by Cavan Scott
“Yeah,” added Boomer, “and even though Flynn is full of more hot air than one of his balloons, I doubt the guy will float.”
“Don’t worry, Flynn,” Spyro shouted as the pilot was dragged up the stairs. “We’ll save you.”
Flynn didn’t answer. He was too busy shouting “Ow!” every time his head hit a stone step, which was happening a lot. Kaos, meanwhile, had made it to the top. Wheezing with the effort, he turned for some last-minute gloating.
“See you when I’m the lord of all, Skyflops,” he panted before nearly losing his balance and pitching forward. Lucky for him (although not for the fate of the universe), Glumshanks was onhand to leap forward, catch him, and haul him back up. Without even stopping to say thank you, Kaos disappeared across the threshold, followed by his trolls dragging the now nearly unconscious Flynn.
The heavy stone doors swung shut with a bang.
Spyro was the first to react. “Come on,” he ordered as he charged to the bottom of the staircase.
“Whoa there, dragon-boy,” the Key said as Spyro sped past. “I don’t think you want to go in there.”
Spyro slid to a halt.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“What I said. You. Don’t. Want. To. Go. In. There.”
“But I need to,” Spyro insisted as the rest of his friends caught up with him.
“You mean we need to,” corrected Gill. “How many times do you have to be reminded that you don’t have to do everything by yourself?”
“Oh, I know the type,” the Key commented. “Always jumping in before looking? A real hothead?”
“The worst,” confirmed Eruptor, ignoring the look that Spyro gave him.
“You can talk!”
“Hey, if the caps fits . . .”
“Guys, guys!” Gill positioned himself between his two friends, trying to calm the situation before they both blew their tops. “This isn’t helping, okay?”
“Nothing will,” said the Key. “You might as well head home. You’re done here.” “Can I blow that thing up now?” asked Boomer, his eyes narrowing on the Key.
“Maybe.” Spyro stalked toward the Key, smoke puffing from his nostrils. “Unless it opens the doors for us.”
In a flash, Boomer had a stick of dynamite in his hand and a wicked look on his face.
“Wait,” shrieked the Key. “I couldn’t open up those doors if I wanted to! Not now that the chosen one is inside.”
“The chosen one?” spluttered Gill. “You mean Kaos?”
“If that’s what he calls himself. He’s chosen this path and will get what he deserves. You can’t stop that from happening.”
“But he’s got our friend!” cut in Boomer, wagging the stick of dynamite in the Key’s face. “We can’t just leave.”
A look of concern flashed over the Key’s face for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was full of sympathy. “Look, I can see why this is difficult for you, but trust me. There’s nothing you can do. You really don’t want to go in there!”
“Yes we do,” Spyro hissed, turning back toward the stairs. “And we’ll do it with or without your help. Boomer, you wanted to blow something up?”
“Yeah?”
“Blow up the doors.”
Boomer whooped, kicked his heels together in joy, and started to skip up the steps, his hands suddenly full of explosives. Spyro never liked to think where he kept his supplies.
“Wait, wait, wait,” screamed the Key. “There’s no need to do that!”
“You’ll help us, then?”
“Yes,” the Key agreed with a sigh. “But only for two reasons. Number one, those doors are completely bomb-proof, so you’ll be there all day, and the racket will bring on one of my migraines.”
Boomer’s grin vanished.
“And two, I don’t like the thought of anyone being down there when Kaos receives his prize. You have to promise me that you’ll just grab your friend and get out. No heroics.”
“You have our word,” said Gill, although Spyro could see that the Gillman had crossed his webbed fingers behind his back.
“Okay, just don’t tell anyone I’ve done this. I have a reputation to protect.” The Key strained in the lock, although the doors at the top of the stairs remained firmly shut. “There,” he finally said, “all done.”
“But the doors . . .” Spyro started only to be interrupted by the Key.
“. . . are still closed, yes, I know. I meant what I said—no one will ever pass that way again. I’ve opened the tradesmen’s entrance, round the back.”
“Round the back?” whined Eruptor, taking in the full scale of the pyramid. “Have you seen the size of this thing?”
“Then we better get going,” shouted Spyro as he took off. Still moaning, Eruptor lumbered after him, with Boomer close behind, bombs in hand.
“Thanks, dude,” said Gill, giving the Key a friendly pat on the head before setting off after his friends. “We owe you one.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” the Key said sadly as soon as they were out of earshot. “I may have just opened the door to your destruction.”
Chapter Eleven
Behold, The Machine of Doom
The Key had been as good as his word. When they’d finally reached the other side of the pyramid, they’d found a tiny door only just big enough to squeeze through. Despite his grumbles, Eruptor insisted on leading the way, his warm glow lighting up the claustrophobic corridor.
“Don’t think much of whoever decorated this place,” Gill commented as they crept forward. “Macabre and moody is so last season.”
Spyro glanced at the pictures carved into the stone walls. Mighty machines of war-crushed piles of screaming skulls while Arkeyan warriors stood victorious over their enemies. His mood darkened. If Kaos had already claimed his prize . . .
After what seemed like an eternity of scrambling up the narrow corridor, the Skylanders emerged onto some kind of balcony.
“Wow!” whispered Boomer, peeking over the edge. “That’s some serious hardware.”
The robot must have been four meters tall and stood in the middle of a wide, flame-filled moat. Every rivet in its thick armor plating was illuminated in a beam of dazzling light, vicious-looking spikes erupting across its broad shoulders. Worst of all was its massive horned head. The face was a blank mask save for two slits for eyes.
It looked completely and utterly evil.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Boomer gushed, his eyes glistening at the sight of the gigantic cannons and rocket launchers mounted on its powerful pneumatic arms. “Just think of the damage you could do.”
The troll’s eyes rested on a glass panel set into the machine’s chest. Behind it sat an array of complicated controls and levers. Boomer’s fingers twitched at the thought of finding out how it all worked. All he would need to do is climb the ladder of floating stepping stones that rose from the marble floor below.
“Think of the damage Kaos could do, you mean?” Gill reminded the eager troll.
As if on cue, the elaborate wooden doors that led into the chamber below smashed open and Kaos tumbled in, still wheezing heavily.
“When I’m supreme overlord,” he croaked, gasping for air, “I’m installing an elevator in this thing.” Then the minuscule Portal Master laid his eyes on the towering giant and clapped his hands together in pleasure.
“Glumshanks, look at it. I mean, really look at it. It’s as deadly looking as the ancient scrolls described.”
“Not bad,” sniffed Glumshanks as he plodded into the chamber, followed by the rest of the trolls who were still dragging the increasingly battered Flynn.
“Not bad?” repeated Kaos, his voice squeaking with indignation. “Glumshanks, this is the Machine of Doom, the most dangerous weapon ever
created. Nothing can stand in this baby’s way. Not Eon, not the Core of Light, and definitely not that pitiful flying worm, Spyro.”
Spyro’s face reddened and his spines flattened against his skin. Suddenly he felt a cool, damp hand against his shoulder.
“I know that look,” Gill whispered in his ear, “but flying in headfirst won’t solve anything.”
“Especially if he has that STINKING SPRAT of a pet fish with him,” added Kaos in an even louder voice.
“Stinking?” Gill bristled immediately and, forgetting his own advice, vaulted over the balcony. “Who are you calling stinking?”
With a wet slap, Gill landed on his feet and brought up his water cannon to fix Kaos in his sights. “I’ll have you know that personal hygiene is very important to me.”
“Well, that’s our cover blown.” Eruptor shrugged and pitched over the edge to land beside his amphibious compadre. “What do you say, Gill? Fancy turning up the heat?”
“An excellent idea,” squealed Kaos with delight, strangely unperturbed by the sudden appearance of the Skylanders. It was almost as if he was expecting them. “Glumshanks, are you ready to SLIP another WIMP on the barbie? GLUMSHAAANKS!?!”
“Over here, master. Doing your bidding. As always.”
From his vantage point, Spyro saw Glumshanks suspend the bound Flynn over the flames that surrounded the Machine of Doom.
Flynn, for his own part, started trying desperately to blow out the raging furnace with ineffectual little puffs.
“Well, blow me down,” Kaos simpered, adopting a stance of mock desperation. “Stalemate. I wonder what will happen next?”
“How about I blow something up?”
“Boomer, no!” The troll moved too quickly for Spyro. He flung himself off the balcony and tumbled through the air, sending bombs spiraling out in all directions. The resulting explosions echoed around the chamber, forcing Spyro to cover his ears. When the cacophony had died down, he looked up to see Boomer racing toward the stepping stones that led up to the robot’s expansive chest. He was going to try to take control of the Machine of Doom.
“NOOO!” Kaos wailed, hurtling after the scampering troll. “Somebody stop him before it’s too late.” But Kaos’s minions already had their hands busy dealing with Gill and Eruptor. Water spouts and lava flows were shooting everywhere as Boomer reached the bottom step.
At any other time, Spyro would have joined the fray by now, but something was nagging away at him. This didn’t seem right. Kaos was acting weirdly, even for him. Spyro launched himself into the air and glided down to his fellow Skylanders.
“Guys, listen up,” he shouted, struggling to make himself heard over the sounds of battle. “I don’t like this. Something smells fishy.”
“Don’t you start!” warned Gill as he blasted a nearby troll. “Anyway, this is too easy—like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Exactly. It isn’t right.”
“What are you talking about?” Eruptor bellowed between brimstone-filled belches. “Are you going to kick troll butt or what?”
“No, and neither are you,” Spyro commanded. “Hold your fire!”
“Are you crazy?”
“I mean it, Eruptor. Just stop for a minute.”
Eruptor did what he was told and Gill let his finger off the trigger. Spyro turned to face the trolls.
“See,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “They’re not attacking. They weren’t even fighting back.”
The Skylanders looked at the trolls and the trolls looked at the Skylanders and then everyone looked at the Machine of Doom.
Boomer was nearly at the top of the stairs.
“Don’t you DARE,” yelped Kaos as he tripped over his own feet and landed flat on his face. “Whoops!” But as the Portal Master struggled back up, Spyro could see that he was grinning from ear to ear.
“He wants Boomer to get to the Machine of Doom,” Spyro realized with a start. “Boomer, wait!”
As the tech-loving troll reached the top of the stairs, a voice loud enough to rattle the teeth in their jaws reverberated around the chamber.
“Behold, the Machine of Doom,” it bellowed. “The most devastating weapon ever created.”
“Told you,” Kaos pointed out to a cringing Glumshanks.
“Who claims this weapon?”
“Well, I was going to,” piped up Kaos, “but that disgusting little troll beat me to it.”
“Is that true, troll?” boomed the voice. “Do you claim the Machine of Doom?”
“Yeah oh yeah oh yeah,” babbled Boomer excitedly. “That wimp down there won’t stand a chance against this thing.”
“Are you sure?” the voice asked.
“No,” shouted Spyro. “He’s not.”
But Boomer wasn’t listening.
“One hundred twenty percent sure,” Boomer announced. “Times two. Actually, scratch that. Times infinity.”
“Then fulfill your destiny. Your fate is in your own hands.”
The glass panel in the Machine of Doom’s chest slid up and Boomer somersaulted over the controls and settled into the expansive chair. Pistons hissed and steam bellowed out of every joint as the metal titan came to life, its eyes blazing with red fire. As Boomer furiously fiddled with the controls, one of its massive hands swung up and swatted the stepping stones away.
“Way to go, Boomer,” cheered Eruptor, waving at his friend, but Spyro wasn’t celebrating.
“Don’t you get it, Eruptor? This isn’t right.”
“Of course it is!” Gill insisted. “We’ve stopped Kaos. We’ve saved the day.”
“No, we haven’t,” Spyro said sadly. “We’ve done exactly what he wanted.”
“Oh, look, Glumshanks,” Kaos cackled from the foot of the robot. “The penny has finally dropped. Dragonfly has worked out that they’ve fallen into my trap. Again!”
Chapter Twelve
A Trap within a Trap
Boomer was in trouble. From behind the control panel, the troll was frantically pulling levers and pressing buttons, but nothing seemed to be working. All around him, the Machine of Doom creaked and groaned.
This wasn’t quite what he’d expected. The robot had looked perfect. Destructive, malignant, and hazardous to everyone’s health, yes, but perfect all the same. It should have been the ideal deterrent in the fight against Kaos. There was no way he would dare to attack the Core of Light if it was protected by the Machine of Doom, but as Boomer struggled to control the shuddering colossus, the only word he could use to describe the robot was . . . junk.
A section of pipe above Boomer’s head burst, a spray of scolding steam narrowly missing his ears. He yelped and yanked a large red lever to his right, only for it to come off in his hand. The control panel erupted into a shower of sparks.
Far below, at the foot of the juddering automaton, Kaos was beside himself, tears pouring down his face as he clutched his aching sides. He laughed so much that he nearly choked.
Eruptor wasn’t laughing. Instead he was staring in disbelief at the Machine of Doom, which looked like it was coming apart at the seams. Its head had lolled to the side and dark smoke billowed from its neck. As the Skylanders watched in disbelief, its heavy right arm detached from an armor-clad shoulder and crashed to the chamber floor, sending up a huge plume of dust.
“What’s Boomer doing?” Eruptor spluttered. “I thought there wasn’t a machine he couldn’t master?”
“He never stood a chance with that thing,” Spyro replied, fixing Kaos with a glare. “Isn’t that right, Kaos?”
The Portal Master stopped chuckling and smirked knowingly at the dragon.
“Well, let’s just consider the evidence, shall we? We’re in the Pyramid of Just Rewards, the last resting place of a device believed to be capable of destroying anything in its path
. Then there were all those cracks about me getting what I deserved and the big, booming voice banging on about fate and destiny . . .”
“The Machine of Doom was never real, was it?” Spyro asked, cutting Kaos off. “It was a trap designed to capture anyone who might be tempted to steal a weapon capable of destroying the Core of Light.”
“The Arkeyans were a clever bunch,” Kaos confirmed. “Almost as clever as me. They knew that anyone crazy enough to brave their worst nightmares in the Forest of Fear, sneaky enough to steal the Chattering Key from the stone wyvern, and batty enough to climb into an all- powerful super-weapon was too dangerous to walk free.”
“The dumpy one speaks the truth,” boomed the voice of the pyramid. “You have made your choice and must live with the consequences.”
“Ignoring the dumpy comment for one minute,” Kaos yelled back at the ceiling, “by consequences do you mean that this entire pyramid is about to fall on our heads, burying us alive?”
“That is correct.”
“Thought so. Thanks for clearing that up. Much obliged.”
“You knew all the time, didn’t you?” Spyro asked as the ground beneath their feet began to quake. “You knew the truth about the Machine of Doom.”
“Oh, Spyro, do you really expect me to explain my entire fiendish plan like some second-rate, tin-pot villain?”
“Yes.”
“Fair enough. Of course I realized what would happen if someone tried to steal the Machine of Doom. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to get one over on Kaos. I knew if you thought I was trying to steal it, you would try to stop me . . .”
“. . . and you could trick us into seizing the Machine of Doom ourselves . . . ,” rumbled Eruptor.
“. . . thereby springing the trap of the Ancient Arkeyans,” completed Gill as rubble started to tumble down from the ceiling.
“Finally, they get it,” crowed Kaos, slipping his hand inside his cloak. “TOP OF THE CLASS, BOYS.”
“There’s one problem with your plan,” pointed out Spyro, jumping into the air to escape the yawning crack that sprung open beneath his feet.