King Abispa's Folley (TotSS/Wings of Fire Fic)
Based on a challenge for the WoF RP server I run.
The Nightwing’s talons felt cold, surely, pressed up against the hard stone like that. Flattening to the wall, he recoils like a creeping vine, all too desperate to shrink away. His claws, now sore, scratch against the coarse grains as he inches further, chipping the keratin of his only lingering weapons. No one could imagine he had much fight left within him, after all, not after the show in the Mirror Gardens. This, of course, only emboldened the hissing guardsmen, who seemed to fill whatever vacuum the escapee proposed.
The twilight’s dreary helios barely lapped the sunken wall, illuminated moreso by the desperate fires– now mostly put out– than by the echoes of day. In this, the dark-scaled dragon watched his reflection in the pearly Hivewing spears, only catching a glimpse whenever a new cloud of sparks wafted overhead.
It all seemed so calm now, despite everything. The ash could meander over as it pleased, drizzling through the space like dying fireflies. Yet Beholder was still forced here, pinned to watch as the Hivewings quickly reverse his frantic bid for revolution.
‘Sanctuary,’ he remembers thinking, ‘what a joke.’
It was in that moment, too, where the ‘savior’ finally reared himself. Abispa, and his gnat of a sidekick glimmered in the dim firelight. Lasius, talons coaxing tighter against her dagger’s heel, seemed to bore into his very being- sharp and sure. Beholder couldn’t help but try and avoid her glare, his eyes dashing instead to the still-bleeding gash on the King’s scarlet neck. Ironic, it was, as he stared into the dribbling sore, how a single lesion would likely be the only lasting wound in his rally for change.
“Finally caught up with him?” Abispa starts, his signature lofted tone quite a bit more breathless than usual, “Good. Damned Animus nearly burned down half of Borer. Put a muzzle on his snout before he starts spitting spells again.”
A pair of guards had already been holding one, of course, only ever chomping at the bit. They buzz their wings anxiously- scoffing something in the Hivewing’s nonverbal language, no doubt. They take a few tentative steps, testing the metaphorical waters, and watch how he only ducks away further. Sneering now, they lunge on him, the shrill metal and rough leather caging in around Beholder’s maw even as he stretches away. His teeth flattened painfully against his gums, squeezed against the binds. His only lasting autonomy was his eyes now and his racing thoughts, which raged against the very concept of Abispa’s creation.
“Perfect”, the King sighs, a cruel smile twisting across his face, “You won’t be able to mutter a single syllable now, thank you very much. Music to my ears, honestly. Well, save for that awful crackling.”
The Hive King huffs to himself, tail lashing. His tone, save for his hint of furious inflictions, was more akin to scolding a dragonet than facing down an escaped prisoner.
“A necessary evil, I suppose. All forseen. Better to work out the kinks of the Armada now, before your kin try anything fancier. Inciting a riot, my word, Beholder, how unoriginal.”
It's then that Abispa slinks closer, shoving his face mere inches from the cowering Nightwing. His black teeth gnash violently, barely containing the rampant grin across his sniveling features.
“You’re all just a single drop in the basket, Nightwing. One… stupid star in my constellation of perfection. Soon you will see… soon everyone will see- the true power of an Animus Army at my very talontips.”
He recoils harshly, the cold air filling Abispa’s wake.
“A shame I won’t see you on the front lines, but then you were never quite remarkable anyway.”
Taking a breath, he stares down the failed attempt before him. Beholder: the firstborn of Shatteredmind, the second animus of the Hive, the third to rebel. Eye twitching in it’s socket, he shoots a poisoned glare to his deputy, spitting his final order.
“Lasius, remove the muzzle from the mutt. I want to see if this valiant martyr has any last words for his King.”
The gray Hivewing wastes no time in fulfilling Abispa’s order, skulking forward to slip the leather mask off of Beholder. Almost instinctively, he takes a greedy breath, barely noticing the choked-out smell of smoke. There was little pity in her doings, ghosting along the floor as he'd pant. Her expression wasn't prideful like Abispa's, but cool and calm, her ambition simmering deep within.
Stepping back, she only glowers at the Nightwing, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.
“Speak,” Lasius commands, “Do not let your final breaths fall silent.”
Beholder, his chest heaving, stares down his insectoid pursuers, matching Lasius’s glare with dying ferocity. The stale air buzzed with false anticipation, eyes shifting and staring.
Licking his drying gums, he forces a sigh.
“Your army will never work, Abispa,” rasps Beholder, “Everyone outside your stupid hive knows it.”
He heaves his wings, bracing them back against his scabbing shoulders. The deputy raises a dangerous eyebrow, tapping a message to Abispa on the floor. It takes such effort to step forward, but the look on the Hivewing guard’s faces was all worth it.
“It.. it won’t be long until the others know it, too,” Scowls, the night dragon, hatred burbling in his core, “Moons… most of them already do. You think I did all this myself? That I’d throw my life away for my own sake? Nah… that's foolish, and you're a fool, too, if you think I’m the only one. The animi are waking up, Abispa, they're learning what you want to do.”
Another step forth, another tightened grasp on the spears.
“Even now they're watching… listening… learning from my mistakes. Next time you piss us off there won’t be just smolders… but bodies… bodies of you and your soldiers…”
His gums flash pale… he knows he doesn’t have much time left-
“But I need to buy my dragons time. Abispa, you wretched nymph, I enchant you to disappear— to dissolve to a time where magic no longer exists! Go there– now– where you can’t harm another animus ever again–!”
The uproar was immediate, but not immediate enough. In the flash of spears and tongues and scales, The Hive King snaps his jaws in a desperate bid for retort— but his words fall flat. In fact, his whole being does, his essence condensing and warping, flung through existence and time.
Tides are the sand’s best friend, which swoons against the lagoon’s flattening dunes. Lazily lapping, it provides the perfect ambiance to the Summer Palace’s lunching ambassadors. Across its lofty decks, Silkwings, Leafwings, and Seawings snacked above windswept maps. Curling in the breeze, dappled lines and dotted points adorned the scrawled-out LeafSilk Kingdom, its borders’ ink still damp. Few eyes seemed to be upon them, however. Instead, the dazzling indulgence of the midday meal distracted both sight and stomach. Huge platters adorned the nacre laminate, stacked high with aromatic delicacies. Smoked webfoot octopus, stewed softshells, algae poppers, and chia pudding endowed the salty air with enticement.
To Sundew, who sprawled across one of the driftwood chairs, it was all a bit too salty for her taste, despite her mother, Belladonna’s, ravings. She poked at a serving of shark tartare with a half-thought talon, choosing instead to trace her glances around the smooth oval table.
Ears pinning up towards her horns, she mayed herself in the conversations of chattier dragons. A small cohort of Silkwings seemed to drone on with a dappled Seawing prince, their words swinging between topics as varied as their scale colorations. Others, like her mother’s, never seemed to deviate much from the topic of their new home to the point where even Sundew was starting to bore.
The clatter of tongues, teeth, and talons, however, only added to the otherwise still atmosphere. That was, of course, until a matt of scales skids across the table.
Abispa seemed to collapse from the sheer sky, slipping on his very wings and crashing against the plates. The cacophony sounded through his pinned ears, mirroring the uproar mere seconds before. His lungs seemed to wail against the salt-saturated air, begging for the breath that was knocked from him.
His tail slides across his newfound pedestal of platters, trying to shake the coconut cake from his scales. His eyelids squeeze with a wince, auditory senses returning to the shuffling of dragons.
Yet, he wasn’t the first to react, not until the familiar scale-feel of steel slid against his bruising jugular.
“The Hivewings sent spies!” cries a grizzled voice, forcing Abispa’s eyes alert. Shuddering from the blinding radiance of Noon, a blur of dark green and gleaming grey forces his head against the table. Blinking fiercely, what could only be described as a Leafwing bores down upon him, albeit slimmer– leaner– meaner. Soon, she wasn’t the only one, her fervor matched by the gang of unusually plump Seawings.
His thoughts were cresting upon him only once he was completely surrounded, a dire turn of events that brought Beholder’s words to the very forefront of his mind.
“R-remove your talons at once!” hisses the Hive King sharply, attempting to rise but slipping on seafood, “I am Abispa you fools! Profound Hivewing royalty!”
His demands hover in the space a moment, but are only met with the guards' growls and puzzlement from the council before him. Glares flicker between them towards the Hivewing and each other, before turning from Abispa entirely– much to his dismay.
“He must be one of the Ladies’ husbands,” announces a paperwhite Silkwing who, to the King, looked rather misshapen and worn, “Look at the jewels… Bloodworm’s perhaps?”
“I am nobody’s husband-” recoils the King, “How DARE you reduce me to such a trophy–”
“Who are you, then,” a broad-shouldered Seawing demands, “Hivewings aren’t welcome at this conference. Well, besides Treehopper– but that's not the point–! Introduce yourself. Now.”
“I am King Abispa, you fools!” he roars, “By the moons- Asterope would be broiling by now. Oarfish, even. Now, I DEMAND you remove your claws from my face before my dragons–”
He pauses, voice caught in his throat. No one else had fallen with him… no one else had been enchanted by Beholder.
“Damned Nightwing-” he jeers curtly, reluctant to finish his threat, “B-but my demand still stands. I am King Abispa of the Hivewings, you WILL unhand me.”
Once again, the shout only lofts through the room, hanging in the breeze like a stale vapor. The Leafwings’s jaws clench, and the Seawing’s grips tighten, their eyes falling upon Abispa with deep uncertainty.
“You never mentioned a ‘King Abispa’, Belladonna,” the Seawing growls, boring into the King with a startling lour.
“There isn’t one,” replies this ‘Belladonna’, “He’s trying to ruse us, Princess. Wasp’s supporters must’ve sent him– I’m sure of it– and this oaf thinks pulling the royal treatment will garner him some sympathy.”
“What do you recommend, then, Tsunami?”
The paperwhite Silkwing returns to the side of the others– missing her harness– yet gaining a knowing glare, “Do you have somewhere here we can keep him? Question him, maybe? If there's one spy, there might be others.”
“I am not some– insolent spy–” huffs Abispa again, rolling his neck in indignity, “If you listen to me, I am simply here by accident– an accident I will QUICKLY remedy once I return to my hive.”
Gaining fervor now, he takes a try on his binds– roiling against the Leafwing’s grip, but only met by a flurry of spears.
“Stay still,” Belladonna bristles, “You aren’t returning anywhere. Tau, alert your Silkwings, we may be staying longer than anticipated.”
“You will do no such thing!” He gasps, jerking again, “I. Am. King. Abispa. The leader and monarch of Borer, the Hive King, the Gilded Throne! I am warranted respect!”
With an indignant snarl, he lunges forth, blitzing his wings and slipping the spearhead from his scales. His face curls into a darkened snarl as he frees his head, ebony teeth gnashing. Despite the sudden flashes of silver, he doesn’t relent, racing all the way up to his feet.
Salt wasn’t the only thing stinging the staredown dragons, tension thickened the air like dribbling ichor. Where once sat a council now stood a bracket of warriors. Whatever sort of sick trick that Nightwing played was starting to lose steam, and Abispa- now surrounded by spears, felt the venom seep out of his and the Leafwing’s conjoined stare.
These dragons weren’t going to let him go– the prospect swirls in Abispa’s mind as he slices the sight with his stare. Yet, even now, the room itself seemed to favor the King. In the open adornment, he could fling himself out of one of the many balconies, catch himself on the breeze, and fly westward. Even if he was in a different time, as Beholder enchanted, surely he could find a Hivewing willing to help their historic King.
‘Yes-’ his brain hisses, ‘Seawings… Silkwings… Leafwings… they aren’t very good fliers, are they? Slip out the window and lose them in the clouds… then find your subjects…’
The plan seemed simple, the only thing left was to be fought over with talons and teeth. Ambush. Be swift.
Abispa rears, baring his fangs in a braggart roar, clawing down on the Leafwing with a searing strike. The smell of hot crimson stings the senses, but the Hivewing doesn’t care, following quickly into another snapping bite.
One– two– his teeth gnash breathlessly against the emerald frill, tainting their vivid color with liquid pain.
He swirls around sharply, feeling the hot breath of a Seawing soldier against his nape. He jerks his claws against their gills, thrashing through violently.
He was about to strike another blow when Abispa got his own, the blade tip of Tsunami’s spear shone through his membrane- forcing a diving swirl from the King. He snaps at the wood of it, snapping the grain between his teeth and–
Crunch crunch
A Silkwing’s dagger digs into bone before Abispa has a chance to think. The pain sears the dire strain straight to the Hivewing’s skull– before another wound opens, and another–!
Whoever had a spear, sword, or dagger at that moment was using it– every sharpened blade and coaxed brand trained on Abispa’s form. He lets out a vile hiss- a rapturous howl dripping ire. Soon, it wasn’t his enemy’s blood in the majority, but his own, his very footsteps leaving scarlet wakes.
This was bad– what vigor left he had to use to flee– quickly–! This possession of will was wilting from the King, replaced by the hollow of his wounds.
Maybe it was blood loss that tore him, maybe it was another shrieking stab, but in that instant, Abispa felt once again as if he was falling– falling and falling and falling– until the scent of flame engulfed him once again.
“Tap tap taaap, click tap tip tap, bzzzzzt”“Sliiiiiiither– stomp, tap tap bzzzzt, chk chk!”“Chk tap tap chk! Bzzt dmmm sliiithering now… Lasius– there's another one here– one under his wing, too.”“I've got it. ‘I enchant this wound to close like the others… I enchant this wound to close, too.’ Any others, Louse?”“Not that I can see… that's seven countings... Oh– wait, wait a second– Sir? Sir– Your Majesty, can you hear me?”It's rare for a Hivewing to be unable to understand their nonverbal language, but expressing trauma– like nearly bleeding out– would usually be considered atypical circumstances.
Even now, as Abispa lays against the familiar– yet different cold floor, he revels silently in the smell of salt dissipating from his nostrils.
“I can hear you… yes,” he wheezes, barely gaining consciousness of his own breath, “Where… where am I now–?”
“Borer, sir,” the one named Louse replies, “I.. we don’t know where Be– the prisoner– took you… but he's been disposed of. Lasius took care of it.”
“How did I return-?” continues the King, weakly peering now.
“That was Lasius too, my liege. It took a minute to deconstruct the spell, but Lasius was able to undo it in time. W-we’re sorry it took so long– sir– I understand if… erm, my station lies elsewhere now–”
“No…” mutters Absipa, “That isn’t necessary…”
The hot basin Absipa lays in quickly dries, magically so, and the scent of his own blood quickly banishes itself from his senses. His wounds, where once searing, now stood still, his tendons and bones barely bruised.
The brain fog of bloodlessness didn’t help, of course, but in that moment– surrounded by his soldiers– Belladonna, Tsunami, Tau… they all felt like figments in a dream, dematerializing to the memories of a dreary midnight gaunt. Better this way, Absipa considered it, even as he adjusted his chin against the cold ground and spread his woundless wings. He can consider the prospects of it all later. For now, he just wanted to rest.
