I heard he was good. the black liquid leaking from his body ... inky toxin ... now obeys Pascal ... this toxin can not be removed.

Click, click, click. Drip.

Talon’s claws tapping against a metallic floor. Black liquid slowly sliding down a massive body. A nochnyr snarling from its cage, noise reduced to whimpers as the dark figure loomed closer.

A hand gently set against the cage, a whisper of a smile. The face returns to its emotionless mask as the dragon turns away, eyes methodically sweeping across the room, searching for any dangers that might’ve appeared in the night.

There. A small, blue-tinted cube on the workbench, appearing to be made of iron. Inconspicuous among all the other metal tools situated around it.

His eyes narrow. It wasn't there last night. He scanned the room once more, noticing a faint foot print in a miniscule pool of dried, russet brown by the operation table.


Too small for him, too big for his “employer,” but just right for a certain fellow bodyguard. One who worked for a competitor (enemy), he happened to know.

Familiar footsteps behind him. The imperial turned to warn him to stay out, that someone has been here, that the workshop was compromised, but it was too late.

Something the size of a fae’s ring flashed on the doorpost. If he'd had time, he would've realized it was a scanner of some sort. But the cube was expanding, unfolding and refolding in a blur of movement. Shifting into a robot whose appearance was almost identical to a clatterclog engineer, one with sharp edges and twin swords in hand.

The bodyguard snarled, wings unfolding and shoving the scientist out, simultaneously blocking the robot's path. A roar of pain escaped his throat not a moment later. He extended his hands and ripped the swords out of his wing, throwing them across the room, robot still clutching tightly to its weapons.

Pascal hit the wall with a painfully loud crash before falling to the floor. He turned and faced the imperial, not even needing a moment to shake the harsh landing off, face void of emotions.

An unnerved shudder ran through the Imperial's body. Far from the first time, he wished he could just leave. And like all those times before, the thought was pushed away by something inky and dark, more nauseating each time it happened.

And just like always, it compelled him to protect Pascal, that evil scientist who did this to him. And like always, he did. With a bitter snarl he lunged for the small robot, confident and wanting to finish this. It was meant to ambush Pascal, take him by surprise. It wasn't fit to take down a trained imperial.

And as he slowly tore it to pieces, limb by limb, he wondered again how his life ever came to this.

Even as a hatchling, Cross had known he wanted to be a bodyguard. Not to protect, or serve. But for the challenge of it. The excitement, the thrill. Unknown assailants who could attack at any time, their resources perhaps near limitless as you alone stood between them and what they wanted: your employer.

And he was good. One of the best. His massive body more agile and nimble than it had any right to be. Weapons or no, he was always ready, always willing to fight. His mind was quick in battle and always whirring, anticipating and preparing for whatever came next. A one dragon army, it seemed.

But everyone has their weak point. Cross’ was his pride, his unshakable belief that he could take on anything. He didn’t need help, and he certainly didn’t want it when all you did was get in his way.

And so the loner made the worst decision of his life. He was tired of guarding the merchants’ caravan. As well paying and rich as they may be, he wanted to settle in one place for a few weeks. Get a good look around and have an adventure. With his reputation, anything he applied for was almost guaranteed to hire him. So when he saw the scientist’s ad, he said farewell to the merchants and left for the listed address.

He told the scientist, Pascal, that he would only do it for a month. That he wasn't meant to stay in one place for long. And even with that knowledge, Pascal accepted.

If only Cross had known that Pascal never intended to let him leave. Maybe if he wasn’t so confident ,the black goos Pascal was working on would seem more suspicious. Instead he was relaxed, confident in his abilities. Unaware of the needle piercing his flesh until it was done, the black substance burning through his veins.

He would have killed the tundra, if he could. He would have wrecked the place, if he could. He would have left, if he could. He would have screamed in anger, if he could. Would have rather died, if he could. But the serum manipulated and subdued him, making every part of him that didn't help him do his job a mere ghosts of what it was. As well as making any action counterproductive to Pascal’s protect absolute.

Yet it didn’t dim who he was. His emotions were as powerful as before, only locked away. Slowly dying as the days crept by. Pain was a constant. The substance within him affecting his healing abilities; scabs would break open at the lightest touch, the black liquid oozing from them.

The scientist told him the stuff was toxic, that the more he resisted the less time he'd have left. Based upon the barely kept down meal and migraine he now had after trying to lunge at Pascal, he believed him.

Worst of all, Pascal revealed that trying to drain it from him would have the same results as if it was blood: guaranteed death. He didn't want to believe that, didn't want accept that this was what the rest of his days would be like, but slowly he was.

Drip.

The imperial lifted his head, the sound of the trickling ink echoing every time it fell onto the cold cement floor. The Shade had returned.

Drip.

His bright eyes gleamed as he roamed the halls of the Tempest Spire, where the electric currents have now died down. Where the storm clouds themselves have been replaced with a heavy black fog. The air had always been deadly up there, but now that the Shade has returned, the air poisoned any dragon who breathes it. Cursing it with the 'shade'. Cross was infected, and so he bleeds ink, the shade's toxin.

The dripping of ink became a trickle.

He could only save one dragon. Cross shut his eyes tight, suddenly stopping in his tracks. He left his mate. His friends. His parents. Because he could only save one. He struggled while endless decisions hit him all at once. Pascal. He had to save Pascal. He was entitled to protect him at all costs. The imperial dropped down, ink splattering against the walls of the metal halls.

The tundra was put into a deep sleep, to prevent him from breathing in the poisonous air that the shade has created. "I could have saved my family!" The imperial lifted his head, he cried into the large, empty area. "But I was cursed to protect you!"

More ink, flowing from his wings, eyes. Everywhere.

Cross dropped his head, lowering his wings, which were now getting heavy from being drenched in the toxin.

"Oh dear, is there a problem here?" A voice echoed, ringing through his ears.

He shot up, suddenly alert at everything. "Who is there? Answer me at once!" He snarled, his mechanical eyes scanning the area, with no luck on finding anything.

"I'm...what you could call a friend. I could release you from your curse?

"From Pascal?" The imperial was still wary, but was clearly interested in the offer. "-what would you want from me in return?"

The voice stayed quiet for quite a while before replying, the voice echoing and monotone. "All you have to do is help me eliminate the deities."

The imperial visibly flinched, images of the deities' corpses haunting his mind. The thought of disobeying and betraying Stormcatcher. Yet, being free from Pascal's commanding grasp seemed like utter bliss.

"Now dear, do we have a deal?" A large claw reached out from the darkness, it dripping with the same ink that was trickling down the imperial's wings and back.

Cross hesitated for a while, his gaze being fogged by alerts that were repeatedly warning him to not agree to the offer. The alerts that were telling him that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"I don't accept." He growled furiously, still guard on his master.

Cross bounded after Pascal, eagerly. One would almost call it cute, as if Cross followed Pascal like a loyal puppy. They wouldn’t be wrong. Cross had been alone for a long time. he started to leak a black toxin. Most would assume it ink at first, if it weren’t for the burning sensation that followed touching the substance. Pascal ignoring the pleas and the pain as the toxin sank into his scales. As Pascal licked the toxin off his face with a feral look and a shrug, Cross knew that this dragon was different. Special. "Life is pain and disappointment. My inky toxin is nothing compared to that." Cross protected the only Pascal. No one would hurt Pascal as long as he lived!