"Yes, Milady. She's still imprisoned, I swear to you," Excelliar Sleek said.

Around him the command centre was a silent grave, consoles and desks slowly abandoned throughout his years of working with them until they ran out of power. The overhead lights were dimmed low, yet his pristine white uniform still shone against the dusty, coal streaked floor.

Amidst the silence, Sleek stiffened as a woman's voice floated through his mind like a summer breeze. Due to his Trait, he could create a mental connection anywhere in Hellgrind, and right now, he was using it to reassure and placate his superior as every Excelliar should.

"Rider won't be getting out. She hasn't been able to throughout the last ten years of your glorious reign. I see...I see no cause for concern now," Sleek reassured her, trying to keep his voice even.

He was grateful that his Trait only created a verbal connection and not a visual one. His words were nothing but lies.

"I assure you, everything is...fine," Sleek hesitated for a moment. Fear caused his senses to flare, alertness making his hands shake.

He could feel the blade press harder against the back of his neck. Sweat dripped down his face, struggling to hide his pale stricken features. Despite the obsessive cleanliness of his uniform, he could no longer hide his priorities from such a deadly enemy. A mournful whine broke the unending silence, causing his head to jolt towards the sound. The dagger inched closer, as if to remind him that it was in control, regardless of what other scaly distractions caught his attention. He forced himself to stare towards the front as another reply filtered into his mind.

"Thank you, Milady," he strained, "good Laia to you as well." Hurriedly, he ended the call with a simple thought.

Only then did his assailant emerge from the darkness, blade hovered around to press flush against his jugular. Curiously though, no hand accompanied the knife. It hung weightless in midair just to taunt him while its owner watched on from behind. Sleek couldn't move out of fear of the infamous Trait that he had heard so much about.

"Please. I did as you asked," Sleek said, trying to keep himself calm despite his life hanging in the balance.

"First, tell me where he is," the assailant replied, their gaze hidden underneath a wide brimmed hat.

"I swear on my Trait, I don't know! The Gamekeeper moved your Oathed to his main arena yesterday," Sleek said, hurriedly trying to provide some sort of answer to get rid of the knife's deadly edge.

"Liar," the voice hissed, guttural from lack of use yet still managing to strike enough fear to make Sleek's heart stop beating for a moment.

The single blade began duplicating instantly, turning into five identical copies which honed in on his vital organs, the dark sheen of their hilts making Sleek turn paler by the second.

"You expect me to believe that an Analyst Trait like you, doesn't know?" they said, slinking their arm around Sleek's shoulders like you would greet an old friend.

It was then that Sleek realised how dire his situation truly was. Her delighted grin sent chills down his spine, the bladed edge of her trademark hat casually being spun on her finger before catching it with her free hand. Her scars, oh Laia have mercy, were everywhere. There wasn't a patch of skin that wasn't marred by the horrid wounds, from the innocent looking pinpricks to the dark gashes across her jugular as if it had just been sliced by an executioner's blade. The pinnacle of her war-torn visage, was the blood curdling gouge which ran from the top of her forehead, across her nose and to the edge of her cheek. It seared a path across her face, making her chilling smile even more horrifying.

This was the prisoner of Hellgrind. The Night Rider herself.

Sleek's heart was in his mouth as a sixth dagger emerged from the shadow of the fifth, angled straight towards his partner's sickly yellow form. He tried to scream out, but by then it was too late; the mewling of the young dragon had been cut short as the dagger severed the closest limb it could reach.

"No!"

Sleek wrenched in agony, Rider's vicious smile as sharp as her aim as he watched the golden dragon's front claw being sliced to nothing more than a stump. In a matter of moments his arm soon crumbled to dust at his feet, the remaining five daggers still hovering beside him like vultures eyeing his bloody corpse.

"I beg of you, please. Spare her. Leave her be," he pleaded, desperately casting his gaze towards Rider's uncaring sneer.

He collapsed to the ground, wheezing against the broken floor, the sight of his mangled right arm causing him to turn his sight to anywhere but the pile of ash at his feet. Oh, how he wished he had been graced with a powerful Trait.

"Now you know what happens if I do not get the information I want," she said, softly.

The taste of copper made his eyes sting with tears as he felt the blades slide along his back, her actions betraying any reason to let him live. The constant agony the bond between dragon and Traited was slowly chipping away at his sanity, his remaining arm gripped tight to the floor.

"I beg of you, Rider, Captain, please," a small voice spoke up, just as weak as his own.

Sleek knew it well. It was his dragon, Sashio.

"You were once allies to the dragons, to we who were Oathed by blood to be with our chosen Traited even in death. Stop this madness."

Sleek struggled to stand, desperately wriggling about to get a better view of his dragon, his head turned awkwardly toward the woman bathed in shadow. She stopped for a moment, as if contemplating the young dragons words.

Turning her hat over in her hands she thought for a second more and placed it onto her head before turning her head towards the makeshift trap. Despite the dim lighting, Sleek could still see the she-dragon's dull gold scales mutely shining against the vast darkness. Sleek's breath hitched, relief flooding through him. Sashio was still within his reach.

"Madness? Was it madness that your allies turned on me as soon as they saw me? Dragons that I had helped nurture and raise are now cursing my name like some foul demon," Rider spat, her voice was barely a whisper but the intent was loud and clear.

Sleek watched the exchange from the corner of his eye, using all of his remaining strength and willpower to keep watch on Sashio, despite the prison she was crudely encased in. Spikes of jagged metal clamped around the dragon who was jammed against a tightly wound clump of sparking cables. Sleek attempted to move once more, his right arm scraping uselessly against the floor. Rider's attention may have been elsewhere, but her daggers still remained dangerously close. They were a constant reminder that she could still kill him at any time.

"No, madness did not cause this," Rider continued, choosing her words carefully. "It is our nature to hate what we don't understand. Much like you not understanding what I am capable of, young Sashio."

Sleek noted the harshness in her voice, but by then it was too late. A moment later, Rider inclined her head in respect, giving her daggers the final signal to strike.

Sleek writhed in agony, the blades piercing his flesh simultaneously, black electricity sparking in all directions. He could hear Sashio's cries mirrored alongside him as they became muted with each relentless electrocution.

"Tell me where my Oathed is before I turn you both into dust!" Rider demanded, becoming more impatient with every gut wrenching scream.

It was a storm of Trait which could not be stopped. He could hear Sashio's constant begging, his vision beginning to blur against streaks of her sunlight scales. He was struggling to stay conscious, clinging to the last quiet sounds of his dragon crying tears of anguish for them both. He couldn't last much longer. The words became more and more distant as his body juddered on the floor, unable to break hold of Rider's horrid Trait.

"No! I'll tell you! Just don't hurt him anymore, please!" Sashio said, attempting to wrench free from the trap she was encased in.

Everything was a sea of colours, greys and blacks against a harsh pinprick of light. Soon, that light would fade.

"Sashio..." he croaked weakly, his wide eyes pleading with his Oathed.

Sleek blinked rapidly as Sashio's snout came into view, his surroundings now blindingly clear. He was slumped against a section of circuit boards; his legs still twitching from the electricity. He could see Rider leering over Sashio, clenching the bars of her prison tight, hungry for answers. It wasn't until he and his dragon locked eyes that he truly understood. The young dragon gave him a small smile and Sleek felt his heart break.

"The throne room, second corridor on the left. The Gamekeeper will have him heavily guarded, if he isn't there already," Sashio admitted at last, the haggard look on the dragon's features proving how defeated she felt.

Rider smiled a wicked smile. Sleek couldn't bare to watch any longer.

"Very good, Sashio. You always were a good dragon," she crooned.

Sashio couldn't help but flinch at Rider's touch as her Trait sparked dangerously close, the black electricity returning once again. This time, however, was different. The black mass of lightning rendered the trap useless as the bits of junk fell onto the floor.

Sashio didn't waste time thanking her as she wriggled out of the cables in record time and zoomed straight towards Sleek with an expression of sheer relief. He opened his eyes a fraction to see the little dragon scrambling onto his shoulder, desperate to get as close to him as possible. Sleek blinked in surprise, wondering if it was all an illusion, but Sashio's missing claw was more than enough proof.

He allowed himself a moment of weakness, forcing himself into a crooked sitting position, his back against the main hub of the computer systems. Sashio continued to rub against his cheek like a cat. He laughed despite himself, scratching the little dragon under its chin as Sashio began to purr, happy to be blissfully unaware for a little while longer.

"It's just a shame about your partner," Rider said, breaking the silence at last.

She clicked her fingers once, and the six blades still honed on the duo quickly merged into one giant sword. By the time either of them had realised, the deed was done.

Blood spurted from Sleek's mouth, his eyes glancing down at the gaping wound in his chest where the hilt of the sword jutted out like a broken javelin. Sashio screamed bloody murder, diving towards Rider like a drake demented, but by then it was too late.

The young dragon began to crumble, her wailing grew even more mournful as she felt her scales begin to crack with grief. Sleek felt her nestle between the crook of his neck, whispering sweet words to try and coax him to stand, but he could barely lift his arm to comfort her as he crashed to the floor once again. His legs were like molten rock. Soon they would be just a husk of a skin, settled among the earth.

"You..." Sleek said, his voice barely audible now.

Before he knew it, his gravelled lips couldn't move any longer. Sleek couldn't respond to Sashio, to Rider, to anyone. His frozen gaze watched Rider turn her back on him as Sashio crouched defenseless beside him. Loyal until the bitter end. He could see her scales grow cold with every passing second, the warmth of her flame slowly seeping out like a trickle of water into the ocean.

Sashio's gaping wound looked kind in contrast to the gathering cracks across her scales, which scorched the rest of her claws with the same dull crust which had him immobilized. Sleek wished he could look away. He didn't want to see the look on Sashio's face when they died.

Rider turned her back on the two of them as they slowly began to crumble, slumped against the monitors that they had analysed for over a decade. She paused, deciding to humour them with a last obituary of sorts before they left this world for good.

"I told you, Sleekerton. I wouldn't kill your Oathed. I never said I'd give you the same courtesy. If there's one thing I hate most about this place, it's your conniving liar of a dragon."

Sashio's snarled in retaliation, all pretenses gone when so close to death. She laughed, cold and unfeeling at the foolish Shadow Traited, her jaw crumbling into dust by the second.

"You'll never find it. Your grimoire and your Oathed are nothing more than dust now."

With Sashio's last goodbye, Sleek looked away in horror before doing the same, as every partner should. Even as both the Oathed and the Traited disintegrated from the world, Sashio's last words continued to ring in Rider's ears.

She knelt before the ash of the deceased duo, sifting her hands through the remains, her Trait flickering curiously around her legs like a cat. There, beneath the ash and dust was a tattered, black book. It was torn and dogeared, a vast layer of dust still covering its surface despite its desecrated surroundings. Ripped crudely in half, the book barely hung together by the threads of its leather cover, pages spilling over as Rider cupped it close to her like a mother would her child.

"No," she mourned softly, as she ran her hand across the spine, her Trait attempting to knit the book back together again.

It was no use. Rider could feel her strength waning and the constant cracking of her marbling skin. She knew she didn't have much time. She had hidden her own Oath ridden curse from them both, all for this book. Her grimoire. It held everything Rider held dear. She could see the hidden sheen of silver snug against the dust, in the form of a dragon. Her dragon.

"Night," she breathed in relief, thankful that he still remained within the confines of the pages.

Rider knew Sashio had been lying. There was no throne room in this hell forsaken pit. She had had no choice but to end their lives, before her own flickered out. Her Trait began digging around erratically for something, anything, to use to restore her grimoire to its former glory. It's dark tendrils were ripping out all sorts of energy cores and wires, soon bathing the room in darkness. The crusty grey sheen of the Oathed bond travelled up her scars like wildfire; Rider's jaw clenched in agony as her scars protested in response.

"No. I won't die. Not without you, Night. I've got to try," Rider said between gritted teeth, using the darkness to her advantage.

She used what little strength she had to gather the darkness towards her, creating a thin layer around her in an attempt to halt the bond from turning her to dust for just a fraction longer. Then, she turned her attention to her grimoire, black Trait trickling out of every crack as it sparked against the masses of broken technology.

"Come on, come on," she muttered, frustrated, against the pitch black.

Rider grabbed a variety of pipes and circuit boards in a vain attempt to give her Trait something to do while she thought of a plan. But her arms were like lead, failing to keep the rest of her body from flailing about as the pile of junk soon shattered under the vastness of her power. The only thing that remained against the rubble was a useless shell of a Detector bot, cleaved in half by her very own Trait. Had she not severed its circuits, the bot could have helped recharge her grimoire for a little while longer. It was just too much for her to handle.

She cried out in frustration, masses of tendrils standing at attention as they tore through the walls like paper, their master continuing to scream in anguish until her voice was useless against the bond's hold. Her Trait dove underneath the box like prison, scattering its supports in all directions as Hellgrind teetered on the edge of existence. The fury of her Trait soon subsided, replaced with mourning and sorrow for all Rider had lost.

The shadows nestled towards her, trying to provide some comfort as she received the same fate of her prisoners only moments before. Her eyes were cold and glassy, the dark cracks ran along her skin as her hands twitched momentarily, still clawing at the now fully severed grimoire. Two useless pieces showed that the silver inlay of a young dragon was now gone. But somehow, her Trait still remained.

The shadows swarmed towards their fallen master, unaware of her crumbling limbs now that the container they once dwelled in was destroyed. It was strange for the Trait to be so sentient, but the shadows knew what Rider did not. They dragged her still form towards the discarded bot and carefully placed the two sections of the grimoire inside them. Her body was now entirely made of stone, dark and brittle compared to that of those who had fallen before her. She was frozen in a moment in time, her eyes shut, her face etched in a myriad of scars.

The shadows held tight to the bot and her grimoire despite the crumbling fortress behind them. If her Trait was still alive, then so was Rider. Her Trait cocooned around the grimoire submerging the it and the bot in an ominous black storm of electricity, tethering the bot to the grimoire in a vain attempt to keep their spirits intact. The shadows leered towards their master. The stone slowly faded for just a fraction of a second as Rider let out a wheezy breath, the stones scattering from her limbs like dead flies.

"Necromancy. Night, you sneaky son of a-," she wheezed, the Oath bond threatening to engulf her once more.

Her shadows embraced her like an old friend, curling around her back as they attempted to support her and drive the foul curse back once again. Rider allowed herself a smile, grunting under the weight of her Oathed bond. She had forgotten all about her partners back up plan, but there was no time to dwell on that.

She summoned every ounce of her Trait around her, her scars flaring in anger as she clasped her hands together; one half of her was shrouded in the shadow of her Trait, the other half encased in the inevitable death of her stone coffin. She let her Trait go, an explosion of obsidian sending the bot careering through the atmosphere and into the barrier below. Rider had longed for the day she escaped this hell hole and returned to the world below. Her home. Now, she lost to the abyss of stone which encased her for the last time.

"Go, Night. I'll see you soon. I swear...on my Trait."