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Silence.
Eerie, uncomfortable, silence.
The halls of the castle seemed to stretch endlessly. Checkered tiles and grandiose arched corridors seemed to go for miles- and yet, what was once a bustling center of a grand world was left suspended in a desolate quiet.
Past the isles of labyrinthian corridors, however, a small saurian man was heavy at work. In the blacksmith’s chamber, where a dragon once birthed an endless flame and decades worth of royal subjects worked, the master of all Riptocs erected a sinister machine. The silence that had become customary laid thick around him- cut only by the sound of the welding torch in his claws. Sizzling and popping occasionally, the flame kissed the metal and stitched together scraps like layers of fabric.
This machine, which was powered by the king’s magic alone, would aid him in the battle to come. Spyro’s eventual confrontation was coming up on him rapidly, after all- he wasn’t sure how much longer he would have to work on these alloy allies. Regardless of time, though, these machines may have been his magnum opus. A monument of his abilities, even.
Though, something still felt like it was missing.
Typically, his work would be accompanied by the sound of his henchmen. The echoing of playful growls down the hall. Roughhousing bodies in the courtyard. Concentrated whispers which tried desperately not to disturb their master from across the room. No matter the noise, though, Crush and Gulp always managed to irritate the smaller reptile. Every time. Without fail. Now, though, the silence enveloped him like quicksand.
Ripto’s eyes narrowed down at his work, focused solely on the slow melt of metal beneath the flame. The static-like sound wove through his mind, almost louder than imaginable- though it could have been the lack of sound that was truly bothering him. Normally he would bring his work to a halt just to scold those two idiots into silence, but now that he had finally gotten quiet, it was almost unbearable. Alienating, even.
He tried not to dwell on it too long. He had work to do.
Eventually, the crackling sound of the torch dwindled to a hiss. The licking flame from the tool retreated back within the nozzle. Ripto stared at the small plate of metal as it cooled, permanently sealing the scraps together. All was still in that moment- the chamber left in complete silence. Not even the king himself dared to stir. Surely the castle hadn’t always been so empty, had it?
The welding visor was swiftly discarded as the torch was set to cool. He wiped the sweat from his scales and brushed the filthy grease from his claws off onto his white tank top.
His work, at least for the moment, was complete. Looking up toward the mass of metal he caught sight of his reflection on the warbled surface. Miserably exhausted eyes stared back at him, distorted by the uneven dents of the structure. He realized then just how badly his small body ached and his eyelids lay heavy. A strange emotion laid deep in the gaze that stared back at him- one which he was sure had still been dormant.
After a long, contemplative moment staring into eyes that couldn’t have been his- he gave a long, troubled sigh and looked right back down to the floor. His hands rested idly on his thighs, scuffed and dirty from his hours of labor- he considered them with vague disgust. Royalty should never be meant to do such work.
Slow and careful, his claws pressed in and he pushed his tiny frame back up onto steady feet to observe his work. He’d worked restlessly on the metal beast for days at this point- he was sure he’d mended all the gaps and bolted everything secure. Of course, though, one last look could never hurt. He crossed both of his arms modestly behind his back, regarding the creation with a side-eyed glare. Eyes scanned over welded metal- over bolts and screws drilled into place. Every minute detail had been catered to so personally- etched with such precision.
After his walk around, he stood at its front- considering it now in its entirety.
Gulp's hulking form, fashioned entirely of scraps, looked back at him.
It was only then, as his gaze met the lifeless eyes of the machine, that he was ripped from his thoughts and struck with the weight of reality. This work had been so mindless and distracting, he had hardly given himself the time to truly process what happened. Had he even had the time to do such a thing to begin with?
His henchmen were dead.
No amount of magic could ever bring them back.
This beast- this object which wore his servant's face- was nothing but a sorry attempt to make up for what he had lost. And unfortunately- it would never be enough.
Ripto found the soles of his feet stuck to the floor after that, his body brought to a complete halt as he stared into the soulless lights that made up the contraptions eyes. If he looked hard enough, he was sure, he could still see something festering deep within it. Surely. There had to have been something.
For the first time in what felt like forever, tears pricked the king’s eyes. The vision of his work became blurry. He couldn’t tell whether it was spurred by anger or by sadness, but one of those emotions was foreign to him and he wasn’t even sure he could identify it if he felt it.
Of course, it was anger, he told himself. That dragon infuriated him- he couldn’t stand to see him win, even if it was against his good-for-nothing henchmen. Of course, it was anger. He could feel his dagger-like teeth grinding together. His fists balling to the point his knuckles grew pale. “Damn you, dragon.” He hissed through grit teeth, and as he spoke he could feel his body tremble. His breath shudder. His eyebrows knit together in a harsh grimace- but he was faltering.
Surely, this body shakes with vexation, not with sadness.
But he found his head leaned fully into the metal of the false henchman- searching for some form of comfort in the empty shell. His eyes squeezed as he rest there helplessly, this god-awful feeling bubbling in his chest and coming up in harsh, ugly gasps. Damn fucking dragons. Always killing his people. He would have his revenge- if not for his henchmen, then for his friends. If he could ever even call them that.
No matter his losses, this machine was a promise. He would win this battle, and he would win it with Gulp at his side. After all, there was no room for his failure.
Silence, interrupted only by the gentle hitch of uneven breaths.
Silence.