least. You have our thanks for driving that monster away. Now then..."

The Guardian brought his legs underneath himself and attempted to rise, but before he'd made it halfway up a spasm shot through him and his strength gave out. His chest hit the ground with a dull thud and he gave a winded gasp.

"Everyone looks in pretty bad shape," Cynder spoke up, her voice tight. "Do you need us to get help?"

"I'm afraid that may be necessary," Cyril relented with a sigh. "No doubt the guards and healers have their paws more than full at this point, but we are in no state to move to them. What a mess."

Cynder nodded. She hesitated long enough to trade a look with Spyro, but once he nodded reassuringly she took to the sky and angled away over the rooftops. Spyro's gaze returned to his friends, the squirming pit of worry within him only growing stronger.

"Can I do anything?" he asked.

Cyril regarded him for a moment with a guarded expression, his mouth taut. His gaze flashed over to Sirius before his features clouded and he roughly shook his head.

"I cannot ask you to strain yourself any further if you've already overtaxed your abilities, especially after the battle you just endured," he said. "I can't even fathom the amount of power you must have used to repair that much damage to your own body, let alone anyone else's."

Spyro remained silent, his mind conflicted. His eyes shifted once more to the Fire Guardian, and the war within him only intensified. Sirius needed help, but Spyro wasn't sure if he could give it in this state. He wanted to help everyone, but if he hurt himself too badly in the process...

A hoarse yelp to his left startled him, dragging his gaze over toward Chinook. The wind dragon was convulsing weakly, his eyes bugged out and a spluttering sound coming from his jaws as he reflexively tried to suck in a breath after Enigma pulled another gem shard free. His ribs wouldn't allow it, and his body's reaction was only serving to cause him even more pain.

"Whoa, easy," Enigma urged him, placing a firm paw on his shoulder as though to forcibly quell his struggling. "Try just breathing out slowly. You'll just make it worse if you fight for air too much."

Flash looked like he tried to comment, his half-lidded eyes sluggishly turning toward them and his mouth parting, but then his head swayed unsteadily and all that came out was a low groan. Finally his strength gave out and he collapsed, his head falling to the ground, completely unconscious. Enigma swore under her breath, and Cyril's watchful gaze snapped over to the small light dragon, the concern in his eyes worsening.

Spyro couldn't stand idly by any longer. Face hardening into a determined glare, he limped over and sat down by his younger friend's side. Resting his paw on the white dragon's flank, he closed his eyes and pulled upon his powers.

A deep, piercing ache answer his call, his chest clenching forcefully and his breath faltering as his exhausted magic strained to obey his wishes. His raw muscles and tissue flared in protest, an unnerving burning sensation growing in his back, his wings, his leg, his sides, as though his healing magic was the only thing holding him together and now he was asking for power that the rest of his body couldn't spare.

Nonetheless, a flickering white glow gathered around his forepaw and began seeping into Flash's scales like mist. A matching glow began to shine from inside the gash across his back, and gradually his friend's shallow breathing settled into a steadier rhythm. The flow of blood from his wound slowed.

Spyro kept up the stream of power for as long as he could, face twisting and limbs beginning to tremble from the exertion, and eventually he just couldn't sustain it any more. With a shuddering gasp he relinquished his efforts, his head sagging as he panted for breath.

"Take it easy," a voice suddenly spoke up from behind him, a paw gripping his shoulder. Spyro looked back to find that Nexus had hobbled over now as well, his hard gaze boring into Spyro warningly.

"He's right, Spyro," Cyril nodded. "Don't overwork yourself. I'm certain Cynder will be able to find a healer to assist us. You don't have to push yourself this far."

Spyro hesitated for only a moment, part of him feeling like it would be wise to heed the Guardian's advice, but the rest of him protested. His friends were still suffering. This wasn't a matter of needless self-sacrifice or stubbornness. This could be between life and death.

Besides, if he didn't keep moving he was just going to end up staring at the bodies again.

Shaking off Nexus's paw, he moved over to Chinook and repeated the process once more, squeezing out every ounce of power he could manage to stabilize his friends' conditions. He treated Chinook's ribs, Enigma's shoulder, and Sirius's mangled side. Even if he couldn't mend bones or re-grow muscle, at the very least he could take the edge off of their pain. If it gave them the strength to wait just a little bit longer for help to arrive, it was worth it.

Finally, he had done everything he possibly could. Now he sat facing away from the courtyard with his wings sagging against his flanks and his head dangling like a lead weight toward the ground. His chest ached even more than before. No, every single inch of his body ached, while his over-taxed mana left a hollow, cramped sensation deep within his being. Meanwhile his mind, now unburdened by the immediate worry of his friends' safety, was racing.

What were they going to do now? How were they going to come back from this? How could they fight against Tyrannica and the wraiths when their city was in ruins and their people were battered?

He was broken out of these thoughts when he heard multiple sets of wings approaching. When he looked up, it was to the sight of several dragons descending toward the courtyard, some of them in armour while two of the others were carrying leather satchels hanging from their necks. Leading the group was Cynder, the black dragoness immediately touching down by Spyro's side and moving closer to him, followed promptly by three dragonflies.

"Spyro!" Nina exclaimed, dashing forward and grabbing Spyro's cheek in a tight hug. "Thank the stars you're alright. We were so worried..."

"What...what happened here?" his father asked. Spyro looked to see him staring in horror at the field of broken bodies behind him, and the young purple dragon snapped his gaze away from them hurriedly. He couldn't find the words to answer, which only caused Flash to face toward him with mounting concern.

"You at least won, right?" Sparx spoke up with a forced hopeful tone after the silence stretched on a beat longer. "You beat the evil dragon lady?"

Spyro tensed, a pit of both guilt and anger brewing within him.

"She got away," he muttered.

"Don't be hard on yourself, Spyro," Cynder told him, nudging him with her wing. "You saw what she did to everyone else. We should be glad we were able to fight her off at all."

Spyro wasn't sure what to think of that. He wanted to retort, but the sound of the other adult dragons moving behind them cut him off. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the two with the satchels—healers from the looks of it—quickly move over to Volteer and Sirius, withdrawing gems and scraps of cloth from their bags. The other guards had spread out and were checking their fallen comrades grimly, searching for survivors but none of them looking hopeful. Leading them was Boreas, the captain gazing around with an unmasked look of shock at the scene of carnage. His eyes only widened when he spotted a certain other wind dragon among the wounded.

"Chinook?" he demanded, sounding somewhere between incredulous and furious. "What in the name of...Why aren't you with your mother?!"

The younger wind dragon shifted his head to meet his father's gaze, his expression anxious, but all that came out as a reply was a shallow cough, speech being still too much of a demand for his injuries. Boreas looked like he was ready to explode, but fortunately for his son Cyril intervened.

"Captain," he said, "though it's not my place to insert myself into family matters, I would be remiss not to point out that while his actions and those of his companions were foolish, their heroic effort to delay Tyrannica almost certainly saved our lives. Now, please, report. What is the state of the Infirmary?"

Boreas was taken aback for a moment, unsure how to respond to the Guardian's claim, but in the end he settled for giving his son a stern and reproachful glare before straightening to attention before Cyril.

"Sir, unfortunately the wraiths were able to break through our defensive line not long after you and Master Sirius departed. Thanks to the timely assistance of young Masters Spyro and Cynder we were able to repel them before too many casualties were suffered, but they did still manage to claim several victims in the chaos. The Infirmary workers were also unable to recover most of the medical supplies from the wreckage of the building. Hopefully our gem storehouses survived the attack, otherwise we'll be in bad shape for treating our wounded."

"Master Cyril."

The new voice was accompanied by more wing beats as two more dragons descended into the courtyard from the east. Spyro quickly identified Raulk, the green-scaled captain joined by another guard, but his features clouded in a frown when he saw the earth dragon stagger badly upon landing. The other guard had to help support him, and a moment later Spyro realized this was due to the fact that there was a heavily bandaged stump where most of Raulk's hind foot was supposed to be.

"Captain Raulk," Cyril answered, his own eyes betraying his shock at the sight of the other captain's state. "What...The barracks were hit too, I assume?"

The green dragon nodded grimly. "We thought we had cleared them out after Masters Terrador and Volteer arrived to assist us, but then while we were securing the area they somehow managed to sneak in behind us and attacked our back lines. If they hadn't retreated in the end we might have eventually lost the battle."

At the mention of the Earth Guardian's name, Spyro stiffened and in spite of himself he found his gaze slowly drawn toward Terrador's motionless form, a deep hollow sensation opening up in his stomach. The sound of Cyril and the Guard captains continuing their report faded into an indistinct background rumble in his mind.

"Uh, Spyro?" Sparx said, noticing his brother's expression. "What's...Oh..."

His family all went silent, fresh shock and dismay filling their eyes. Numbly, Spyro rose to his paws and began shakily padding out toward the fallen Guardian. Cynder followed him wordlessly, his parents and Sparx doing the same after exchanging a confused and helpless look. A few paces away Nexus also noticed their movement and rose to trail behind them.

A moment later Spyro was standing by his mentor's side, but once he was there Spyro had no idea what to do next. He was expecting to feel a surge of despair and grief swallow him up, but inside everything was still numb.

Terrador's eyes were blank, staring forward with a shocked look frozen in them. A chill ran down Spyro's back at this empty, unseeing gaze, and when he shifted his sights toward the deep cut under the Guardian's lower jaw a knot formed in his chest. Beside him Cynder's features had taken on a tense, hard air, her jaw clenched tightly. Spyro couldn't tell whether it was grief or anger that drove her expression. Meanwhile, Nexus stared down with a carefully masked expression, much like the one Enigma usually adopted, but through their bond Spyro sensed what felt like disappointment.

I should have stopped this.

The words raced through Spyro's mind unbidden, and they caused him to flinch. He didn't know where that thought had come from, but now that he'd had it he couldn't shake it off. Could he have stopped this? There was no way for him or Nexus to know that this attack was happening before they'd returned to the city, and it wasn't an option to not go to the White Isle in the first place, otherwise Ragnor would still hold sway over Spyro's mind. But...what if they hadn't had to go?

What if he had been able to break his link to Ragnor sooner? What if he had just been stronger? Would the city be in ruins? Would Terrador be dead?

He faltered as that word drifted through his consciousness, his eyes becoming locked once more on the Earth Guardian's fatal wound. His gut churned, imagining the moment the blow landed. Only a dragon's blade could have done that sort of damage, Tyrannica the obvious culprit. That smug, despicable monster had taken another one of his mentors and friends away from him, and Spyro hadn't even been able to avenge him.

His eyes clenched shut, his jaw tightening, and he fought to swallow the lump that wanted to form in his throat. No matter how he struggled, though, he just couldn't hold the rising tide back for long. Only a few seconds later, it broke free. Throwing his head back, he let loose a bellowing roar, equal parts anguish and rage echoing out into the sky, his forepaw slamming down onto the ground. The others all recoiled, Nexus dropping into a battle stance by instinct. Spyro didn't notice.

If he had just been stronger...

It was a pointless thought. A wound like that...Nothing could have saved Terrador at that point. Strength and magic stopped mattering the instant the blade had found its mark. Gems would have been useless. There was no way anything could heal something like this.

...Was there?

Spyro paused, his guilt wavering at this unbidden thought, and he slowly looked down at his forepaw.

No, that wouldn't possibly...

But...more than once now, he had accomplished acts of healing that were leagues beyond the capacity of red crystals: repairing Cynder's wing; numbing the pain in his crippled leg; healing the damage the wraith had done to it in a mere moment when gems would have left him lame for the rest of his life.

Just because they couldn't help...

In the back of his mind an inner voice told him that he was being a fool, that this was simply a product of denial. He had already burned through every spare ounce of magic in his body and then some, and Terrador was already dead.

Spyro didn't listen. With only a second of hesitation he gently laid his paw on Terrador's cold foreleg. Nexus, Cynder, and his family glanced toward him, but they seemed to mistake his actions as simple grieving, at least if his mother's hand placed on his horn in response was anything to go by. It wasn't until a faint white glow appeared around his paw that realization hit them.

"Hey, what—"

Spyro didn't hear what Nexus said next. It happened in less than an instant, so fast that Spyro never even had a chance to notice that something was wrong. A gaping, icy void opened up beneath his paw, so infinitely deep and powerful that Spyro suddenly felt like he was trapped at the bottom of an ocean. It grabbed onto the faint stream of his mana and pulled, like a ravenous predator that had just snared its next hapless victim.

A strangled gasp escaped him, his chest seizing as every trace of strength and warmth in his body was dragged out of him. The void pulled harder, filling Spyro's being with pain as it felt like his core was being torn away from the rest of his body, leaving a shell of scales behind. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All he knew was the sheer, paralyzing cold.

Then something gripped his shoulder, and Spyro's world suddenly spun and inverted with a jarring thud. He found himself splayed out on his back, his eyes staring dazedly up into the sky and his entire body shaking fitfully. His breath came in erratic gulps, his chest tied in a knot so tight that filling his lungs was impossible. His magical core ached more viciously than anything he had ever felt before.

"You idiot!" Nexus spat, his voice sounding fuzzy and distant at first but the venom in his tone coming through clear as day. From the looks of it, he had been the one to grab Spyro and throw him backward. "You complete, total moron! What were you thinking?"

Spyro opened his mouth, but no words escaped him for the longest time. He simply couldn't make his lungs or voice work. He did manage to turn his head enough to meet the other purple dragon's gaze, but this only served to chill him further when he saw the sheer blazing anger in Nexus's eyes.

"I..." he eventually croaked. "I-I was—"

"No," Nexus cut him off. "You know what? I don't even care. Don't try something like that again! We don't know enough about this power yet for you to be using it that recklessly!"

Nexus turned away with a bitter huff, and Spyro was left stunned and flustered in the aftermath. At length he recomposed himself, though, and he let out a long heavy sigh as he sagged back down to the ground. His eyes turned downward to rest on the Earth Guardian once more. A plunging sensation took hold of his gut, cold reality setting in and leaving him crestfallen.

Of course it had been stupid to think that was going to work. Terrador was gone. There was no bringing him back.

The lump returned to his throat, and it was harder to swallow it down this time. His eyes began to sting once more, forcing him to shut them.

A sharp, pulsating pressure began to rise in his temple and Spyro grimaced, bringing a forepaw up to massage it. The sound of paw steps approached him at the same time, something touching his shoulder, and he looked up to see Cynder standing over him, a mix of sympathy and pain in her eyes.

"I wish that had worked too," she said softly. "But...Nexus is right. You need to be careful."

Spyro sighed again, his gaze falling.

"I know. I just thought..."

He trailed off. It was pointless to try and explain. She knew what he had been thinking. That didn't change the outcome.

The pressure assaulted his forehead again, causing Spyro to wince and grit his teeth. This didn't go unnoticed.

"Hey, you okay?" Sparx asked, him and his parents hovering closer to the purple dragon as well.

A wet metallic taste in the back of his mouth stopped Spyro before he could answer, and it was only then that he noticed the thin trail of blood that had begun dripping from his nostrils. He groaned in exasperation.

"I guess I did strain myself a bit too much there," he grumbled. He began trying to roll up off the ground with Cynder's help. "I think I'll be fi—AAGH!"

When he lifted his upper body off the ground an abrupt splitting pain erupted from his ribs, robbing the breath from his lungs and instantly dropping him back to the stone. Every breath he tried to take suddenly burned like fire, his body going rigid as he tried as hard as possible not to aggravate the pain.

"Spyro? What's wrong?" Flash asked anxiously, moving closer.

"I...I don't know," he groaned, his body burning more with each passing second. Now his foreleg was throbbing with the same pain as his ribs, all the way down to the bone, and his wing was starting to ache as well. Still the pain spread, to the point that now even his skin felt like it was trying to split itself into pieces.

"What's going on?" Nexus spoke up, confusion replacing some of the anger in his gaze as he reappeared in Spyro's field of vision. "What..."

His question withered away inexplicably, and Spyro felt his own confusion mounting when he saw the other purple dragon perform a double take with his eyes widening in shock. Cynder, Sparx, Flash and Nina mimicked his expression, an unmistakeable aura of fear beginning to manifest.

"What's happening?" Sparx demanded, turning to look at Nexus, and the shrill note of his voice really started to make Spyro worry.

Snarling past the pain, he lifted his head and looked down toward his body. Only a second later he froze, his eyes going as wide as the rest of his family and companions when he saw the deep, jagged splits that were opening in his scales all over his form, leaking fresh streams of blood. Before his very eyes a set of three long slash marks traced their way across his chest plating, which had been whole and unblemished mere seconds ago.

More and more wounds appeared in the same manner of the following seconds, and that was when the pain really hit him full force. He couldn't stop the gasping cry that forced itself past his jaws, and he fell back to the ground when his strength failed him only to cry out even louder when sharp blazing pain exploded from his back and wing. Forcing his eyes back open and glancing down, his fear and confusion only spiked even higher than before when he saw a small pool of crimson blood already beginning to form underneath him, a large patch of his right wing membrane lying in tatters on top of the dusty stone.

That was when it clicked: his wounds from the battle with Tyrannica. Somehow, despite having been completely healed only moments ago, now they were reappearing all over his body.

"Why is this happening?" Cynder demanded, her anxious gaze now fixed on Nexus as well. "None of the other wounds he healed before did this!"

"How should I know?" Nexus shot back. "I've never seen anything like this before!"

"I'll get help," Flash declared, his bearing suddenly intense and focused. Spinning around, he dashed through the air back toward the adult dragons, several of which had turned their gazes toward the scene when they heard the commotion. "Hey! Medic! Come quickly, please! Something's wrong with Spyro!"

Spyro let his father's voice fade into the background after that. The pain was becoming unbearable, a strained groan sounding from his jaws. Everything hurt, the torment from his multitude of wounds all layering on top of itself. Cynder's forepaw gripped his shoulder tighter, her other paw reaching down to take his own, and he clamped down on it the instant he felt the contact. Her frightened, worried face was hovering just above his own.

"You're going to be alright, Spyro," she insisted. "Help is coming! Just focus on me, okay? I'm right here."

Spyro did his best to obey, locking his gaze with hers and trying to block out everything except the feeling of her forepaw clasping his. A few seconds later his father reappeared overhead, one of the two healers that had been tending to the others coming into view right afterward.

"What happened?" the dragon asked, his keen eyes sweeping over Spyro's body and taking stock of every cut.

"We don't know," Nina answered, sounding panicked. "Those wounds just started appearing all over him and we don't know why."

"Look!" Sparx exclaimed, pointing at Spyro's side where deep puncture marks—the ones left by Tyrannica's fangs—were taking form even then.

The healer's expression darkened immediately. Moving quickly, he reached into his satchel and withdrew a small piece of red gem. He held it against Spyro's chest, on top of the slash marks there, but to everyone's mounting confusion the gem's energy didn't transfer into his body. Nothing but a minute trickle of magic flowed from the crystal into his wounds, having no noticeable effect.

"This makes no sense," the healer muttered, his frown only deepening. "Why would...? But that only happens when..."

"What?" Cynder asked, her tone rising. "'Only happens when' what? Why isn't the gem working?"

Instead of answering her, the healer turned to look over his wing toward the other healer, an earth dragoness.

"Tectonia! We need a stretcher made for this one."

"A stretcher?" the dragoness replied. "Right now?"

"Yes. I need to move Master Spyro immediately."

Out of the corner of his eye, Spyro saw the earth dragoness cast her colleague a slightly skeptical look. Pausing only long enough to whisper a few quick words to Chinook and Enigma—who she had been treating previously—she trotted over to stand beside her colleague. All skepticism vanished when she took one look at Spyro's state, a silent gasp escaping her upon watching the long thin gash opening up across his lower body.

"Where are you going to move him?" she asked. "The Infirmary's a rubble pile and the emergency triage centre isn't set up yet."

"Well, I'm sure they'll hurry it up when they see who needs it. All I know is I can't treat this here."

He turned his focus back toward Spyro, putting the ineffective red gem away and pulling a small bundle of torn-up cloths out of his satchel instead to use as bandages.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Cynder tried asking again.

"Possibly," the healer nodded. "If red gems aren't working then we'll need alternative supplies to treat him: bandages, herbs, clean water, so on. With the Infirmary destroyed we're short on all of those things, and there are going to be a lot of people that need them. I'm sure extra gatherers will be appreciated."

Spyro hissed through clenched fangs when the healer slid a paw behind the purple dragon's shoulders and lifted. A second later a strip of cloth had been pressed over the deep gashes in his back and he was carefully set back down. A harsh sting still erupted from the wounds on contact, another loud groan sounding out. Cynder growled helplessly, her features tightening.

"Whatever the case, he can't stay here. The risk of infection is too high. Tectonia?"

The other healer nodded, and the stone beneath Spyro raised up into a thin platform, the edges curled upward to prevent their patient from rolling off. Paw-holds grew from both ends, and the first healer moved to grip them.

"This will probably hurt," he warned Spyro apologetically. "But don't worry, we'll get you fixed up as quickly as we can."

He wasn't wrong: The moment he flapped his wings and the stretcher lurched upward, Spyro snarled from the wave of pain that crashed through his body. Eventually they had climbed enough to clear the rooftops though, and from there Spyro felt at least some relief when the healer's flaps evened out.

"This way," the healer called over his shoulder, where Spyro could just make out Cynder, Nexus, and the dragonflies following them into the sky. "If we're lucky they'll have started setting up the emergency stations in the market plaza by the time we get there."

With that he set off, turning to the northwest and soaring over the city, flapping as quickly but also as steadily as he could manage. Spyro lay in stiff silence, eyes shut and jaws clenched as he fought to keep the pain at bay, all the while a single thought echoed within his mind:

How had everything gone so wrong?

*.*.*

A great shadow seemed to have fallen over the lands. The sky was grey and dim in spite of the fact that the sun should have been beaming down from high overhead at this hour. Billowing smoke had completely choked out the light for miles in all directions from the city far to the south, and it seemed that in response all of nature's inhabitants had taken shelter. The only thing moving was the tall, lean, battered dragoness that was limping her way through the sky.

A shuddering growl broke free from Tyrannica's jaws, a flare of pain shooting through her exhausted muscles, and for an instant her wings seized. She faltered in the air, swaying dangerously before she managed to force her wings back into motion. Her sides screamed under the sudden exertion, bruised ribs and broken flesh blazing in protest. Snarling in frustration, Tyrannica realized that she couldn't keep this pace up any longer. Spotting an opening in the canopy below her, she began her descent.

Her landing was anything but graceful, her weight coming down in a big THUMP, and another pained gasp forced its way free when her injuries nearly caused her legs to buckle. She turned a hard glare toward her right foreleg, the limb hanging uselessly in front of her, her paw almost completely coated by the blood that was running down from the long gash in her foreleg. She winced when she flexed the limb, the scales and muscles around her shoulder feeling especially stiff and resistant. Some of the discoloured scales cracked from the motion, loose pieces flaking away and disintegrating into dust in the breeze.

A faint shudder ran down her spine. That last attack that Spyro had hit her with had been a powerful one. Silently she thanked her inner resistance to convexity's effects, a trait that all purple dragons fortunately shared. Without it, or were she any other creature, she would have been instantly petrified by exposure of that magnitude. Even with it this wound would still take some time to heal properly.

"Damn them all," she muttered, her features darkening.

Her talons clenched, her whole body stiffening from the wave of burning resentment that coursed through her veins, but almost immediately she flinched when her battered form cried in protest. Every single inch of her hurt, whether it was the bruises, the cuts or the burns. Never in her life had she allowed a foe to embarrass her in combat this badly. Now there were several that had done so.

The Guardians: those decrepit, washed up old bags of scales so desperately clinging to their glory days, with the nerve and the gall to stand up to her like equals when it was so obvious from the start that they were completely and utterly outclassed.

Nexus: such a delusional, naive, pathetic disgrace to the rest of their kind, thinking just like Malefor that he was above their master's calling, above the consequences of disloyalty. What had happened to these later generations of her master's creations? So full of hubris, so self-assured and confident in their 'superior' power and ability, so utterly deluded with ideas of independence, only to so easily be put in their place like Nexus had been. If only he hadn't slipped through her grasp in the end.

Cynder: the dragoness who'd had it all, who'd been able to carve out a glorious, bloody legacy so much like the one that Tyrannica herself had worked so hard to build in her time, and all without the gifts of a purple dragon to aid her, instead making due with the mere second-hand abilities that Malefor had cast upon her. She was someone that Tyrannica had been ready to respect as an equal due to those accomplishments, but what did that little wretch do? Spit on that gesture! Tried to humiliate her with those damned wind abilities, like she was just toying with her foe! The mere thought was enough to bring a heated growl to Tyrannica's lips, and the purple dragoness swore that the next time she crossed paths with the so-called 'Terror' of the Skies, she would make Cynder suffer for this insult.

And then there was Spyro.

The one who had started this whole mess. He was even more delusional than his brother, clinging with all of his strength to the lie that his life was, so desperate to resist the truth. He was so clueless, and so inexperienced and lost. He had no idea how over his head he was, and yet he still dared to oppose Ragnor's will instead of doing the sensible thing and just giving up!

Even so...

Another almost imperceptible chill ran through Tyrannica's being when she thought back to their battle, her gaze once more turning to her damaged shoulder. She recalled the cold, ruthless bloodlust in his empty white eyes while he pursued her relentlessly, throwing all caution and defence to the wind. He had been as wild as a feral animal, no regard given to his own wellbeing whatsoever. In those eyes she had seen one thing and one thing only: a drive to kill more powerful than anything she had witnessed before.

There was something lurking beneath the surface in that dragon, and for the most fleeting of moments Tyrannica doubted whether she wanted to know what that was.

She shivered from another chill, but she faltered when this one persisted much longer than the one before it. When she felt a probing touch at the back of her mind realization hit her in full force, and her eyes widened in alarm. Her breath caught in her throat, a jolt of panic rising in her chest, but she already knew that her fight-or-flight reflex was futile here. As Ragnor's presence grew stronger within her mind, she knew there was no hope of escape.

She did the only thing she could: She curled her wings and tail in tight to her body and lay prostrate on the ground, her head held low and her eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Master," she spoke, her voice faltering slightly. "I...I failed. I failed to carry out your instructions. Warfang still stands."

The pause that lingered after that statement was the most terrifying pause in the dragoness's life. The connection in her mind was like a blank, cold steel wall, unmoving and completely unreadable. Without being in his physical presence, she could only picture the last time she had disappointed him and deep, primal terror welled up inside her soul at the memory of his blazing, furious eyes. The image chilled her to her very core.

"Yes," he said finally, his reverberating voice jarring her badly. Tyrannica flinched, curling tighter in on herself. "It does..."

The indigo dragoness barely stopped herself from whimpering, holding on to the last shred of her pride. She knew it: This was her end. Ragnor did not tolerate failure, and now she had failed him twice.

"But..."

It took a moment for Tyrannica to register that word. When she did her eyes snapped open in confusion.

"...Master?"

"It was not a wasted effort," he said at length, a feeling almost like a resigned sigh coming through the link. "Warfang was not destroyed, but you have dealt it a crippling blow. You struck the dragons right in the heart of their greatest stronghold, attacked them in their own homes and killed their leader. This will shatter their morale. It will take them time to recover from this blow, if they recover at all. This will buy us enough time to prepare our next move."

There was another pause, and in this time Tyrannica hesitantly rose back into a sitting position—though she staggered when she accidentally pressed down on her wounded foreleg.

"You fought well today," Ragnor finally conceded. "I cannot pass judgement on your failure while ignoring my own role in how events played out. If I had not intervened, you would have slit the Guardians' throats before the battle even started. Even during the battle you should have had them all to yourself, but with Spyro's and Nexus's interference all of the most powerful dragons in the Realms were gathered in one place against you. You were badly outnumbered, and the fact that you managed to inflict as much damage as you did in the face of their combined might is worthy of recognition."

A brief swell of pride managed to break through the shock that Ragnor's words brought her, but it only lasted a second before she smothered it. A fresh twinge of pain brought her crashing back to the reality of the situation.

"But I was defeated. I had all of them under my claw. I had Nexus as my prisoner, but Spyro..."

She trailed off, unable to find the right words to express her frustration. A low growl rumbled from her throat.

"What was that power? No matter what I did to him, he just kept attacking! I've never seen rage fuel someone like that before. He wasn't just relentless. It was like he was unstoppable."

Ragnor didn't respond, nothing but silence emanating from their connection. Tyrannica would have let out a disappointed huff were it not for two things: Firstly, Ragnor wasn't killing her yet and she had no absolutely no desire to provoke him in any way that could change that. Secondly, there was something...off about this lingering pause. Tyrannica thought she could make out a sense of grim debate and indecision from her master's end of the link. He was holding something back.

Finally, after what felt like an age, the conflict was replaced by resignation.

"Not unstoppable...but you are not far off the mark."

Now it was Tyrannica's turn to pause, her mouth opening and closing uncertainly before she was able to form a proper response.

"Master? What do you mean?"

"Spyro's powers are awakening faster than I had anticipated," Ragnor answered, a low growl of frustration leaking through in his voice. "I had planned that we would be able to subdue him before you would have to face him at his full potential, but that may not be the case any longer."

"His full potential?"

"Yes. Return to your lair and focus on recovering your own strength. I will explain everything you need to know about him before your next confrontation once you get there. You will need to be prepared."

Tyrannica wasn't sure what to make of this instruction. Up until this point whenever she had heard Ragnor speak of Spyro or Nexus, the only tone she had heard from him had been disdain. They had never been a real threat to her, even in spite of their scale colour. They were just a pair of whelps whose powers hadn't had a chance to properly develop yet, a mere thorn in her master's side that needed to be plucked out before his great plans could be realized. Now though...Now he seemed to be treating Spyro as a genuine adversary.

He'd never spoken that way about any other member of her kind before; Nexus, Malefor, even she herself.

"Master?" she spoke up at length, her eyes narrowed questioningly. "Spyro isn't like the rest of us, is he?"

There was another breath of silence, but finally Ragnor answered with a single word.

"No."

Tyrannica felt her inner suspicions swell, her mind straining to decipher what could possibly make this one dragon different. Her thoughts were promptly broken before she could dwell on them, however.

"Call back your forces and return to the caverns," Ragnor told her. "There is much for me to tell you."

With that, Ragnor's connection was released. Tyrannica spent a moment longer in silent contemplation, her thoughts swirling with questions, but finally she turned her head toward the small group of wraiths that had taken shape among the trees behind her: the vanguard of her army that was now catching up with her.

"We're withdrawing. Bring us back to the mesa."

The wraiths answered with wordless nods, and soon their forms had melted into the shadows around them. A patch of darkness began working its way up her legs and tail, and Tyrannica surrendered to its cool touch before she was absorbed into the blackness with her soldiers. The tendrils of shadow whisked her off into the forest in the mere blink of an eye.

After that, the only trace of the purple dragoness's presence was the small pool of crimson that was left behind in the dirt.

*.*.*

For the last hour, the quiet within the house had been undisturbed. The screeches and roar of combat outside had abruptly ended some time ago, but that was little relief to the lone fire dragon huddled within his dwelling.

Helios lay pressed into the corner of his home office, as far away from the door and the now heavily blockaded window as he could possibly manage. Despite the quiet that had descended upon the city, his heart was still racing at as frantic a pace as it had been during the height of the battle.

It couldn't possibly be safe out there. He refused to let himself believe that it was over. At any moment those shadowy monsters could spring up out of nowhere again, ready to lay waste to what was left of the city. It was only a matter of time before the wraiths or that awful dragoness reappeared inside his home to corner him again.

His eyes fearfully scanned the room, the red dragon suddenly convinced that there must be innumerable sets of eyes boring into him from the shadows even at that moment. Could they still be there? He wouldn't be so fortunate that they would really just leave like that, would he? Nothing looked out of place aside from the furniture that he had upended to use as barricades, but he couldn't be convinced. It wasn't safe. Nowhere was safe.

No one would believe him if he tried to tell them, either. The wraiths had done an impeccable job of leaving no trace of their presence behind. His research papers were still spread out on top of his table just as they had been before, the small pieces of convexity gem set neatly back into a row, quietly crackling away inside their jars. No one would believe for a second what had really transpired within that room. Not a chance. No one would ever listen.

Why am I still alive?

A loud banging sound abruptly echoed through the house, and Helios let out a shrill yelp while ducking down behind his wings. It took him several panicked seconds to realize that the sound was from someone knocking on his door. Not long afterward a stern voice could be heard.

"Mister Helios, are you inside?"

It was a dragon's voice, but who could it be? Surely there wouldn't be anybody out in the streets yet, and why would they be looking for him?

"Please open the door. The battle is over. It's safe now."

What if it was a trick? How could be he sure? Helios found himself rooted to the spot, unable to risk getting up to investigate. His heart was pounding once more, his limbs trembling.

He heard the front door opening, prompting him to try and push his body farther back into the corner. Slow paw steps could be heard entering his home.

"Helios?" the voice came again. "If you're here, you can come out. There's no danger anymore."

Still he couldn't move. He didn't believe the unknown speaker. Of course there was still danger. As long as the purple dragons existed there was danger.

The paw steps began climbing the stairs, coming to stop just outside of his office door. Helios couldn't so much as lift a claw, simply holding his breath and praying to the Ancestors that the intruder would leave.

The door creaked as the dragon outside attempted to open it, the stack of furniture letting out a wooden groan. There was a pause, but after that Helios frowned when he heard the faint whistling of air. A second later he noticed the fibres of his rug swaying like miniature grass from a current of wind that began encircling his barricade. As if possessed by a ghost, the shelf and end tables rose up on a cushion of wind and slid away from the door.

A grey-scaled figure in silver armour stepped through the now open door, his eyes swivelling around to scan the room. They quickly settled upon Helios, and for a moment after that there was silence as the two dragons stared at each other.

"Captain Boreas?" the red dragon finally uttered.

"Good, you're not hurt," Boreas said, his tone all business. He turned to sweep the room carefully with his gaze again.

"What...what's going on? What are you doing here?"

"The wraiths have retreated," the captain replied. "The Guard has been dispatched to begin patrolling the city and checking on the state of the civilians. I have been tasked with ensuring your safety during this time."

Helios cocked his head at this news. One of the Guard captains, assigned specifically to check on his wellbeing? True, he had a connection to one of the Guardians, but that still seemed like oddly special treatment, especially at a time like this.

"You have?"

"Yes," Boreas replied with a nod. His gaze shifted toward the red dragon's desk. "Your research has been deemed to be of significant value. When do you expect to be able to resume your work?"

He faltered. His work? Significant? But the Guardians had dismissed him when he'd come to them with news of his potential findings before. Now they wanted him to resume it, just like that? His mind was spinning, struggling to keep up.

"Umm..." he stammered, only to falter again when the captain's cold blue eyes fixed upon him. "Err, I...I s-suppose I can continue my work as soon as I get the resources I need from the Guardians. But why—"

"Good," Boreas cut him off.

The wind dragon turned to him and took a step closer, his head looming down toward him. It was only then that Helios noticed that something seemed...odd about him. He was accustomed to Boreas's hard, chilling glare, having encountered the guard in passing a few times in his dealings with Volteer, but there was something wrong about that glare now. It took Helios a second to pinpoint it, but when he did he shivered.

His eyes. They were...empty. It was like the stare of a mindless drone within a hive of insects. Something was definitely wrong.

That was when Boreas spoke again, and Helios felt another, much larger chill take hold of him.

"In that case I have new instructions for you from Mistress Tyrannica."