This story may be changed in the future with a crossover between Angelbaby and me. I doubt we will write it now, but it’s a possibility.

“Princes of Puckworld”

Drake, tell me what to do. You’ve always been there for me. You’ve looked out for me, given me advice, trained me even though you didn’t want to, saved me. You’re more than just my big brother. You’re my father, mother, best friend, cousin twice-removed…everything. Be here for me now, when I need you the most.

A slash rips through his tunic, tearing through the flesh of his back, extracting feathers…

The fair-haired prince’s knees buckle, but he does not collapse.

I don’t know what to do. I know what I have to do, but it hurts so much. I don’t know how much longer I can endure, Drake. Lydronis is malevolent, as much as his older brother, and he knows what I’m doing.

“You stand there, holding up your precious instrument like it can save your pathetic kingdom. Tell me, Prince Draven. I feel I should call you that, so you may for once feel the power and respect you don’t deserve.” Lydronis’s serpent tongue licks his lips, then his bloodied claws, as he saunters about the teen. “You and I, we are one and the same. Princelings. Heirs to great empires, never to seize power. Perhaps, now, you will see it is hopeless. You should be fighting against Prince Drake, not along side with him.”

I try to turn a deaf ear, to let his words hold no meaning, but still, I must suffer his traitorous, macabre thoughts.

“As soon as my brother finally sinks his claws into your brother, I will do the same to Keroth, and then Puckworld and the universe will be mine!”

He is insane, Drake. Insane. I wish you were here. I wish tradition and ritual did not force me to stand like this, giving him free range. It’s like shooting pucks in a net without a goalie. I have no defense, Drake. I have no help. It is just he and me, and he’s enjoying every second it.

The princeling closes his eyes, the strain leading to exhaustion. Right palm against the back of his left hand, the prince holds his hands together above his head. His feet shoulder-width apart, he stands as firm as he can under the situation. His bedraggled hair pressed in between his head and his arms brushes against his face, keeping his eyes hidden to Lydronis. Above him, a miracle of paramount importance—silver and pure, the crystal shines so brightly it glows. Its casing securely holds the crystal in place, making sure the power is contained and hidden from the evil of the world and the inhabitants of others. Its color white—the same as the Mask when deactivated. The casing, though, now shines gold. From the crystal’s edge, a solitary light protrudes, beaming up and through the domed ceiling of the rock temple.

As I recite the cantation over and over…He simply chuckles at me, mocks me.

“Your brother will do the same to you. It is only a matter of time. Once he realizes what a weakling you are, a bane, a burden. If Keroth does not kill him, he will most assuredly you.”

I found myself unable to not flinch. I stumble over the cantation but manage somehow to keep it going. It only amuses him more.

SLASH!

The princeling falters but does not fall.

“Impressive,” Lydronis admired spitefully. “Perhaps you are not as much of a weakling as I thought. A fledgling, perhaps. A waif, at the most.”

I know you, brother, better than anyone else in this world. I do not question my faith, my love for you and yours for me. The only thing I question is the Stars’ and their rituals.

I know what you would say if you heard this. “Run! Flee! It is not worth it!” But you would be lying, we both know. Our people are at stake. Our planet, nay, I’d say the universe. If we do not extract the Saurians now, death is certain. Torture. Enslavement.

A slash across the prince’s chest draws blood. His body shivers; a small cry escapes his murmuring beak.

I never understood “my duty,” you call it. What it is I’m supposed to do for our people, for a planet. The only thing I do understand is that I was a slave once, Drake. I remember it clearly, vividly. I remember the day I was stained…I scoff about it now. A duck princeling marked a slave of the lizard overlord. It is ironically cruel. I remember the day you first saw the Stigma. I remember your wide and frightened eyes and the pity that was conveyed. I felt a piece of me died that day, and somehow, I think of piece of you did, too. I will not live through that again. I will not allow you, too, either, or anyone else. If that is my duty, then so be it. I will endure what I must, for our planet, for our people, for you.

“You still stand, yet you bleed,” Lydronis sneers. “You’re scared, yet you show no signs other than your eyes. Perhaps, if you wished it…”

His voice dragged on, stagnating, while he waits for my reply. He knows none is forthcoming, yet still he waits. I would die before I betrayed you, Drake.

“…we can join forces, take down both our brothers, seize power…”

I simply open my eyes and raise my head. I glower at him. Despite the mumbled cantation under my breath and the glare—he needs no other answer.

The red lizard, lithe as his brother is muscular, tears through the prince’s side.

A slow death. A torture session. Do not make me, Drake. Do not make me go through it, not alone.

More vicious the attacks come, one after another after another…

SLASH!

Blood splashes on his face and cheek. He winces. He cringes. He shivers. He staggers slightly, his body slumping in a crippling wave of pain and exhaustion. Still, he remains erect.

DRAKE! Where are you when I need you possibly the most I ever have? I…I’m sorry. I know we decided this way, you take on Keroth, while I extract the Saurians…If only we knew of Lydronis’s plans…but no matter, I must be strong. I must be whom you think I am, who I can be. You gave me the Key and entrusted its power with me. I must do what is necessary; I must do what you have reluctantly trained me to do. I must be a warrior. I must be the last line of defense between our people and those who wish to do them harm.

I must be a Prince of Puckworld.

Lydronis’s spiteful face twists in bemused bitterness. He cocks his head to the side, his belligerent claws flexing, as the soft, unsure words befell upon his startled ears.

“Sweet Stars burning bright, extract that which wishes to extinguish our light…

“Sweet Stars, burning bright, extract that which wishes to extinguish our light…

“Sweet Stars, burning bright, extract that which wishes to extinguish our light…”

Over and over, he says it, each time gaining strength, gaining power, the light above him gaining intensity.

Draven DuCaine raises his head, his royal azure eyes burning a myriad of hatred, of resentment, of power—

“SWEET STARS BURNING BRIGHT, EXTRACT THAT WHICH WISHES TO EXTINGUISH OUR LIGHT!”

Lydronis’s pained shriek fills the cavern as the sovereign light explodes.

A last, desperate slash—

A strangled cry!

The light fades—the Saurian vanquished to his damnation. The only evidence of his presence—a maimed boy, barely old enough to fight, barely standing, barely breathing, barely living…and the blood that was spilt.

I understand now, Drake. The duty to our people…

…and your fear…

His hands fall from above his head, slamming to his sides. He breathes slow, shallow breaths, as he staggered from his position—then crumples to the ground. Blood seeps onto the floor, a pool of crimson surrounding his battered and mortified body.

A jingle clings against the rock surface—a necklace, the insignia of the Mask.

He smiles weakly and grunts as his trembling hand skims across the ground. A wave of pain ravages his body, and he knows the inexorable is occurring…

If he could feel his brother…one more time…

A stab of pain, a tiny cry! The world darkens…

Abruptly, he reaches…

His hand clasps around the necklace…

It shimmers from gold to silver…and he feels his brother’s presence.

I’m sorry, Drake…

*^*^*

You have done well, little brother. You have done well.

Drake DuCaine looked out upon the deathscape, marred bodies, both Saurian and Puckworlder alike. A small, content smile tugged itself onto its beak. He directed his gaze downward at the still bleeding overlord, gripped his sword’s handle, then grunted when he ripped it from the chest cavern of Keroth.

“So, that’s it?” a fond voice sounded from behind him. “They’re gone?”

Drake slipped his sword into its holster and turned to smile at the tan mallard questioning him. “Yes, Calder. Draven has extracted all the living Saurians from Puckworld. Now, we must do the same to the universe.”

Calder smirked, shaking his head and stifling a laugh. He clasped Drake on the shoulder. “That means it’s time to accept your duty…” he asked with a mischievous grin, “…your highness.”

Drake rolled his eyes and opened his beak to retort when he suddenly staggered backwards. Calder grabbed his best friend by the shoulder, keeping him erect as Drake hunched forward, hand clutching his stomach.

“DRAKE! What is it? What’s wrong?”

Drake DuCaine gasped, tearing off the Mask. He watched with frightened, wide eyes as the Mask shimmered from gold to white.

Drake flinched, not even sparing a glance to see where the Mask landed.

Calder stared at his best friend, as Drake gazed at him, tears coursing his distraught face.

I’m sorry, Drake...

The haunting truth realized.

Draven…

Puckworld lost its second heir.

THE END