Failure was never an option for Spyro.  But fate always was.  He had struggled against Malefor's army through all his journey, but with Cynder by his side things felt easier.  Through savage claw and burning flame they had torn their way through the hordes, and ascended to the peak to destroy the great demon.  They thought they would receive a hero's welcome, and for a time they did.
But the elders knew that purple dragons were a risk.  Too easily they had seen the lure, the temptations of power, and despite all that Spyro had done, despite all of his great deeds, he would be given a sentence that had long been written for him.
	"D-death?!" cried Spyro.
	"That is the way it must be," said one of the elders, "you know that your kind are too powerful to let live."
	"But I...don't you trust me?!  I defeated Malefor, I freed the lands for everyone!"
	"And yet your lineage exists," said another voice, "a dangerous blood that runs deep into the earth."
Standing in the hallowed halls of the dusty Warfang, dark blue walls surrounding him as their voices boomed above him.  Bound in manacles, the purple dragon stood tall on his own two feet, his golden belly and horns shining in the firelight from torches all around him.
From the entrance stood Cynder, the black dragon with her melon-red front looking nervous between the two guards who carried spears and armoured cuirasses.  Her silver horns reflected off their sheen, the pair of blue dragons keeping vigilant as Spyro called to his superiors.
	"How do you know I'll turn?!  Master Ignitus said nothing about this!"
	"He warned you surely?" said the voices above him.  "The purple race are susceptible to delusions of grandeur, and the consequences of such are more dire than most."
	"That...that's not fair!" Spyro swung his cuffs.  "You're judging me for the villain I stopped!"
	"Can you guarantee his influence did not reach you?  Malefor was like you, young and innocent."
	"But I KNOW better!"
	"ENOUGH!"  The voice boomed causing Spyro to flinch.  "We have decided, this is not negotiable, for the sake of our future we must cleanse the world of your bloodline."
	"I...b-but..." the drake started to weep, "I-i did everything to save you, this...is there really nothing I can do?"
	"I am sorry, Spyro.  We do not wish to do this, but for the sake of this world, we cannot risk the corruption of your blood.  For that, we must sentence you to death."
	"What would be a worse fate?" asked another elder.  "Alive and suffering the guilt of a thousand deaths by your madness...or dead, knowing that all of the world shall be safe forever?"
These were the words that stung deepest in his heart.  A twisting pang of regret came to him as he thought back on his adventures.  He had been tempted, a few times but it was there, a festering wick in the pit of his soul.  Malefor had been like him once, and no one would have expected him to turn so violently.
Could he suffer the same?  Was the curse of the purple race truly so ingrained in his blood?  The more he thought back to his darker moments of weakness, the more he started to realise they had a point.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, twisting in his gut that with every word he tried to speak turning to dust on the wind.
	"I..." he sighed at last, "I-i...alright.  I can't...I know you're right but it's just...I was really hoping that I could be different."
	"We all hope that," the elder's voice said from above, "but we cannot risk this again.  If you are truly a hero, then you know the right choice in your heart, despite all the fears you retain."
	"I know," Spyro nodded, "I just thought, after everything I would be fine, I could go home, I could be at peace."
	"That is the curse of your violet race...it is unfortunate, but you understand yes?  For the good of the world."
	"For...for the good of the world."  A tear dripped down his cheek.  "I will...I'll do it, for you."
	"WAIT!"
Dashing forth through the guards, Cynder hurried to his side and clutched his arm despite a brief outcry from the guards.
	"Don't do this!  He's your hero, the only reason you still live is him!"
	"And the only reason we shall still live, is without him," warned the elder, "hold your tongue or you shall be put to the axe!"
	"THEN LET ME DIE WITH HIM!"
	"Wha-CYNDER NO!" Spyro gasped pushing against her.  "Don't, you don't have to-"
	"No...I must."  She looked to him with widening eyes.  "You went through so much for me...suffered too much, that I cannot let these BASTARDS, punish you for saving the world!"
	"You DARE mock us!?" barked the council.
	"I spit on you, ALL OF YOU!  If you punish a hero with death, then this is not a world I wish to be part of!"
	"Cynder, no, NO!"
	"If that is your choice.  The only gift we can offer is a swift and merciful death."
The guards hurried in to grab both dragons, cuffing Cynder in turn as they were marched down to the depths.  Despite the devastation of the citadel, Warfang's dungeons remained more than capable of containing any prisoners to their liking.  With towering pillars of stone carved out of a canyon, and statues composed of mechanical gears, it more resembled a fortress than a city.
As they passed other bipedal dragons cleaning up debris and reassembling rooms, an odd look was given to the prisoners, some with a faint regret and some with a growing bitterness.  In a dark stone cell they would be bound and silenced, their magic stifled with a collar that suppressed their powers, their legs manacled to the floor and their arms stretched above.
Their only companion was the executioner, a bare-chested muscular drake with white scales strapped in leather armour and stone pauldrons.  A giant axe was fitted to his back by a magnetic key, as he left them in their cell.
	"I can't believe this," Cynder whispered, "they're really doing this."
	"I know," Spyro hung his head, "but they're right, this has to be the way."
	"How?!  Why should you be punished for being born this way!?"
	"No one asked for this Cynder.  I didn't ask for it but if that's the way it has to be then...why did you argue with them?!"
He wrenched his head towards her with a shuffling of his feet.
	"You weren't part of this, you didn't have to be here!"
	"I'm sorry," Cynder said, "I just couldn't bear to see them treat you like this."
	"But it's not your fight!"
	"How long have I struggled WITH you?!" she snapped rattling her chains.  "You were the only one to understand my suffering, so why should I not be there for you?!"
	"Because I...I-i, I came to free you, you shouldn't imprison yourself with me again!"
	"This is not a prison to me.  Anywhere with you, is better than a world without."
The purple drake gasped at her words, pulling back his neck with a cringing guilt as she tried to nuzzle him.  The chains were too tight as she strained her neck, panting with her own regrets that she swallowed back down.
	"You could have been free," Spyro said, "you can live in this world, if you apologise, I'll beg them as my last-"
	"No."  She took a deep breath.  "We go together. I don't want to live in a world without you, I have no one out there but you!"
	"But you can find someone to be with!"
	"I ONLY WANT YOU!"  Cynder's tears dripped down her face.  "I...I was ready to die, when we were facing Malefor I was ready to go into the abyss like I had done so before.  This is nothing new to me Spyro...in fact, this is the best outcome I could have hoped for, to die alongside you."
	"Cynder," the hero shook his head, "I...I don't know what to say."
	"Don't say it then."  She forced a grin.  "No one deserves to die alone."
	"...I love you."
	"I love you too."
They tried to reach out, their tongues struggling to meet across the air as their chains rattled heavily.  Their hearts sank ever deeper, awaiting their last breaths in the near-pitch black.  A few hours passed, a gentle sob quietly emitting from down the hall with the odd sight of the executioner passing by, a spectre of death.
The door would open again, the white dragon standing before them as he unchained them from the wall and took them towards a dire room with several slabs of thick stone.  All of them were painted red, dried flakes of crimson that brushed off when they were laid down together, their hands stretched back behind their heads, their wings tied down, and their legs cuffed below the knees.
	"Welcome to your death," said the executioner, "my name is Harton, I will be your guide to the afterlife."
	"H-hello," Spyro smiled, "so this is...it, then?"
	"It is, yes.  Unfortunately, I must tell you that because you two are such uniquely powerful creatures, I may not be able to grant you as swift a death as others."
	"Wh-what?" Cynder clenched.  "But the elders said-"
	"They lied," Harton shrugged, "you know how it is with the council, they never understand the principles of my job, you can't just cut the head off completely, all our scales are really tough!"
	"I-i...I thought you had things for that," the dragoness squirmed.
	"Do you know how hard it is to find steel sharp enough to sever a dragon completely through?  Legally?"
The executioner pulled out his axe with a crushing thud on the floor.
	"I'm only allowed what I can afford, and unfortunately, for my subjects, that means you have to deal with...the basics."
	"I see," the purple hero grimaced, "well...I-i don't blame you for your job, it's not like you hate us."
	"Oh no, I never hate."  His smile grew wide as he walked over to a locked cupboard.  "I love everyone who comes through here, because I get to see their truth.  In their last moments I've met the greediest liars, and the most humble saints.  I've heard every vile threat, and had all of my family insulted back to my ancestors before I silenced their throats.  But I've never executed a hero as great as you."
	"I....I'm honoured," Spyro blushed, "so how are you going to...end us?"
	"Dismemberment."  He opened it wide to reveal an assortment of tools.  "Being as powerful as you are, I cannot cleave you in one strike, it must be a slow and methodical treatment."
	"Oh no," the black dragon shuddered, "this...this sounds like t-torture."
	"No," the executioner waved his hand, "torture is to break you, extract knowledge and provide punishment.  This is just death."
From his stone-set cupboard, a variety of implements glimmered with a cruel light as he walked back with a belt full of knives.  His first choice was a cleaver, a flat heavy blade as he stood above Spyro's hands.  The hero braced himself, already accepting his fate as the weighty knife crunched in his wrists.
A single shriek rang out from his throat, feeling the bone crack halfway through before came the second chop.  Harton's skill managed to chop both hands at once, shards of bone flying off in pale splinters as Spyro's hands twitched with agony.  His fingers trembled in violent spasms, his palms tightening as the sound of a wet crunch burned his ears.
The third blow would fully sever his hands, blood running thick behind his head as he clenched his teeth from the raw pain.  His brain shot off a thousand lights through his nerves, now dangling from his wrists like ribbons.  The sound of a tender drip teased his ears, his mind still feeling his hands twitching even after they fell to the floor.
	"Good start," said the white dragon, "didn't scream as much as I thought."
	"D-d-did...you can't just...k-kill me?" Spyro whimpered.
	"One blow to your heart is not enough.  That's the curse of your strength isn't it?  Now you."
He pointed to Cynder with a brief smile, as she pulled back hard as she could in her restraints which was very little.  Her scream was far worse, and far louder than her lover who turned away in bitter tears.  Stained with the hero's blood, the cleaver came down with a bitter crack that made her teeth shudder.  Her arms felt like rubber bands, tightening with all their might until the wrists would snap free.
The tension only made it worse however, requiring four blows to crunch and sever the hands completely, Harton rolling the blade across her wrists to turn them into dust.  All of her veins were set on fire, her muscles flexing into mountains with screeching sobs as blood came gushing.
Two red waterfalls sprayed from her stumps, the mangled remnants wrists now a lumpen misshapen oval with twitching veins sputtering out.  Her arms only felt even harder, petrifying from the anguish until she was certain they would snap.
	"Good," the executioner sighed, "first part of exsanguination, helps the rest of it flow better."
	"I-is...is that...r-really?" shuddered Cynder.
	"Are you a biologist?  You're welcome to correct me."
His smile was so strangely forced that it frightened her, pushing her back down to submissive state as Spyro groaned feeling his phantom pain still writhe through his limbs.  A hot numbing thrall trapped his arms as his jaws became tighter, feeling the drench of crimson spray off the rim of his severed wrists.
	"Now for the feet," Harton waved his finger, "makes things easier for the flensing, hands and feet are so difficult to peel off."
The manacles clasped on their knees made it impossible to move, as they trembled with increasing fear of the new pain they experienced.  Cynder was first this time, fresh from her misery but now she could watch the axe raise high above before cracking down behind the heel.
Her shrieks turned even higher, her voice starting to crack as the blade twisted free from her ankles before coming down again. The bone was much harder in the feet, so it required a good six blows to sever them free, each snapping rend of the axe breaking through causing howls of anguish to tremble through the halls.
Spyro clenched his heart, turning away from his lover's screams that turned to ragged breaths.  At one point he confused her moans for something more erotic, a trembling laugh between the moments of anguish as she struggled to relieve the pressure of pain building up in her chest.  Finally her feet were severed, the sound of two bony lumps clattering off onto the floor.
	"Now you," Harton stepped over to Spyro, "your lover set a standard, so I wonder how heroes scream compared to former villains."
	"Please d-don't enjoy this," said the hero shaking his head, "this is your job, not a...p-pleasure."
	"You know what they say though, you enjoy what you do, you never work a day in your life."
The axe swung down with perfect precision to crack halfway into his ankles.  A growling shriek escaped the purple dragon, the suckling of the blood filling over his bone a most wretched sound that made his body cringe in agony.  A hot viscous red came running down his feet, trickling thicker by the minute as Harton wrenched his axe free for the second chop.
Each crushing blow made Spyro's legs sing with suffering, trembling with electric spasms that wound his muscles so insufferably tight, that his cries rattled through his neck in heaving sputters.  It was somehow less painful than losing his hands, if only for having less nerves but the fact there was more bone gave the most horrifying sensation of the twisting marrow.
The scales bent and pulled back like parchment, exposing the reddish bone that already turned brittle with a dozen cracks, every crunch of the hammering axe tearing the ligaments looser until Spyro's feet were dangling off the table.  Blood sputtered free from his legs in richer force than from his hands, gushing rivers that sprayed over Harton's knees when the last chop cut fully through the ankle.
	"Excellent," the executioner sighed, "that's the preparations done."
The hero made a whimpering gasp, flexing his imaginary toes as his nerves screamed even harder with the fresh crimson dripping out.  The clonk of his feet barely registered in his mind as he laid back staring at the ceiling.
His heart kept beating faster, deafening his ears with the desperate need to live as he struggled to move his bound legs.  He looked down to see the bone splintering out the bottom of his legs, every droplet of blood resonating a sharp sting in his veins.
	"Now that the exsanguination has begun," said Harton, "the flensing must begin.  This is both a spiritual rite, and also the smoothest transition to death."
	"F-flense?" whispered Cynder.  "This...you sound more like a torturer than executioner."
	"Says the former rabid hound of Malefor."
	"HEY!" Spyro snapped.  "Don't, DON'T you dare insult her, you don't know what she suffered!"
	"Then don't presume to understand my job," the pale drake waved his finger, "I shall give you as much respect as you return to me.  Now let's begin."
Putting away his axe, he pulled out a sharp mythril blade that he demonstrated with a feather from his belt.  Dropping it across the edge, it split cleanly in half as he bent over Spyro who struggled to keep a straight face.  The knife cut down into his shoulder, a burning sting that he resisted when it carved a smooth line across his neck.
Harton was careful to only cut the skin, digging between the muscle and flesh as he roved all over the hero's body.  The knife danced across his scales with ease , making special cuts that became more painful with each rippling slice along the wrists and down his waist.  The dragon made two deep gouges into the sides, separating the back and front of Spyro's skin.
It was a slow terrible twenty minutes until he was complete, the dragon's body now resembling a butcher's chart as the executioner grabbed the base of the neck, and slowly pulled the skin.  Spyro gasped with a trembling fright, watching his scales peel off like a wet shirt to expose all of his delicious muscles.
	"HA-AAAH, AAAAAGH!  WH-WHAT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
	"Preparing your body," said Harton, "the hero's body must be dismembered to ensure the fullest death."
	"This...th-this is SICK!" gasped Cynder.  "Is this r-really necessary?!"
	"What did I say about understanding my job?  Remember, for the sake of our future, and our children, you must be sacrificed."
	"...fine."  She gave a heavy breath.  "F-fine...I chose to die with him after all."
	"Ha-aaaagh!" the purple drake flexed his chest.  "I, I understand...even if it hurts, you...this is for the best."
The white dragon smiled as he ripped the torso free, the long pull causing red to spatter on his scales and paint him in strips of crimson.  His arms were soon stripped with his legs, the knife sawing under the skin to peel away the scales completely.  By the end of the half hour, Spyro was now completely red, with all of his muscles exposed in a beautiful viscera.
Cynder was disgusted, reeling at the sight of her lover's skin being put on the wall, their executioner lifting Spyro's body to pull off his back skin.  A purple jacket dripping with blood would soon be joined by its partner, with Harton stepping over to Cynder for the same treatment.  After the loss of their hands and feet, it was certainly less painful but no less humiliating an ordeal.
As Harton began to fillet the dragoness, the rich melon front would soon be replaced by her fresh internals as he severed the skin from the muscle.  All of her nerves were screaming to exhaustion, a low temporal shudder that resonated through her whole form before her scales were stripped.  Every new tear showed a new muscle that twitched with her pain.
In a moment of lucidity, she experimented with little spasms to see what made her tick.  Curiosity took her, distracting herself through a lesson in anatomy to ignore the execution, a cold fascination from her days with Malefor.  She gasped at the ribbons of scarlet that formed her legs, the wall of abdominals that twitched with every heartbeat and the swelling of her ribs.
	"Beautiful," Harton gasped, "your scales will make fine suits."
	"What, s-suits?" shuddered Cynder.
	"We can't let you go to waste," he hung her skin on the wall, "black is such a fetching colour, in fact you'll probably sell more than the great hero's."
	"S-sell?!" she snapped lifting her head.  "We're not meat!"
	"And I have to keep the stoves running, fear not, I always sell ethical...one-hundred-percent organic."
	"I can't believe this," Spyro shook his head, "it's, it's already enough you do this, but you sell our parts?"
	"Would you rather they rot and fester?" said Harton looming over.  "I thought heroes wanted to give themselves back to those they protect.  Imagine your flesh will form a shield to protect a father of two."
	"That...that's true but-"
	"You want to prove you're a hero, then show some piety in your sacrifice."
The pale drake sniffed haughtily, shaming the dragons to look at each other and their flensed bodies.  Red crimson rippled with each breath they took, the bands of muscle expanding in soft heaves as their bellies twitched.  They could almost make out their own stomachs burbling away as their tails twitched in spasms.  Said tails would soon suffer an ignoble end, when Harton grabbed Cynder's and severed it clean.
Her legs clenched with a shriek as her muscles flexed in her thighs, the white dragon using a miniature saw to carve through the flesh and bone as it writhed in his hands.  Cutting through the base, he dismembered the tail with ease with a crunching snap, the dragoness sobbing in heated gasps when she watched her appendage writhe like a dying serpent.
Spyro was next, bracing his rear as he felt Harton's hands grip his tail.  The sawing scrape into his skin made him wince as blood ran free before he hit the bone, an anguish as terrible as losing his hands from the shrieking cacophony of all his nerves when his tail whipped violently.  But once he hit the bone Spyro screamed again.
Cutting off free from the body, Harton lifted Spyro's tail to watch it writhe in frantic spasms.  Dying in his hand like an overfed worm, he put the tails on the wall next to their skins as the drake pondered what to do next.  A sigh came from Harton's lips, his white snout gleaming as a spot of blood from his thumb smeared over his scales.
	"Hmmm...I'm certain you're both sick of the sight of me."
	"I-i..." Spyro gritted his teeth, "m-my mother always said, if you can't say anything nice...d-don't say anything at all."
	"Wise words.  In that case I'll give you a blessing, or a curse depending on how much you value your eyes."
	"My...m-my eyes?"
	"Oh no," Cynder shook her head, "no, wait, wait a-are you serious?!"
	"Part of the ritual," the executioner tapped his skull, "your eyes contain an overwhelming source of power, plus it'll be easier for you when you cannot see what I do next."
	"I...I want to die seeing the world disappear, not from you ripping them out!"
	"I don't RIP things out, madame.  I'm an executioner, not a murderer."
	"Don't argue," Spyro pleaded, "let him...the sooner he does this, the sooner we're free."
The dragoness sighed with a fateful remorse, slowly regretting her decision but keeping a stern face for her beloved.  Harton went to Cynder first as she pulled back her neck in fear, seeing a new blade that he wielded.  A sickle-shaped scoop came close to her left eye, sliding carefully behind the retina and wiggling into her socket.
	"Now don't move," he warned, "otherwise it will hurt MUCH more."
Cynder's skull shivered at the cold steel slicing into her nerves, cutting them off one by one as darkness filled the left of her vision.  Agonising as it was, Harton was surprisingly gentle in severing the bonds and slipping her eyeball free with little hassle.  Whether by exhaustion or an inner strength, Cynder managed to bear through the anguish, and the personal horror of seeing her own eye staring back at her from Harton's fingers.
The second eye was scooped free, Cynder wept when she was blinded forever, and her eyes were dropped into a bowl at the side.  With gasping sob she turned towards Spyro's direction, her face now hollowed with two black sockets dripping bloody tears.
	"S-spyro?  Spyro, please, t-tell me you're there."
	"I am," he gasped, "I...I'm here, I'm sorry."
	"No...no I...I chose this path with you.  I don't want to die alone either."
	"We won't," the hero smiled, "we...thank you for being here with me."
Harton waited patiently before Spyro was ready, slipping his scoop under the purple dragon's orb and slitting the nerves free from the socket.  The hero whimpered slightly, but took his enucleation better than his lover as both eyes were carved out in less than two minutes.  Spyro watched the world disappear, first one half then the other with a terrible black consuming him.
Everything became louder, the scent of blood became overwhelming and his nerves screamed to a crescendo.  Sputtering gasps filled his throat when he heard the squishing roll of his eyes in the bowl, the sound of thudding feet stepping closer making both dragons flinch.
	"Now then," the executioner cracked his knuckles, "the next part of your execution, I think to ensure your bloodlines never exist again, is to extract the root of the cause."
	"What, what root?" Spyro shivered.
	"Well, this."
The purple dragon yelped when a hand pressed to his crotch and fingered the slit.  The white dragon also fingered Cynder's slit to make her shriek the same.
	"Wh-what, WHAT are you doing?!"
	"Demonstrating what I take next," said the executioner, "you may be blind now, but that's no reason not to know."
	"A-alright," she sneered, "this...this at least makes sense, considering we're...cursed."
	"Indeed.  I have different tools for males and females, but rest assured I'll treat you both the same."
From his belt the pale dragon produced a vile set of forceps with curling hooks that he slipped into Cynder's cunt.  The dragoness whimpered from the cold steel sliding in to the depths, a personal violation when the flatside of the hooks pushed through her tunnel.  It made her realise the moment he would pull back,  she would earn true suffering as Harton navigated her depths.
	"Thaaat's it," he whispered cooing, "just relax, and I'll unmake you back to the abyss."
	"Y-yes," she gasped, "thank...th-thank you for...doing this."
	"My pleasure," Harton almost kissed her cheek, "now for your womb, that I shall discard along with your lover's shaft."
Spyro trembled with a clench of his thighs on hearing this, not knowing what Cynder was going through as Harton reached her cervix.  A painful stretch of her womb entrance caused the gentle drip of blood, rippling down the long surgical instrument with Harton's fingers pushing past her lips.
The dragoness whimpered at the icy touch, rubbing along the back of the womb as Harton twisted his grip.  His knuckles grinded on her clitoris causing her to spasm with a forced arousal, panting with a tense excitement until the sharp hooking at the back of her uterus made her shriek.
Tears flowed down from her empty sockets as the executioner pulled back, the womb slowly tearing apart in a double-peeling motion with the powerful forceps tearing it towards him.  Cynder screamed even harder, feeling the flesh turn soggy and limp when it was wrenched out of her cervix, forcefully birthing her own uterus when it stretched even wider.
	"A-AAAGH, AAAAAAAAARRGH!  S-SPYRO, SPYRO IT HUUURTS!"
	"WHAT, WHAT'S HE DOING?!"
	"Sterilising you," said Harton, "even in death we have to make certain your bloodline is snuffed."
	"GA-AAAAAAARGH!" Cynder shrieked even higher.  "OHHH GODS, P-PLEASE, END ME, PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!"
	"All in good time, dear Cynder."
With a mighty pull he wrenched the uterus free, gaping the cervix wide open as the entire length of her vaginal lining was torn off like wallpaper in a long bloody stream.  Agony filled their ears as Cynder screeched so hard that she lost her voice, a stuttering crack in her neck when the sound of wet tearing flesh deafened them both.
Her entire uterus came out like a snake turned inside out, dripping of her juices and showing a sad pair of ovaries dangling off the end.  Harton dragged it across the floor with a slithery slop, making both dragons cringe as Cynder wept profuse at the empty hole in her stomach.  A small canopic box would be her womb's resting place, the soggy length of dark meat draped across it to store for future use.
	"Beautiful," he sighed, "such a pity it'll never know the joy of carrying a child.  And now, the hero joins his neutered lover."
Stepping back over to Spyro, Harton produced an odd speculum shaped like an egg with a handle.  Inside was a long nail when he clicked it open a few times to see it was working, before pushing the closed instrument into Spyro's slit.  The pain of it being forced was not as terrible as the cold arctic steel, making him shiver with a groan when the speculum opened up to force his walls wider.
Exposing the cruel nail, the executioner pushed deep to the hilt to find Spyro's length, wilted at its smallest like a rosebud before the tip of his nail met.  With walls stretching further, the hero grunted when the steel length pushed at the glans, spearing down inside his cock with a burning freeze as he clenched his lower muscles.
	"Now you may feel yourself getting aroused," warned Harton, "that's part of the process.  Don't be ashamed."
	"I-i-i...won't be."
Putting on a brave face, blind as he was with purple sockets, Spyro clenched and awaited his sterilisation when the nail drilled deep through the base of his shaft.  Puncturing the inner testes with a sharp gasp, the executioner pulled the handle back what closed the speculum round the pulsing member.
Like corking a wine bottle, he pulled out the root of Spyro's meat with a twisting snap, causing the hero to scream in a trembling sorrow.  Blood thickened out of his slit, running over like wine as Harton pulled even harder to rip the internal testes free.  The entire length was unrooted with a vicious rip, spurting more on both their bellies when the slit erupted.
With bits of flesh streaming out the dragon shrieked even harder, his voice almost but not quite cracking as he gritted his teeth from the hollow abscess.  His length remained flaccid all the while, trapped inside the speculum as a worthless lump of meat, his testicles dangling off as sodden shreds that the executioner put aside.
	"There we are," he sighed dusting his hands, "how are you both feeling?"
	"L-like I want to die," moaned Spyro.
	"Good.  That's the point, you both should face death with open arms."
	"Fine," whispered Cynder, "fine just...just please, make it stop.  Make everything stop, I...I'm ready to embrace the abyss."
	"I am too," said her beloved, "I...let me die at last, sir."
	"You will," the executioner grinned, "we're at the final part of your journey."
He brought forth his vorpal blade as he began on Cynder, admiring the work of her dismembered cunt.  Her labia was an empty husk, her lips dripping with blood as he reached over to stab beneath her heart.  Carving through the wall of muscle, he pulled it off to reveal Cynder's organs beating away, a dozen twitching meats all beating with desperation.
The dragoness was too tired to scream, her voice a bitter rasp as her head slumped to the side just waiting for death.  Harton carefully took out her organs and put them in a bowl, dumping them with wet slaps as the container filled with bloody sputum.  Her intestines were first, rolled up like thread to pop free from her her colon and splatted down thick.
Then came her liver and kidneys, dropped to roll down the sides of her guts before her stomach was ripped free.  The wet sac of digestive juices made a wobbling gurgle, a grumbling shudder that Cynder heard but never felt again.  She was finally empty, her heart and lungs the only thing left to keep her just barely alive.
As she was left with an open body, her cavity exposed with bloody ribs and the hollow back of muscle, her executioner moved on to Spyro.  The hero would suffer his last indignity as the blade cut him wide open, pulling the muscular mesentery back before his fresh organs were on display.  His genital slit was even more a mess, a sucking wound that clenched with his muscles, spurting out a bloodied orgasm with trickling red pre like his lover's pussy.
	"I've never seen a hero's heart," said the executioner, "I always thought it would be...bigger."
	"H-haaah, haaah," the purple drake whimpered, "what...wh-what do you do with all of our-"
	"That's none of your concern.  Why worry about such things, when your soul leaves this world?"
	"I...yes.  I'm so tired.  Please...kill me, sir.  Let me keep this world safe with...my death at last."
The white dragon grinned at the hero's exhaustion, eviscerating him the same as he did to Cynder.  The intestines were plucked and balled up into a dish, the liver and kidneys slapped down with wet thuds.  The duodenum, the gall bladder and all the other parts no one remembered would be tossed onto the growing pile of Spyro meat.
When all that was left was his heart and lungs, executioner stepped between them with a dagger in each hand.  They shuddered with foetid breaths, their hearts beating out of sync as they smiled to each other blindly.  Their sockets stared into the abyss, as Harton pressed the blades to their throats.
With a perfect cut, he severed both their necks, carving from the outside and gouging towards himself like peeling apples.  It was swift and painful, but the cut wasn't deep enough to let them die quick.  A perfect slit across the windpipe that let them choke in their blood.
	"Wh-whuh HRRKH, HR-HRRRKH!"
	"Goodbye, heroes," said the executioner.  "The world thanks you for your service.  No one shall miss you."
	"H-h-hrrrkh, HRRRRKH!  C-cyn...CynderGH-GHHHRRRRKH!"
The worst agony Harton had left for the end as he smiled  upon their faces, wracked in suffering as they arched their necks causing the blood to spill across their chins.  Their hearts became hyper, thumping against their ribs with a force of a hammer, their white lungs slowly filling with a viscous red.
Their lack of eyes did not make their death throes any less disturbing, rearing their heads back in a screaming gargle that frothed the blood in their necks.  Their mouths bubbled over with rich scarlet, suffocating themselves with each frantic breath over the longest three minutes of their life.  Harton sighed at the red fluid dripping off the stone, thickening every time they gasped with a wet heaving cough.
As the hero finally died alongside his lover, the white dragon kissed both of them upon the lips to taste their sweet ichor, their last breaths washing over his snout as he shuddered in angelic bliss.  The exsanguination was complete, and at last the world was safe, from that dreadsome purple race.