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“Let me die.” The order was coughed brokenly. “There is nothing left for me.”
Terrorblade snarled. He had come here intending to intrude upon these people as was his right, and instead had found a fallen angel. A fallen angel that he recognised, and whose bloodied, dirtied form made his heart and lungs contort within his ribs. Something smelled foul. Above them sat vultures and crows, watching from roosts within the tall trees and sheer rock face of the mountain.
Dragonus lay on his front, wings outstretched on the floor. His legs were snapped and twisted in unnatural angles from attempting to break his fall. One arm was crumpled beneath his chest, the other folded up beside his side. The tawny white wings were splattered with blood; both pinions had been forcefully crushed. He looked discarded. Tossed aside. He wasn’t even wearing armour. Had a passerby had found him they would have had no way to know that this was the great Skywrath Mage, champion of his people and blessed by the goddess Scree'auk with divine power.
“Don’t die so easily, Skywrath. It isn’t becoming of you.” The demon knelt, gently trying to move him before recoiling. Upon stepping towards him, it became clear that the scent of decay came from Dragonus himself. His fall hadn’t been recent; his wounds were rotting and, once disturbed, maggots emerged from his cut and torn flesh. Terrorblade had seen the walking dead, had even battled them hand to hand, but he had never seen a living person in this state. He had no idea how Dragonus was still alive.
“I have nothing. I was cast from my post.” he panted between dry coughs and the effort it took to talk. “My powers. I can’t- I will never restore her!” Even like this, his first thoughts were towards the queen he failed. Normally he would mock such sentimental nobility, how angelic such commitment was, but Terrorblade couldn’t waste time. Dragonus was dying. If he didn’t act fast, the Skywrath would die before he could intervene. He knelt beside his head, gripping him by the feathers that served as his hair. It wasn’t a sweet gesture, but the fresh sting would hopefully keep Dragonus rooted on who was holding him.
“Your goddess has failed you. Where is the vengeance she promised you, Skywrath?” The feathers twisted as Dragonus shook his head weakly.
“Don’t-”
“Where is the vengeance she promised the Spirit?”
“Scree'auk did not leave me!” He shouted desperately, voice cracking from strain. Terrorblade spied a wet gleam over Dragonus’ eyes. He was about to cry. “She knew, She knew I did what I could! It was not enough. I am no longer the court mage, and I will never see the Eyrie again!”
He gave Dragonus a minute to cry, keeping himself steeled. Let him mourn his home, his life. Terrorblade remembered hearing stories of the Skywrath Mage’s deeds for his kin, how his sole purpose was to defend them and their ruler.
“Let go, Dragonus. They have tossed you aside, after everything you’ve done for them without question. The Skywrath, your Goddess, your Spirit. Even after all you gave them without asking for anything in turn.” When the boy tried to shake his head again he tightened his grasp cruelly to prevent it.
“Your people broke your wings. And I do not see anyone here but me to help you.”
The crumpled heap under Terrorblade’s hand hiccuped and shook. The maggots writhed. His grip softened into a gesture that could be almost called a caress.
“Let me turn you into a demon. I can give you power unbridled by royalty, the true power within your soul. If you can master it and agree to my terms.” He leaned over him, tipping his face so they could see eye to eye. “Be my apprentice and I will see you soar higher than the heavens you’ve fallen from, Dragonus. Revenge and so much more can be yours.”
The breeze blew softly. A single vulture spread it’s wings and flew from the watching flock, a messenger on it’s way to the skies.