Talon

Reunited

“N-no, please! I beseech you! I’ll d-do anything, don’t!—“

There was a sickening crunch as the skull of the quivering dragon was split open. Blood and chunks of gray matter were pressed into the dirt as shattered bits of skull rode the currents of blood that gushed from the exposed arteries within the neck. While one eye was destroyed in the carnage, the other had popped out of the skull, ripe for the plucking. The killer admired the macabre visage with a sort of sadistic amusement before plucking the eyeball from its frayed stem and gulped it down. A tongue swiped over his jowls, and the brute relished the feeling of gunk sliding down his throat.

That had been the last of them. The killer looked around at the carnage he had caused. A whole village, decimated. Not a single soul left to cry over the loss. Not even the children had been spared, though the killer had mercifully made their deaths quick and as painless as he could manage. All of the rest had been given their own special treatment. Some the killer had stalked for days, killing them off one by one before anyone else could catch on. Others were reduced to gory stains upon the ground, what was left of them sweeping into the dirt as their final resting place. Some, he had taken a more eloquent approach with, killing them in ways he thought of as beautiful. During those deaths, he moved gracefully, spinning and twirling and weaving his wiry body around in the air before finally crashing down to drive his prey’s final breath out of their lungs.

“That’s quite the number you’ve procured there.”

The demon jumped, wheeling around in a sudden flare of anger rather than shock or fear. The moment he had his quarry in his sight, he leapt, spikes hidden within his long, fluffy tail unsheathing to point right at his adversary’s throat. He stretched his tail to full length, keeping his body low to the ground and his forelegs beside his head in case the need for a defensive maneuver arose. He bared his teeth, waiting for the other to move. The demon knew that, at any moment, even with his spikes pressed up against the other’s vital arteries, the tables could turn in an instant. In what would be his last moment ever, his head would be lobbed off his shoulders before he could even utter so much as an “oh”.

His father would make sure of that. Fortunately, Greed didn’t seem to be interested in killing his child just yet.

Greed tilted his head back, gazing down at the glimmering red and purple spines with a flicker of interest. That was something at least. Most other looks the demon had procured from his father were of hateful contempt and the urge to slaughter his heir, or dull disinterest and a complete lack of wanting to do anything with his most successful son. Still, the demon could not be happy for the look that swam in his father’s eyes. Any sort of compassion had been beaten out of him ages ago. There was no love left to give. That had been his father’s intended purpose, to treat his children just as bad as Apex had done to him. He had been particularly cruel to the demon out of a greater hatred shown for the child than he had ever displayed towards anyone else before, but all it had done was ensure that the creature would not turn out like Greed had. Would never admire his father like Greed still does to Apex.

(WiP)


Darkstripe's Delusions (Part 1)

Darkstripe's Themes: High Enough, one more that I forgot lel

Frankly, if anyone had bothered to ask Darkstripe before his life went down the drain, he would have claimed that he deserved that happy ending they all dreamed of.

Before hell came to engulf him and no scrap of happiness came without a healthy dose of pain and hurt, he would have said that he was tired of the world constantly throwing hardships his way.

Up until the conquest that rendered his life to ashes, Darkstripe had been no stranger to trials. Parents, siblings, all dead and gone. He'd fought like hell to live, clawed himself out of the darkness that threatened to envelop him. He made sure that the ones who destroyed his life paid dearly for what they had done. In a way, he was still claimed by the darkness-- only it was not the embrace of death that had snared his heart. There is no victory without sacrifice, after all. A bitter truth that he must live with, the scar upon his very being.

She had lifted him from the depths of depravity. He didn't love her romantically-- never could, in all truth-- but when he threatened to drown in his tears at night it was she that curled around his shaking body, told him that everything would be alright. He found ways to cope with the loss. Took on hobbies, made new friends, gave himself a role to play. The golden child of the village he now lived in. He did his best to help anyone that asked, gave himself a reputation for being the kindest dragon they had ever known. Only his best friend knew the truth-- each kind act was another hit to the void that swirled inside of him.

To cope, yes, but to also survive.

After a while, he thought he had done it. Quelled the self-destructive tendencies within him, silenced the whispers that called for him to hunt the most dangerous game. The trauma he had undergone at such a young age had left its imprint on him, sure, but Darkstripe had fooled himself into thinking that he could overcome it. Others had risen up from worse, so why couldn't he? With his best friend at his side, there was nothing he couldn't do. No trial he could not complete, no feat he couldn't accomplish.

The village had been reduced to rumble in what seemed like an instant.

Darkstripe couldn't have known that Talon was experienced with such a slaughter. At the time, he blamed himself. He should have noticed the signs, had a keener eye. He should have been a better guard. Though the village genocide that had taken place was all but inevitable, Darkstripe was plagued with guilt. Everything he had come to love and cherish, gone. Why shouldn't he be to blame?

He nearly died that day, with all the rest. But Talon had been tired of doing all that work himself. He was string enough to recruit a few underlings. After witnessing everything he could do alone, it wouldn't be hard to keep them in place by using fear alone. Darkstripe wasn't one of the dragons he had chosen, but his best friend was. He hated seeing her so beaten, bruised and bloody with one swollen eye and a grimace on her face. She tried to deny Talon's offer-- death would be better than joining the maniac that had just destroyed her life-- but Talon wouldn't take no for an answer. He laughed at her glare, her gritted teeth, her tear stained cheeks and defiance. She was the strongest the village had to offer. He would make her one of his strongest, in due time.

Darkstripe had crawled up to Talon. The demon hadn't even bothered to check who all was still alive besides the ones he wanted to keep-- he had been sure that they would be dead soon either way. Darkstripe pitifully clawed at his ankles begging to be allowed to join. Now that everything he had come to love was gone, he was broken. He needed a new purpose in life. He needed something to keep him from the darkness.

Talon looked down and him, and swiftly, deftly, threw him halfway across the village. He then dragged Darkstripe back to the group and then tortured him until his best friend agreed to serve Talon, if only so that the torment of her best friend would cease. Darkstripe did not whimper, did not cry. He simply took the abuse in silence.

He was left to die after that. Not the first time either, Darkstripe thought bitterly. He lay in the dust and dirt for days and nights, until he finally gained the strength to drag himself to a body of water. Filled with mud and tasting of blood, defiled by Talon's act of mass homicide, but in that moment it was the best thing Darkstripe had ever tasted.

He didn't wait longer than he had to. His limbs screamed in agony, each movement sending jolts of pain through a body that had already suffered much abuse, but Darkstripe couldn't be moved to care. All that mattered was seeing Talon. The lean, bloodsoaked creature had been the most beautiful thing Darkstripe had ever seen. Perhaps it was finding a charge to follow, a leader to look up to, a model to spoil with loyalty, that could help Darkstripe battle the darkness. His final stand. By dedicating himself to blind loyalty, then perhaps his sanity would remain intact. Though he couldn't fathom why, Talon was the perfect distraction. This confused and disgusted him to no end, and at times Darkstripe found himself wanting to wither up in shame and die in that pit in his stomach. But, whenever he awoke, he continued to follow Talon's footsteps.

It did not take long to find them, and much less effort than he could have expected. The path of destruction and devastation Talon left behind was wide, and easy to follow. The few poor souls that remained shook when Darkstripe approached them to ask about the whereabouts of the killer. Those that were not lost to screaming fits upon the mere mention of the creature that had taken everything from them were able to give Darkstripe a general direction in which to follow. Most of them assumed that Darkstripe wanted revenge, and clung to any straws of hope that he could deliver the false promise they had made up in their heads. A few saw the glimmer within his eyes, and refused to speak with him any longer, casting glares of disgust and hatred over their shoulders as they parted ways.

The second time Darkstripe saw Talon, the demon had set up a small camp. A temporary one, of course, as it lacked the lavish adornments someone of Talon's stature would require. It had been hastily set up, with a few guards stationed to keep a look out of dragons such as Darkstripe.

His obsidian scales helped him hide in the darkness, and it was easy enough to catch one of the guards on their unawares. Most were still shellshocked from the massive and brutal changes that had just been rendered upon their life, how could they keep their full attention on the ever expansive horizon of darkness? Darkstripe made quick work of the guard, nearly breaking into sobs as he tore their flesh from their bones. This wasn't something he wanted to be good at anymore. But if he were to please Talon, then he had to be.

Talon appeared quickly, hitting Darkstripe in the side and causing him to go flying sideways. The pink serpent was furious that a half dead welp had been able to kill one of his guards so quickly, and admonished his small group with scathing insults and physical punishments alike. When his temper had faded, he turned back to the intruder. Darkstripe was crouched low to the ground in submission, eyes barely able to look up at the beast before him. Once again, he begged, pleaded, to join the group.

Talon's retaliation was much more swift this time. Deep cuts were drawn into Darkstripe's flank, pouring out blood from skin that had only just began to heal. The worst wound by far was clawed into his neck, just barely breaking into the major, life-giving arteries within the jugular.

Talon was satisfied that his death would be a slow and painful one. He commanded his group to pack up, and once again they were off and into the night. Darkstripe caught a glimpse of his best friend, her mournful gaze. There was something in her eyes. It was either pity or disappointment.

The next trek was harder, but doable. Darkstripe refused to die. Many of his wounds were infected, oozing puss and refusing to heal. He was plagued by delusions, hallucinations of his dead friends and family. Of dragons he had once sworn to protect and care for. Of his best friend. The wound on his neck had managed to stop bleeding, but too much movement would surely open it up again, for good this time. Darkstripe had no time to waste. He did not sleep, did not stop to eat or drink. This was his last chance. The whispers swarmed his vision, taunting him, teasing him. To stop now was to give up. If he collapsed and slept his injuries away, he would not be the same dragon if he awoke. Death or insanity, the darkness would claim him either way.

Talon found him five days after they had last met. Multiple limbs useless, flesh discolored and infected. Maggots swarmed upon the living corpse, breathing ragged and shallow. One last time, Darkstripe begged to join the demon.

Talon ordered his best healers to restore Darkstripe to full health, saying that their necks were quite literally on the line.

When Darkstripe awoke, the mere sight of Talon beat back the darkness into submission. Though he was far from recovered, Darkstripe forced his body into a position of submission. The leader laughed, and proclaimed him fit enough to start working for him. Darkstripe didn't know it then, but at that moment he had reminded Talon of himself. As a child, Talon's father was a brute. Hated him from the very moment he was born. Beat Talon senseless, clawed deep marks into his flanks, threw him as far as he could manage. Talon's father had expected this small, skinny hatchling to die quite easily. But Talon refused. Despite all the odds, he continued to persist.

Much like Darkstripe.

When he was able to move without agony flaring up within his limbs, Darkstripe set to worth proving his strength. He wasn't the strongest of the group, but most definitely the most tough and resilient. It seemed like nothing to kill him. And, shocking even Talon himself, Darkstripe was the only dragon who seemed to follow Talon out of more loyalty than fear. Though he wouldn't be the last dragon to do so, he was certainly the first, and the best at it. Though Talon was as likely to play favorites as his grandfather Apex was, (and by that, none at all) he decided to make Darkstripe his deputy. An invincible second-in-command was quite useful after all, and no matter how many times Talon sunk his claws into his deputy, Darkstripe still looked at him in adoration.

Darkstripe did everything he could for Talon. If asked to jump, he'd ask how far. If commanded to kill, he'd ask in what ways. If told to hunt, he'd bring back more food than a pack of Mirrors could in a lifetime. If told to humiliate himself, he would make Talon roar with laughter. Darkstripe asked for nothing in return, neither love nor appreciation. This was his purpose now. His last way of keeping his sanity in check. He tried not to look at his once-best friend too often. Whereas she had once been his coping mechanism, now he had a different drug.

To his surprise, Talon started to give Darkstripe "special treatment". Of course, this new softness often came with increased beatings and harsher punishments and failure. That was to be expected-- the good must come with the bad, he supposed. Better food to heal bigger wounds, longer periods of rest allotted so that his limbs would not ache so sorely whenever Talon dished out kick after kick upon his bruised flank. Only the best healing for his deputy, so that the cracks and fractures in his ribs would be reduced to only bruisings. Darkstripe was somehow the worst and best treated by Talon, and he loved it. Lavished in both pain and pleasure, it became impossible to distinguish happiness from hurt.

One day, the two were sat upon a balcony as they watched the sunset. In the distance, a village they had just conquered was ravaged by flames. The mere sight of the fiery tendrils licking the sun, the smoke rising high to blot out the stars, was enough to bring a tear to Darkstripe's eye. The beauty was serene and pure.

Talon asked him a question then. What, he inquired, had made Darkstripe so inclined to join them. Why had he persisted so to take Talon as a leader, when at first the pink serpent had wanted nothing to do with him.

Darkstripe told him the full truth then, and nothing but it. He told Talon that he was the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. He told Talon that he was akin to a deity, an immortal being that Darkstripe wanted nothing more to follow. And he told Darkstripe that the most capable warrior from that village all that time ago, the only other dragon Talon still had from that village, was once his best friend.

Talon took in a deep breath, and beat Darkstripe within an inch of his life.

Darkstripe was incapacitated for weeks, at Talon's request. Though the serpent acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Darkstripe knew that something had shifted. Their relationship had a deadly imbalance done unto it, and something had to be done to rectify that change. Darkstripe went on as usual, but inside he was starting to crack. The darkness within him hardly ever ceased their whispers. He had failed, they told them. He would be killed, and the abyss would claim him once and for all.

When the time finally came, Darkstripe was both unsurprised and sickened. Talon's honeyed words echoed as he brought his two most important dragons together to fight for the last time. His best warrior, and his esteemed deputy. The rest of the group howled at the prospect of watching these two once inseparable dragons fight to the death, not torn apart by fate, but rather their own claws. Talon was being quite showy with it too, as if he enjoyed watching the two opponents squirm in their seats with each word his spoke. Hell, Darkstripe knew he enjoyed the hell out of it, and wanted to wring as much torment out of them as he could. When he finally declared the battle begun, Darkstripe wasted no time in lunging.

(He was no fool. Darkstripe knew that if he held back, Talon would know, and his best friend would be dead anyways. She couldn't know it, but Darkstripe had never stopped thinking of her. In the end, this was for the best.)

The battle was brutal. Darkstripe's ears were ringing, and not just because his head had been buffeted by powerful wings, causing his mind to go woozy for just a second. He was drowning out the pleas from his best friend by listening to the whispers. They were laughing now, screeching and crying in glee. This was it. There was no way to win. Kill his friend, survive, give in to the darkness he had been fleeing from since he took his first childish revenge. Betray Talon, die in the fight, give into the darkness he had crawled himself out of many times before. He moved without thinking, attacked without dodging, sometimes he would laugh and it was only partly because of the pain.

(The best warrior against a dragon that lived for pain. The reluctant fighter against one that had everything to lose and nothing to gain. The winner would be decided by whoever broke first.)

As he cut and was cut, Darkstripe stopped seeing properly. Nevermind that he had already lost an eye, now he was completely enveloped in his own thoughts and delusions. He moved on autopilot, able to dedicate what was left of his fractured mind to choosing between two dragons that he loved very, very dearly. He was grateful that he would only have to make this choice once. But, he would have to make it soon-- though he was unfazed by pain, mental resilience was not enough to keep his body moving. He was losing blood fast, His best friend's pleas were getting ever the more desperate, her voice cracking. She was about to break.

(He could keep this up forever. She couldn't. All he needed to do was wear her down enough for her to give up. But if he were to go for the kill preemptively?)

Talon saw everything. Talon noticed everything. Darkstripe knew that there was no way to consciously fool him. The whispers begged to take control-- they knew how to dupe his friend until the very end. They knew how to win this. Darkstripe could recede within his mind, and never have to face the aftermath.

(And never fully enjoy Talon's warm embrace either.)

The sheer stress of making a choice would have been enough to drive any dragon insane, if that wasn't already what Darkstripe had been running from for his entire life. Both fighters were practically slipping on the blood now. His friend couldn't last much longer. Darkstripe beat back the whispers for the last time.

(Insanity, or death. Both finalities in their own right.)

Darkstripe let out something that was both a laugh and a roar. With what appeared to be hysteric glee, he pounced. Even Talon was fooled into thinking that Darkstripe was the clear winner.

(And, if he had to choose, perhaps the latter would be a bit more restful.)


Talon's Triumphs (Part 2)

Talon's Themes: Violence (Hot Sugar), Welcome to the Game II, Like a God (meme)

"Sire?"

Before Talon could completely turn his head to gaze behind him, the shuffling noise was gone and the visitor was in the suitable position for entering the throne room. Front arms crouched against the ground, chin placed upon his paws in the most lowly position it could be in. Hind legs stretched taut, long and winding tail curled around one of the legs. All other arms held tight against his body, claws clasped together as if in prayer. Wings outstretched and curved slightly forward, so that if Talon so desired, he could leap upon them and smash the fragile joint into twain, never to fly again.

It was the perfect crouch for his subordinates, one that would lead to no struggle if Talon were to suddenly decide the dragon unfit for his regime and tear them limb from limb. It was something he had learned from none other than his grandfather, the act of his underlings performing some sort of ritual bow or stance whenever they were to enter the sacred throne room in which their ruler sat. A position that could be easily compromised however he pleased if Apex saw fit. Though, perhaps the bow Apex preferred was not quite as exposed as the one Talon forced his subjects to adhere to, but if the cruel leader was being honest with himself, he quite preferred his subjects weak and trembling. Splayed out before him like a meal he could dig into at his leisure. Though there were few things Talon took pleasure in, the scent and sight of fear was something he would consume ravenously without a second thought.

And none other of his subjects performed the position quite as well as his deputy Darkstripe.

"Darkstripe," Talon said, drawing out the name in a bored tone. His voice betrayed nothing, and his eyes neither widened nor narrowed. His mouth stayed in the same slack frown it had been at before his deputy had entered the throne room. Nothing about Talon's appearance gave away anything about what he might have been thinking or feeling.

"Yes, that is me, sire," Darkstripe nodded, ever so slightly lifting his head from his paws. "May I approach your glorious throne?"

Talon was not sitting in his throne at the tine, but he had made it very clear that if anyone were to dare approach his magnificent chair, they had better ask clear permission. Talon was always rather finicky about his chair. No one really knew why. Perhaps it was because the chair was decorated with all of Talon's favorite trophies, so that he was the epitome of fear whenever he sat upon it. A reminder of all that he was capable of. Or, perhaps the throne was an extension of himself. To ask to approach the throne was to beg to approach Talon's mighty visage.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion, deputy?" Talon sighed, edges of his lips curling down and revealing the faintest glimmer of teeth. A warning.

Darkstripe was not dissuaded. Perhaps it was because he had felt the rake of those glorious fangs upon his undeserving flesh enough that he had grown used to the pain, or, Talon thought with a mental chuckle, he had grown to enjoy the familiar pain. But, Talon noticed, Darkstripe's eyes had opened slightly more even as he dropped his mouth open to speak. He still feared the fangs. That was good. Any subject of his that did not fear him was too stupid to keep their head.

"If this lowly one may speak true, then I have noticed that you have felt off today. Even today's ritual execution seemed to bring you no joy. Though I am but a mere speck of dust in your presence, I beg permission to attempt to cheer you up."

Talon sneered, making a tch sound in annoyance. But, what his deputy had spoken was the truth. Talon had been quite irritable that day, for a reason he could not place. Watching the prisoners of war be executed had brought him nothing more than annoyance, their screams grating upon his senses when they would have normally made him smirk in satisfaction. Even going so far as to behead one of the executioners himself for doing such a lousy job at pleasing him hadn't brought a smile to his face. He had yelled and snapped at everyone who dare be in his presence, throwing aside his meals and leaving raking claw marks in the various intricate decorations that lined his lair. Watching his subordinates cower in terror had brought him some satisfaction, but the brief pleasure was outweighed by hatred for his own childish tantrum. Apex would have never been so ungainly. And so, with a snarl, Talon had retreated to his throne room, rambling on about how if anyone were to disturb him, they would be eviscerated on the spot.

Talon snarled once more. "You think that a weakling such as yourself would be able to help me? Of all the impudent thoughts! My justified rage can only be quelled when I see fit, you withering worm. I should have you flayed for such an outlandish thought!"

Darkstripe cowered against the ground, somehow lowering himself even more. He averted his eyes from his leader. "I apologize! I did not mean to insult you, or question your wellbeing. Your motivations are beyond my lowly understanding. I should have heeded your earlier command. I shall go now, my sire-- I am not worthy of your presence."

Darkstripe turned to slink off, ready to bound away in quick bursts. Talon would have accepted such a flight from any other subordinate, let them go with nothing more than a disdainful shake of his head.

"No," he found himself calling out before he even knew it himself. It was hoarse and low, as if something primal within him had commanded him to speak it. Darkstripe stilled. Talon took a deep breath, almost coughing.

"You may approach my glorious throne, bug."

The insult was weak, and Talon knew it. He really wasn't himself today. But if Darkstripe noticed the slip-up, he showed no indication of it as he turned around and began to stride towards the throne. His body was off the ground, but he still kept his head lowered and gaze averted. Wings and extra arms clung close to his body, tail dragging on the ground. How polite.

Talon was sitting on the ledge of a window, looking out over the horizon. Darkstripe was sure to give the throne a wide berth, lowering his head as he did so, and scaled his way up to Talon. He managed to keep an unthreatening air about him as he did so. not wanting to anger Talon any further.

The moment Darkstripe was within reach, Talon grabbed him by an arm and threw him across the room.

Darkstripe hit the wall at the far end of the throne room, mouth agape but letting out nothing more that a strangled wheeze. He fell to the floor with a thud, a sickening crack echoing out from where he landed. Darkstripe had landed weirdly on one of his arms, the one Talon had used to throw him with. When Darkstripe stood on shaky legs, the same arm jutted out on a weird angle. An arm broken in multiple places and definitely a few bruised limbs. If Darkstripe wasn't built so resilient, he might have procured even more injuries. Talon snickered. He'd live.

He felt something then, the first fleeting bit of satisfaction he'd had that day.

"You may approach my throne once again, deputy."

Darkstripe definitely picked up on the hint of amusement in Talon's voice. He approached the throne once again in the same way he had before, understanding that he had done nothing wrong but not giving voice to it. This was okay, he was alright. Anything to bring humor and mirth and happiness back to Talon.

This time, Talon made no move to harm Darkstripe when he crawled next to the demon. He watched his deputy settle into position, not able to decide whether he wanted to look out the window, or at his glorious leader. Talon did not avert his gaze, just staring at Darkstripe. Darkstripe felt something prickle along his spine, something akin to unease or suspense but not quite. He had to fight to keep from shifting as Talon's gaze raked over his form. Once again, Talon's expression betrayed nothing, but he was definitely thinking.

Talon reached out a claw to Darkstripe's face, and the deputy flinched.

The transition was so sudden that it would have been impossible to tell if it was genuine or just acting. Talon flew into a rage, quickly raking his claws down the side of Darkstripe's face. "You cowering cur, you detestable fiend!" he roared, suddenly springing to life. He leapt over Darkstripe, using his extra arms to cut more wounds into the unmoving dragon. But Talon didn’t stop there. Using his impressive agility and dexterity, Talon continued to leap and bound over Darkstripe, clawing at his flesh and taking deep red marks into his scales. Some scratches were only light, and though they caused his skin to rise they did not leak blood. Others were deep so that red began to run from the immediately, just shy of being deep enough to cause permanent damage. Talon was skilled at doing such, causing deep wounds that were painful and bloody, but not lethal. Darkstripe did not try to move throughout the whole ordeal, straining his limbs and digging his claws into the floor and bracing himself against the pain. His one good eye was clenched shut, and his lips were pulled tight in a grimace. At times he winced when Talon’s claws cut particularly close to a vital organ or artery, but other than the momentary slips he stayed deathly still.

By the time Talon was done, he was breathing heavily, but not out of physical exertion or tiredness. His heart was thudding within his chest, so fast he thought it might leap out of his throat. His eyes were wide, wild, but not unfocused. He felt high with elation. For the first time since that day, since forever, he felt happy.

He lifted Darkstripe's limp form above his head, the obsidian serpent unresisting, and held him up high for a moment. Blood streamed down his body, showering Talon in red. After another moment, content with bathing in the red rain, he threw Darkstripe back to the ground.

It was like how Apex felt when beheading another. It was like how Greed felt when another one of his schemes went by unhindered and unnoticed. That same elation. But different. Apex had no one dragon that he was close with. Greed drove everyone away on purpose. Did having Darkstripe make him weak? Perhaps.

Talon thought back to the first time he had ever met Darkstripe. He had conquered the village that the serpent had promised to protect, killing almost everything in sight and ripping just about everyone Darkstripe cared about from him without a shred of mercy. For no real reason, Darkstripe had been left alive, gravely wounded, but alive no less. As Talon decided to recruit the unwilling stragglers of the village to be the first of his mighty regime, Darkstripe had crawled up to him. The pitiful thing had begged Talon to join him. So, naturally, Talon tortured Darkstripe until the rest agreed to join him without a fight.

That hadn't been the first time Talon had tried to kill Darkstripe. A few days after he had destroyed the weak village, Darkstripe had found him by following his path of destruction, and begged to accompany him once more. Talon made what one would assume to be a lethal cut in his jugular, near or perhaps into those life-giving arteries, but like clockwork Darkstripe appeared a few days later, almost dead but still pleading to join. Talon hardly knew a dragon that could survive so much abuse, and he claimed that such was the main reason that he finally adhered to Darkstripe's wishes.

Even know that he wasn't so sure, he still asserted that Darkstripe's unusual resilience was the only reason he was still here.

The last time Talon had directly tried to kill Darkstripe was when the deputy had confessed something to him. That part of the reason he had wanted to join Talon was because one of the warriors he had taken from the desecrated village-- and the only other dragon from said village that remained living-- was Darkstripe's best friend.

Talon had beaten Darkstripe within an inch of his life then, but decided that doing so wasn't enough. When Darkstripe was back to full health, he had arranged a duel. His resilient deputy that defied death at all odds, versus his best and most vicious fighter. Two once-best friends arranged to battle to the death. Quite the attraction, and even more amusing as Talon had watched them squirm.

In all honesty, he hadn't expected Darkstripe to win. He had expected neither of them to come out on top, actually. His best warrior was ruthless, certainly, but Darkstripe was all that remained of her past life. He expected Darkstripe to collapse from blood at some point, matter overcoming his mind, and for his best warrior to collapse in tears, unable to kill her best friend. That would be such a glorious outcome. Such trickery, orchestrated by the masterful demon which ruled over them all. Then, he had grinned, he could yell and scream and tortured them as much as he saw fit. And their resolve would break even more, as he convinced them that they were on the wrong, and that Talon was never to be displeased ever again.

But oh, what an upset! Darkstripe had went for the killing blow, and for just a moment, Talon thought that he might arise the victor in a sudden upset. He sat on the edge of his seat, maw just slightly agape, watching the scene play out as if in slow motion.

It hadn't worked out. It appeared that his best warrior knew how to combat this sudden movement. Darkstripe was left twitching on the ground, dying from a fatal wound.

Or a wound that would have been fatal to anyone else but him, Talon mused.

Even after Darkstripe was fully healed, he decided to let his best warrior live, despite nearly killing his deputy. She had only been doing as asked, of course, and Talon had decided that Darkstripe deserved a little treat for surviving the ordeal.

It was the kindest gift he could have given. Such a benevolent leader, Talon was.

In the present, Darkstripe still was still laying on the ground where Talon had left him, as if waiting for more impact, more cuts. He didn't want to disobey Talon, get up even after Talon was done hurting him. At any moment, the demon could change his mind, and it was something more than fear that made Darkstripe was to avoid incurring his leader's wrath and ire.

"Get up," Talon snarled, and so Darkstripe returned to his sitting position. The demon reached a clawed hand towards Darkstripe's face, and this time his deputy did not flinch.

Gently, he turned Darkstripe's head to face him. There was a deep scratch on the other side of his face, where his other eye would had been had it not been torn out in the battle with his best friend. Talon leaned in and slowly, gingerly, licked the wound. He lapped up the blood from the side of his deputy's face as if caressing and cleaning a loved one's wound.

When Talon leaned back, he was almost as shocked as Darkstripe was. "No one can know," he whispered harshly, voice rasping as if he had just undergone a large amount of physical exertion. Darkstripe nodded.

It was impossible for Talon to feel love. It had been beaten out of him from the moment he was born. His father was a cruel and uncaring brute, and not even his mother's soft touches could repair the damage that would not stop until he had fled his father's claws. It was that way with Greed and Apex too-- neither of them could feel romantic attraction.

That did not mean Talon was exempt from feeling any kind of attraction at all.

Perhaps it was fate that caused them to clash in such a horrid, bloody and yet perfect way. Fate had led Apex to his multiple fates, creating a bloodline born in suffering to spread his influence. Fate had led Maleficent to pick out Ridikyu as Greed's mate, the perfect lamb for the unloved heir of the lineage. Fate had led to Talon's birth, had led to him becoming the most dangerous and most perfect grandchild that Apex could have ever wished for.

Though Talon never wished to have children, couldn't stomach the thought, that did not mean that he couldn't take on a certain kind of partner.

As the two stared off into the sunset, illuminating the carnage Talon had created, they shared the unspoken understanding that this was beginning of something both needed. Darkstripe needed a muse to keep him from succumbing to insanity. Talon needed someone to keep him off edge, to keep him from slaughtering everything in sight.

Talon curled around Darkstripe, and allowed him to rest for once.