The Kiss of Immortal Love

~ IX ~

Death of Spike

Spike had fallen to his knees while coughing, hacking out the contents of his lungs, close to breath and distant from oxygen. Skin bloated beneath his scales as the flesh beneath was swollen across. In the darkness thought to be eternal, the scream ceased and, at its end, flamed the torches on the wall.

They lit up one by one, all around, the lifting legs of spiders striking light to the torches strewn on the walls. Collection of them must have been piled together at the bottom of the pit. Great way to burn the queen; those ideas no longer meant anything to him.

"It would appear us spiders are more superficial than we care to admit." Spike head was bowed as he kneeled dead, barely jutting his chin upward, the sweeping scale of the ceiling looming above. The queen unfurled herself from the princess—who seemed peaceful and out of pain. "I placed my faith in her words. Sincerity like that seldom comes in the world. You I expected the trick. Do what must be done. It's not out of weakness you held yourself back... or was there anything to hold back in the first place?"

Rarity and the webbed cocoon of Twilight descend from above, slowly, awash in the orange glow. "What you believe your duty to be speaks through your actions, but your silence and lack of expression leaves the being underneath it a mystery. Perhaps that does not matter in the grand scheme. Do not lose this lesson: something can be great without being grand."

The giant legs of the queen sunk into the webbing, a few lifting in patience for the princess, coming to take her into their cradle. Rarity held the mare close to her chest, enamoured with the sleeping face. "Both are equally as important. It's what they're important to that's different. Failing to be important to yourself, your being can be important to another, like these spiders are to me, and I to them."

Her muzzle turned to his kneeling form. "And how you are important to her, in quest and being, in these feelings I can sense."

The dragon looked at her a final time, chin jerking to keep straight—before faltering downward. His eyes struggled to keep up, set on the underside of the queen's hump, a portion carved out. She clocked his gaze.

"I prefer the darkness so none can see my imperfections for, in the absence of light, I can hide and correct upon them... readying a perfection for the day I brave light again. In all who have ventured here, none have treated me with manners." Rarity shook her head and nuzzled the mare's cheek. "None would dare a conversation with a monster. Yet this one treated me like any other."

She cast her gaze on him again. "And from the loose sleeve on that jacket, you aren't a stranger to defects or imperfections, are you?"

There came a groaning, not from him or the queen, sounding instead from the mare, still cradled in those legs. Quickly as she heard it, a leg cut across the webbing, freeing forelegs attempting to stretch out. Those arms turned the capsule around, allowing those legs to swing around, purple hooves gracing across the strap.

"Mmmhmmm... morning...." Twilight stepped onto the ground as it lurched beneath her, eyes shut and maw yawning, a look of utter adorableness. Standing next to the mass of the queen, the scene was sweet, the air kind for the first time. "O-Oh... R-Rarity was it? Did I sleep in your home? I'm sorry—"

"It's quite alright." Rarity leaned back into her full stature, the pony side of her body looming several feet above. "None intend to pass out as it t' were. Do forgive the stiffness. I had to bind you tightly to ensure the antidote spread through you quickly."

"That explains why I feel so squeezed—felt kind nice to be held like that." Twilight shook her body like a wet dog. Tense joins and dense softness relaxed and spread out. "Wait. It would have been buried deep inside of you. That means—"

Rarity pressed a leg to her lips. "That sometimes we must endure a little pain for our mistakes—especially those harming others. Flesh will grow back, and the light... I do not mind. My fear was being seen, and yet, I rather enjoy being seen by you two."

Twilight smiled. "I'm happy to hear that!"

She was safe. That was all that mattered to the dragon. In anxiety for her, he made a foolish move, and now it was time to pay the price. They'd reach a decent way into their journey and, with the strength of a queen and spiders at her side—maybe the two soon to be friends could make it the meeting point without him.

Without words or sounds, the dragon fell backward, a faint bounce on the web, coming to rest on a soft incline. Both girls took notice of him at once, grown to his silence, rushing over. Twilight was in panic and Rarity was only concerned.

"Spike? Spike! What's wrong? Spike?" The ceiling loomed so high above, a sky never to be seen again beyond it. His life depicted in pictures across its shape, dragons and ponies and hooves and claws, words and swords and blood leaking down the stone. "Talk to me! Do something... say something? What's wrong? Spike." Something fuzzy and blurry and purple loomed above his face. "You have to tell me what's wrong, please!"

His body had gone numb, and his mind rendered into stillness. His exhales were cold and slow, death leaving him to join in the unknown. Something snuggled beneath his arm, the softness and warmth of the princess's barrel. Her form and shape against him. Feelings of wholeness before eternal nothingness.

"...d-darling...that...claw...."

Was this was how it all ended? Life of failure and suffering and rejection, endured for the sake of improvement, internal and external, the faint prayer of change? Doing what must be done. The right thing, always. The family back home, father and brother, disappointment and inferior.

"Our toxins don't work on dragons! Their scales... b-but that blade!... he slashed... o-oh dear..."

Seconds before death. Focus on past or present or future. The battle lost to a brother; the send away from a father? Travel in question looking for an answer. Not in mountains or cities. Promised within the duty of Canterlot. Repeated isolation. Kill until death; death kills you.

"...the wound for blood... it entered there... he didn't say anything... nothing suggested pain... if I knew..."

“...his...focus...was....on...me...”

Spike didn't have any words or thoughts or feelings for the end, dead on his back without his phantom claw present. Visions of the past were dismay, and the visuals of the present were glimpses of bliss. The future and past would become as one. Better now than beheaded before a crowd.

Or devoured in a jaw bearing fangs.

No family. No hope. No Friends.

"...antidote...please..."

"...too late...already...his...heart..."

"...please..."

Last words of life.

"...trust...me..."