Fall From Grace Part 2

Kass laughed in a way only an Eyrie could.

“If only Darigan could see us now,” he perched upon one of the large barrels, glaring down at his once Superior Officer now cringing in a heap, “perhaps he would re-think your promotion? And give it to, oh, I don’t know... an Eyrie who was more suitable for the role? One who was more skilled even?”

“You’re still consumed by jealousy?!” The General’s glare withered, and from the floor he looked to Kass in earnest — something he couldn’t recall ever having done.

“Kass,” he bit back a pained groan, “your skill was never in question. Darigan appointed me as his second-in-command because I was a decade older than you. I had more experience.”

At this, the Eyrie’s hardened expression shifted slightly, a mildly thoughtful look taking its place. 

“He put off discussing it with you,” Galgarroth grunted, attempting to sit up, “because he was worried about how you’d react.”

It was very on brand for Darigan to avoid conflict amongst his peers, choosing to forbore unnecessary conversation rather than air out his convictions over a matter. Though seeing as the Eyrie had just flipped a table, it was a legitimate concern.

A beat, then Kass silently alighted on the floor, folding his wings as he made contact. With one slow, pensive step at a time, he began circling the felled General like a shark.

“He struggled with the decision, agonising over it for countless days,” red eyes searched the Eyrie’s, “you know how highly he thought of you, Kass. Stop this madness for his sake.”

Eventually, Kass ended his amble where the Grarrl’s sword lay, and it was here that Galgarroth became acutely aware that his attempt at reconciliation had failed.

“Be that as it may,” the Eyrie said calmly, exchanging his makeshift weapon for the Grarrl’s sword, “none of that matters now.”

A low, dark laugh then rumbled from within his throat as he sidled up to the writhing Grarrl, slowly dragging the end of the sword through the wood beneath his feet. A long, jagged incision scarred the floor until the sword’s path halted right beside Galgarroth’s left temple.

The Grarrl’s stomach sank. Inwardly, he berated himself. He knew there was no sense in trying to talk to the Eyrie, their history was evident of that. Even before his mind became inhabited by malevolent influence, Kass had a way of turning conversation into conflict.

He stood over the Grarrl, “you see, General,” and pinned him to the floor with a foot, “I, as Lord, was inevitable. Well before Darigan took me under his wing,” Eyrie eyes squinted, “and long before you became a massive pain in my gizzard.”

The sword’s end now hovered dangerously above the Grarrl’s chest. 

“You know, I’ve always dreamed of this day. Seeing you cower beneath me in such a way. It brings me immeasurable delight,” Kass’s face crinkled with a smile devoid of all warmth, “I could so easily end you in this pathetic state.”

The sword lifted, and Galgarroth sharply inhaled, his muscles tensing for the inevitable.

Yet it skewered the floor just centimetres from his head.

“But, this is not what I had in mind.”

Kass pulled the sword from the wood fibres, and took a step back, “get up.”

After a beat, Galgarroth slowly, gingerly, rose from the floorboards, his ribs clearly aching by the way he winced with each shift of his body. As he did, Kass slipped the charm back under his mane. 

Fists pounding against wood, accompanied by muffled yells, attracted their gazes. Likely the Acara from earlier had notified the guards.

“Last chance, Galgarroth,” Kass said, coldly, turning his attention back to the Grarrl, “bow to me, and plead for my mercy.”

“My Lord!” The knocking grew louder.

“Trust me,” he leaned in, and spoke through his teeth, “it’ll be far less bitter a pill to swallow.”

He pulled back, and looked his old Superior up and down.

Galgarroth stood slumped and motionless, no longer the determined Grarrl who entered the room only minutes earlier. He gripped at his abused ribs, his defiant snarl crumbling, his form now embodying utter defeat.

And he made no movement.

Eyrie fists curled, “so?!” 

The General stayed silent. His gaze remained grounded. 

Patience fast depleting, Kass’s breath quickened.

“The people have spoken, Galgarroth. I am your leader now!”

He stressed, his torrid glare intensifying, “obey my command, or suffer!”

When again no response came, Kass puffed out his chest.

“Get on your KNEES, General!”

The hard knocking intensified into what sounded like the ramming of a dozen Eyrie bodies. The locks began to bend. Still, the Grarrl remained motionless.

“I, as Lord of this citadel, will bring Meridell to its knees with or without your support!” Kass’s voice cracked, his volume now matching that of the intense assault on the door, “now bow!”

Still no reply.

“Are you listening to me?!”

Nothing.

“I said bow!”

The Eyrie stepped closer, looming over the Grarrl.

“BOW!”

Kass moved to force the Grarrl to his knees.

“BOW TO YOUR LORD—!”

But, a sudden, loud, involuntary gasp escaped him, and a stunned silence followed, replacing his angry tirade. Galgarroth’s sword resounded against the floor as it left the Eyrie’s grasp.

Something stole his breath.

Something in the form of a searing pain erupting in his lower right side. The sharp, intense sensation radiated through his abdomen. 

Kass shuddered, gritting his teeth as he forced his gaze downward. 

There, buried to the hilt within him, was...

Naralus.

His own poison-tipped dagger. 

Still clutched firmly in the hands of Galgarroth.

It was an impulsive decision, yet a powerful act of defiance, fuelled by years of hatred, but the General still grimaced in an attempt to quell the apologies forming on his tongue.

Eyrie eyes blew wide, and Kass could only gape at the Grarrl, who had so deftly pocketed the blade mid-fight — a crucial detail Kass had completely forgotten about.

Seemingly in-between emotions, Galgarroth’s face passed through a mental confliction of anger, remorse and anguish, while the Eyrie, amidst an attempt to muffle a plaintive whine, went through a similar process. 

Each looked into the other’s eyes, and saw much the same. 

At the same time Galgarroth finally released his grip on the dagger’s handle, the locks flew from their hinges, and a wave of Eyrie guards poured in.

“My Lord, what happened?!”

“We heard a—“

Twelve pairs of red eyes, all wide with shock, fixated on the scene before them.

The moment he had entered the room, the General knew he had sealed his fate — the rueful look on his face was evident of that. After all, there was no coming back from treason, especially not in Kass’s Book of Law. And now an entire armada of guards had witnessed it too.

This would be his final stand.

The dagger fell to the floor as Kass staggered back, gripping at its entry point. 

“My Lord!” A handful of guards offered support, their hands hovering over their hunched-over Lord. But the Eyrie raised a stiff palm, and they backed off.

Gritting his teeth, Kass gathered himself, and straightened. Sucking in a ragged breath, his gaze falling not on the Grarrl, but to his right.

“Ahh, look, Galgarroth,” the Eyrie breathed, slicking his hair back with his free hand.

Amber eyes squinted through thin slits of crepuscular light as it crept up his jagged beak, “dusk has fallen.”

Outside, a deep red sunset peppered by cirrus clouds blanketed the sky. Inside, the day’s end overwhelmed the room with a dangerous crimson. Kass’s breath came shallow, the light highlighting his mane as his chest rose and fell at uneven rates.

When he didn’t receive the response he wanted, Kass grabbed a frozen, silent Galgarroth by the collar, and forced him to look out the nearby window.

“Take a good, long hard look, Galggy. The sunsets up here are second to none. Our view is undisturbed by structures,” a pained grunt, “or mountains of any height.”

Galgarroth wordlessly gazed out upon the clouds with vacant eyes, his pervasive numbness disturbed only by the keen awareness of claws in the back of his neck.

“There is truly nothing like it in any other part of Neopia,” Kass chuckled ruefully, swallowing another groan of pain, “aren’t we so lucky, General? Isn’t it beautiful?”

The Grarrl, face now warmed by a cocktail of deep orange hues, opened his mouth, though merely air escaped.

Kass released a shaky, pained sigh, and he laid a hand, softer than ever before, on Galgarroth’s back. He lowered his beak to his ear, and an incredulous look washed over the Grarrl.

“Too bad it’ll be your last.”

In the same breath, he regarded his guardsmen, “throw him in our deepest, darkest dungeon.”

With nods and grunts of compliance, the Eyrie guards seized the Grarrl, but he didn’t need much manhandling. Still stunned by what had transpired and his part in it, Galgarroth stared blankly as he let himself be carried from the room, his tail dragging limply along the floor. Kass watched the former General’s pitiful departure with great disdain — he would deprive him of daylight until the rally tomorrow evening.

“And alert Morguss of my condition,” he grunted, pressing both hands firmly against the freshly-opened hole in himself, “she’ll prepare an antidote.”

He would heal from this ordeal, but he would see to it that Galgarroth would not.

Kass clutched at the cold stone windowsill to steady himself, and gazed out upon the two thousand metre drop.

“Tomorrow, he will learn what it’s truly like to FALL from grace.”