Destruction

add Savannah, Saturn


Starset - my Demons






You are tainted. These words echoed through my mind every day, a reminder of the shade that plagued my every moment. My siblings had never let me forget. I was a plaything, a practice target, a sickly hatchling to be used as a scapegoat. As I grew older and developed a mind of my own, I began to sneak away to avoid the harsh words of my family. At first I thought they didn’t notice, but then I realized it wasn’t that; rather, they simply did not care. I was Destruction, after all. Who would care for such a weakling, so dull and stunted compared to the shiny grandeur of the other imperials? In the end it did not matter, for soon I realized that I did not love them either.

I learned how to hunt on my own. They would try to take whatever scrawny prey I caught away from me, but I fought back. Physically weak as I was, it seemed futile to fight them – and yet I did. I knew about plants from trying to heal my own wounds, and soon learned other uses for them as well. Once my siblings realized all the food they stole from me made them sick, they stopped. “Poor little hunter can’t even pick healthy prey,” they had said. Little did they know I had poisoned it. Oddly enough, these substances didn’t harm me at all; perhaps my condition had given me a few unforeseen advantages.

The first time I met the imperial called Creation, I thought him to be rather moronic. Of course, I didn’t know his name at the time. His name, which oddly enough is the opposite of mine…perhaps it was fate.

I had approached his prey with the intent of stealing it, and yet when he noticed me, he offered it up of his own free will. His eyes carried a strange gleam that I couldn’t place, and I couldn’t think of any reason a dragon would offer their meal to someone like me. Still, I wasn’t about to turn it down. The second time I approached him, it was different. As I eyed the meat hungrily, he smiled and shook his head. Oh, he did have a remarkably nice smile. “Tell me your name,” he had said. Thinking it a small price to pay for more food, I gladly obliged.

He was different from the others. He would tease me, but not in a cruel way. As he put it, he liked seeing how I reacted to things. Sometimes I would rant at him, discouraged by the hardships of life and the apparent hatred of my family. Though he chuckled at times, he always listened attentively as if it were the most important thing in the world. I never felt quite as bad afterwards. It was nice, finally having someone who would listen to whatever I needed to get off my chest. In time, I came to the realization that I loved him. There was only one thing I never spoke about – the darkness that lurked deep within my body and soul.

Something changed. The sun was so unbearably bright. Noises that I didn’t even notice before now blared painfully in my ears. Creation’s playful comments, once amusing, now angered me. I would snap at him without reason and feel guilty about it later. There were times I blacked out, and I would wake a few hours later with no memory of what I had done. It was like the beast chained inside of me had finally broken free, ready to wreak havoc. Finally, I decided I could not allow my condition to make my mate suffer as well. It simply wasn’t right. I was afraid for him…I was afraid of myself. I left in the dead of night, fleeing into the depths of the Scarred Wasteland.

He followed me. Try as I might, I could not evade him. Is this what true love is? Despite all my flaws, the torment of my past and the marred surface of my scales, he still came after me. I could see he was becoming ill, and yet he did not care. It was then that I realized he intended to die with me. That was the only time in my life that I remember crying.

Now there were voices. I could see nothing. Had I passed out again? Was I dead? No, others had found us. They were taking us somewhere. As guests or prisoners, I did not know. I did not even know if I would wake up again. Somehow, I could feel that Creation was nearby, and that was all that mattered. No matter what would come next, I was not afraid.

---

Wakefulness seeped slowly, like acid, into Creation’s body: As it did, he became aware of the dull, burning ache of exhausted muscles; the sharper jabs of open wounds...

And the heavy despair around his heart. His eyelids flickered as he remembered—

The clouds of fever cleared, briefly, and he saw his mate was gone. It was easy to follow her trail; the same dreadful disease that afflicted her left drops of blood and pus behind.

He remembered the look on her face as she turned towards him. Fangs bared as she snarled at him, “Stay back!” But the look in her eyes: “No, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me...”

“He’s awake. I saw his face twitching.”

Creation forced his eyelids open. Even that small motion required considerable willpower, and he couldn’t suppress a groan.

A face swam into view. “How do you feel? Ready to wake up yet?”

For a heart-stopping moment, Creation thought the pale Imperial’s scales were splattered in blood—and then his vision cleared and he realized it was piebald markings.

He also saw Destruction nearby on another pallet. Instinctively, he tried to reach her, struggling to speak her name.

“Don’t aggravate the patients, Styx.”

“I wasn’t! I just asked him one question. You ask patients how they’re doing all the time!”

“M-hmm.” Another Imperial moved into view. Her bright green face was steady, sternly lined, and in her claws, she held a saucer of liquid. Creation drank gratefully from it. There was the faintest bitter aftertaste of herbs, but it seemed to be mostly water, cool and soothing.

And now he found that he could speak. “Who...?”

“Anaideia,” she answered quietly, “a healer of sorts. One of Ares’ Cursed Ones.” She nodded towards the piebald Imperial. “This is Styx.”

Over Styx’s excited greeting, Anaideia continued, “The two of you were found unconscious in the wilderness. Our leader said that you should be brought in and cared for.”

“We’re ill.” It was impossible to hide it, and Creation knew better than to try. “My mate and I won’t trouble you for long. We’ll leave soon...”

He struggled to rise as he spoke, but pain shot through his limbs again. He flopped down, breathing heavily as though he’d just flown across the sea.

Anaideia remained impassive. “You are not well enough to travel, and neither is your mate. Still, you should not worry. You will be cared for while you are here.”

Here, among the— “Cursed Ones?” Creation had time to wonder about the name before he slipped back into darkness.

~ ~ ~
The two Imperials had been in the lair for some days already, and Anaideia had written down her observations of them. She puzzled over her notes now, her brow furrowing.

“What d’you think they’ve got?”

“I have my suspicions.” Without looking up, she growled, “Stop trying to ‘take samples’ from them, Styx.”

Styx jerked back with a guilty look and busied herself with rearranging the nearby equipment. The sound filtered down into Destruction’s and Creation’s minds, blurring into their dreams....

At times, the situation did seem like a dream. For a large part of their lives, they’d grappled with this awful affliction, shunned even by other Plaguelings, never able to settle down in one place. With how decayed their flesh looked, they resembled the undead, and it was a miracle they’d managed to survive this long.

Other clans had taken them in, but the amity hadn’t lasted. Their appearance repulsed other dragons; at times Destruction’s more vicious behavior arose, and her mate was forced to defend her, to lead her away from dragons who were about to form a howling mob.

And so they lived in the wilderness, alone, isolated, and not entirely by choice. It was difficult, especially for Creation, who missed the companionship of a clan. It didn’t seem real that they’d found one; his mind shrank away from the snatches of conversation he heard...

But one day, even though he was half-asleep, natural curiosity overtook him. As he slowly awakened, he mumbled, “You seem to really like this Thanatos guy.”

Styx, who’d been prattling about the aforementioned dragon, whirled around, her eyes widening. “You heard that?!”

“He’s heard it for the past two weeks,” Anaideia grunted. The green Imperial was crouched nearby, mixing medicines in a mortar.

Creation, who’d become so good at reading emotions (thanks to his volatile mate), smiled at the look on Styx’s face: There was embarrassment at being caught, but also eagerness to keep talking about her crush.

Indeed, though Styx squirmed a bit at first, she soon began prattling again, the details spilling out in a breathy rush: that Thanatos was another Plague-born Imperial; he’d once been a great fighter; how strong he was, so competent at everything he did.

The words struck a chord in Creation: He’d known similar emotions before. He remembered the first time he’d seen Destruction, her smile gleaming through the darkness. Her playful laugh, the shine of her scales.

Before the disease had shown itself fully. Before...

As Styx leaned to the left, Creation saw his mate just behind her. She was awake—and staring at the young Imperial, her eyes ablaze with suspicion.

Immediately, the torpor vanished. “No!” Creation gasped, hurling himself out of his pallet to stand across Destruction’s body. To protect her, as much as to protect Styx from her.

Styx backpedaled, confused, and Anaideia folded a protective wing about her. They watched as Creation gasped, “It’s all right, they’re here to help. We’re going to be OK...”

Destruction slowly relaxed. She remained wary, though—and was it any wonder? She’d been alone for so long, and while meeting Creation had been the best thing that’d ever happened to her, there’d still been so much hardship and terror. So many dragons had promised to aid them, only to drive them out when things had gone sour.

In a few weeks, would this clan turn against them, too? The constant doubt and self-loathing that plagued Destruction conjured all sorts of scenarios: They could have their throats slit in their sleep...and their medicine could actually be vile poison, stronger even than the ones she knew...

“But he is here.” As it always had, Creation’s presence was like a light shining through the haze. Through clouds of fever and fear, even through that deeper darkness that had plagued her since her birth.

“He is here, and I trust him. I always have. So if he says it’s all right, then surely it is...”

Destruction held on to the sound of her mate’s voice. He spoke quietly, soothingly: “We’ve been here for weeks now. They’ve been helping us all this time.”

“You would not be the first dragons to come here, in need of aid,” Anaideia rumbled. “Our leader instructed us to accommodate you. That said, you will be well enough to travel soon. You may want to wait until then before making your decision.”

“Or you can stay here if you want!” Styx chirped. She ducked out from beneath Anaideia’s wing, her face alight with curiosity. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced yet. Say, what’s your name?”

“Destruction.” Her voice was a low rasp. Anaideia arched her eyeridges at this portentous-sounding pronouncement, but Styx’s enthusiasm remained unabated. She gasped, “Amazing! That’s such a tough-sounding name!”

“Thank you.” The words felt strange on Destruction’s tongue; she hadn’t had many opportunities to use them before. She remained wary, plagued by visions, memories, of spiteful siblings and cruel clanmates, and being told to leave, or else...

But Creation remained steady next to her. His warmth, as always, was reassuring, and Destruction allowed herself to relax—for now.

~ ~ ~
The couple were soon well enough to walk, though Destruction hesitated to leave the infirmary. It was Styx, eventually, who coaxed her outside—nobody could resist that eager face for long.

She stayed beside Destruction, chattering all the while. Creation trailed along behind—worried at first, then smiling faintly when he noticed his mate’s ears twitching. Despite her bleak expression, she was listening, though it would probably be some time before she initiated conversations.

“Sclerosis and Morbus live over there. Have you met them yet? They remind me a bit of you two.” Styx’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t think Sclerosis likes me much, though.”

“Anyone we should avoid?” Creation queried. Styx thought about it for a moment. “Maybe Phobos. He shouldn’t be disturbed while he’s working. Anaideia says he might try to talk with you. He thinks you’re undead.” She snorted rather contemptuously. “Don’t see what he likes about it. People are more interesting when they’re alive: all those muscles relaxing and contracting, and magic flowing through the veins—”

“Yes, er, we’ll stay out of Phobos’ workshop.”

The words snapped Styx back to reality. Without missing a beat, she continued, “Over there is where Hysminai and ShadowReaper train new warriors. Probably better to steer clear of Hysminai, too. She’s sweet, but...” Her whiskers drooped. “If you see her heading out of the clan in a hurry, it’s better to stay out of her way, OK? So that nobody gets hurt...”

“I see.” Creation shut his eyes. “Someone else is struggling....”

And then Styx gasped. “Oh no, he’s coming this way!”

“Danger?” Destruction growled. Her gaze was fixed on the massive shape lumbering towards them.

“No, it’s Thanatos!”

“Hm? You like him, don’t you?” To Creation’s astonishment, a slow smile spread across Destruction’s face. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in a very long time: warmly, softly, almost teasingly.

“Ah, what should I do? I mean, I can’t just run off...” With remarkable speed, Styx reined in her composure, clearly trying to look calmer than she actually felt. She straightened up as the bandaged Imperial approached. “Good afternoon, Thanatos.”

“There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Y...You were?!”

“To be precise, I was looking for our new friends here.” Thanatos did seem slightly apologetic about correcting her. Creation wondered how long he’d known about her crush on him.

Destruction was more interested in something else, though. Her rheumy eyes came alight with hunger as Thanatos offered a wrapped parcel. He was explaining that new clanmates were allocated more food to help them get set up...but broke off in mid-sentence as Destruction snatched the parcel from his grasp.

The three Imperials watched her scurry away. Creation flushed in embarrassment. “Please forgive her. She’s had a hard time and...well, she’s very possessive of—”

Thanatos waved his apology aside. “You’ve both been ill and need to regain your strength. Perhaps you should take a break,” he said, graciously easing them past the moment. With a last nod at Creation and Styx, he strode away.

~ ~ ~
Herbalist had been studying Anaideia’s notes, and his concerned expression mirrored hers. “Their affliction seems to go beyond mere disease. I fear that some darker magic has touched them.”

“The Shade?” Anaideia bluntly asked. Herbalist admitted, “Its influence reveals itself in myriad ways; it’s difficult to attribute specific symptoms solely to it. They could be afflicted by some other curse...”

He trailed off as, moments later, Destruction rushed in. She slumped down on her pallet, ravenously chewing through the food Thanatos had given her. She hadn’t noticed Anaideia and Herbalist, and they remained where they were, silently observing.

Creation arrived after a while. He lay down near his mate—but not too close; he knew how possessive she was of her food. Quietly, he reminded her, “You don’t need to worry. No one will take that away from you.”

Styx popped up beside him. “It’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Mine,” Destruction hissed. She practically inhaled a huge chunk of meat, clearly afraid that someone would snatch it away. Creation’s heart ached. He recalled when he’d first met her: a skinny, starving youngling, barely into adulthood, so desperate that she’d resorted to stealing from his parents’ hoard.

Styx remained undaunted. (Styx, everyone had noted with some exasperation, always remained undaunted.) “Would you like more? I could give you some.”

“You...would?” The irritation slowly faded from Destruction’s eyes. She blinked, a gobbet of meat still stuck to one corner of her mouth.

“Well, I don’t eat so much, and you look like you could use it. Or do you prefer specific kinds of food? Would that affect your body at all?” Styx’s scarlet eyes gleamed as she studied Destruction’s blood-spattered scales.

Destruction answered haltingly at first, and then with growing confidence, explaining how she wasn’t really picky. She’d spent most of her life fending for herself, learning to ambush prey when she was too weak to chase it. Styx occasionally interrupted with a question, but her interest never wavered—and she was wise enough to maintain a respectful distance.

Herbalist and Anaideia, meanwhile, had moved away slightly. “If she is Shade-touched,” Herbalist began, “she seems to be putting much effort into fighting it. Given how poor her physical condition is, that she’s managed to maintain her sanity, even partially, is a testament to her fortitude.”

“There’s hope, then?” The question seemed strange, coming from Anaideia. But Herbalist knew her well enough not to be surprised.

“I would say so, yes. Understanding and patience, security and companionship.” Herbalist nodded towards the patients. Styx dominated the conversation now; judging by the shine in her eyes, she was gushing about Thanatos again. Destruction still lay before her, listening silently—but occasionally, the corners of her mouth twitched, as though she wanted to smile.

~ ~ ~
Creation was soon out and about, helping other dragons in the clan. He was still weak, so he was only given light duties, but his politeness and consideration were deeply appreciated by the others.

Destruction remained in or around the infirmary. She knew she and her mate would have to find a den soon. She just wasn’t sure if it should be here. That the Cursed Ones had decided to accommodate them for so long, despite their twisted appearances, deeply impressed her. She liked energetic, eager Styx; cool and suave Thanatos; even grim Anaideia. No one would ever supersede her mate, but having more of this understanding and warmth in her life, from many different people, made her feel more at ease....

“Might I have a word with you?”

“Aye,” she growled, and followed Anaideia into the infirmary. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. The green Imperial had been studying her and her mate, trying to ascertain the root of their affliction. Destruction already knew, of course—just as she knew that they would soon be forced out of the clan....

“I could kill this shriveled wyrm. Slit her throat—then no one would ever know. They wouldn’t dare hurt us! How dare they...!”

The bit of the Shade that was woven into Destruction’s mind whispered these poisonous pronouncements. It urged her to erupt, to maim and kill—

But as Herbalist had noted, Destruction still hadn’t completely succumbed to the Shade. A part of her stood firm—and this was the part of her that listened as Anaideia said, “You and your mate appear to be Shade-touched.”

Destruction didn’t speak, but her head drooped. Clearly, she already knew—or had always had her suspicions. There was another question, however: “Does your mate know?”

“Hah. If he knew, you think he’d still be with me?”

“That’s between the two of you. I’m not here to serve as a marital counselor, I’m here to tell you what I’ve learned. Now, it remains unknown whether your physical afflictions are entirely caused by the Shade, or if you’re also harboring an actual disease.” Anaideia snorted, and her earrings jangled. “You may have caught a new strain from the Wyrmwound.

“Still, given that you recovered from the collapse and malnourishment that brought the two of you here, I would judge that the symptoms can be mitigated...”

Destruction drew in a slow breath. She knew what that word, mitigated, meant.

It was so difficult to believe it: After all, she’d been living with this torment for so long. “And anyway, how would this witch know? She’s never lived with it! She’s never struggled...”

“What happens now? You’re going to run us out, then?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Anaideia snapped—and it was with such vehemence that Destruction actually leaned back. “It’d be disgraceful if I did such a thing. We’ve worked on worse cases before—”

“We can stay?” Destruction blurted incredulously. Those last few words rang in her mind: “‘Worse cases’? Then maybe there is...hope?”

She’d been plagued by the darkness for so long that even in the silence of her mind, it was difficult to think the word.

“That’s your decision,” Anaideia said. “We certainly won’t hold you back if you decide to leave.”

Destruction mumbled a noncommittal reply. She still felt a bit at sea, and she struggled to pin down the reason why—

It was because they were being given a choice. She stopped, carefully considering this new and alien experience. Always before, she and Creation had been rejected or expelled by other dragons....No one had asked them what they’d thought or how they’d felt. No one had cared.

“Until...now?” She paused to look back at the infirmary. It was no home, but perhaps there was another one somewhere else within this clan. Fortified by care, nourishment, and comfort, she was thinking more clearly now, and memories from the past several weeks tumbled through her mind.

“They’ve been helping us all this time.”

“...food for new clanmates...”

“Would you like more?”

“...the symptoms can be mitigated...”

And, as she often did when unsure what to do, Destruction thought of her mate. He’d never wavered; even through her darkest days—their darkest days—his love had stood true. She, too, had noticed how he seemed more at ease here, his eyes alight with the vibrance she remembered from their earliest meetings, his smiles now more sincere and frequent.

“That’s your decision,” Anaideia had said. But now Destruction realized, “No—it’s our decision. It should be made by both of us.”

She went to find Creation. She had much to tell him, they had much to talk about, and then they would make their decision. Together.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users