Draconic Funhouse: Cinderella and the Dragon Charming (ch. 4)

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, Cinder Fall had sworn an oath to herself—one carved into her bones with the same ruthless precision as the Grimm parasite fused to her soul.

Never again.

Never again would she be caught without a plan. Never again would she let the currents of fate drag her under like a helpless child. It didn’t matter if the plan was imperfect, if it burned her as much as it burned others—so long as she was the one holding the match, she would never be powerless.

And yet.

And yet—

How was anyone supposed to plan for this?

He fell from the sky like divine retribution, a blazing comet of scales and claws and too many teeth, the same impossible figure she’d seen tearing through Vacuo’s ruined landscape on every screen across the planet. First on her scroll, then on emergency broadcasts, then in grainy, shaking footage that spread like wildfire and were too much to be properly censored—

Him.

The boy—no, the thing—who had fought Salem and laughed all the while doing so.

There was no escaping him. Governments scrambled to explain him away, of course. Atlas, ever the bastion of hubris, had the gall to claim he was some "classified anti-Grimm weapon“.

Cinder watched, incredulous, as he landed in Haven’s courtyard with the grace of an earthquake, his draconic talons sinking into the stone like it was wet clay. He barely glanced at his surroundings before striding toward the centerpiece of the Academy grounds—the grand statue of the chained woman with the flowing dress.

A masterpiece in sculpting no doubt. Dozens came to Mistral with the sole purpose of getting a look at what could only be called the work of an absolute master—and those who didn‘t would likely never again get a chance.

Without ceremony, the he dug his claws under it and flipped the whole damn thing up.

The statue flipped through the air before gravity took its hold once again and unceremoniously crashed it into the ground, leaving behind a gaping maw in the earth where its pedestal had been.

Cinder’s fingers twitched toward her weapons, her mind racing. A vault. Ozpin’s vault.

Before she could even process that revelation, the boy-dragon-thing dove into the hole. A beat of silence. Then—

BOOM.

The shockwave rippled through Haven, followed by countless others, shattering windows, splitting the courtyard tiles, and sending two idiot students—some blue-haired fool and a monkey-tailed Faunus—tumbling backward from the hole they were so curiously peering into and livestreaming just a second before.

And then, just as suddenly as he’d arrived, he was back.

Scales gleaming, wings flaring, he shot out of the hole like a bullet, empty-handed and radiating pure, petulant irritation. His golden eyes scanned the courtyard—

—and locked onto her.

He landed right in front of her, close enough that she could see the faint shimmer of his inhuman pupils, smell the dirt clinging to his skin.

Cinder's breath seized in her throat. Every muscle in her body locked—not from fear (never fear, not again), but from the sheer, overwhelming presence of something so far beyond her comprehension that her survival instincts short-circuited entirely. The scent of sweat and something distinctly fiery filled her nose as those impossible golden eyes raked over her form with visible interest… until they dipped lower and stayed there.

A slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face.

"…did you piss yourself," he drawled, nostrils flaring slightly, "or are you just happy to see me?"

The tension shattered like glass.

Emerald moved first—predictable, stupid, loyal Emerald—her twin pistols flashing from their holsters with practiced ease. Even as Cinder's mind cataloged the tactical hopelessness of the situation, she couldn't help but appreciate the artistry of Emerald's assault. The way her wrists flicked with perfect precision as the pistols reconfigured mid-spin, transforming into wicked kama blades. The fluid motion as she detached the sickle heads, sending them whipping forward on their chains in a deadly crisscross pattern that would have shredded any normal opponent to ribbons.

Mercury, the pragmatic bastard, was already halfway to the courtyard gates.

The humanoid dragon didn't so much dodge as he… existed differently. Emerald's attacks passed through spaces he'd occupied a fraction of a second before, her chains wrapping around nothing but air again and again. Not because he was moving with any particular skill—Cinder noted with dawning horror that his footwork was atrocious, his stance nonexistent—but because his raw speed and reaction time made up for a complete lack of technique.

When Emerald's kusarigama did connect (a lucky strike to his ribs, the blade skidding harmlessly off his scales that hadn't been there a moment before), he actually looked surprised. Not hurt. Not even annoyed. Just vaguely perplexed, like a cat that had been tapped on the nose.

Cinder watched, equal parts fascinated and appalled, as Emerald landed strike after useless strike. A spinning heel kick that should have shattered his kneecap only succeeded in making him wobble slightly. A point-blank shot from her reconfigured pistol sparked uselessly against his chest. Through it all, he kept blinking at the impacts with that same confused expression, as if his body hadn't quite processed that it was supposed to react to being hit.

It was like watching a child play-fight with a thunderstorm, and the realization hit her like a lighting strike.

She would have to thank Emerald. If not for her foolish bravery, Cinder would likely still be too shell shocked to act, helpless before this creature who treated the world like a toy. But now? Now she could act. Now she could exploit. That was what she did. That was how one survived in this brutal, unforgiving world of bloody evolution.

"Emerald!" The command cracked through the air like a whip. To her credit, the girl obeyed instantly, halting mid-lunge, sickle-blades trembling at the end of their chains.

More surprising was that the dragon stopped too.

Time was short. Cinder moved before hesitation could take root. She moved with deliberate grace, her knee meeting the cracked courtyard tiles in a perfect kneel. The motion sent her dark hair cascading over one shoulder as she bowed her head just enough to suggest submission while keeping some awareness of her surroundings.

"My name is Cinder Fall." Her voice was velvet wrapped in steel. "Allow me to serve you."

A sharp inhale rippled through the scattered students still gawking at the spectacle. Fools, all of them. Too slow to flee, too stupid to seize opportunity if it hit them in the face

An amused snort. "Aren’t you supposed to be working for Salem?"

Shit. Instantly, variables cascaded through her mind. Did he kill her? Subjugate her? Is he allied with her? Why is he here for the Relic? Her answer had to be perfect—a misstep here could mean annihilation.

"Yes." Truth, then. The safest foundation. "But I am merely human. If you defeated her—or even stood against her as an equal—then my loyalty is best spent on the victor."

Another snort. "Do you even know the meaning of that word?"

She dared to lift her gaze.

The scene was... not what she expected. Amusement flickered across his face, yes, but his attention was elsewhere—specifically, on poking Emerald’s ribs, her arms, even the tip of her nose, like a child testing the reactions of an exotic pet. Emerald stood rigid as she had ordered, face burning, caught between outrage and utter confusion, clearly with no idea of what to do.

His golden eyes flicked to Cinder as if sensing her stare—but his fingers kept prodding, relentless, and Emerald's dark skin began to turn redder than a tomato. "Loyalty," he clarified, as if she hadn’t understood the question.

She wet her lips. Studied Emerald’s predicament. And then, with the icy calculation of a gambler pushing all her chips forward, she made her move.

All in.

Cinder rose with deliberate grace, hips swaying as she stepped toward him—not in the exaggerated sashay of a brothel temptress, but with the slow, predatory confidence of a huntress circling her prey. The slit in her long skirt parted with each step, revealing a flash of toned thigh. Her fingers trailed along her collarbone, drawing attention to the elegant line of her neck, the faint sheen of sweat on her skin.

"I’ll be honest," she purred, voice a smoky promise. "I’ve yet to find something worthy of absolute loyalty." A half-lidded glance, heavy with implication. "But I have... high hopes for you."

His pupils dilated. The tightening of his pants was unmistakable, and yet, he dared ask:

"Has that ever worked before?"

Her lips thinned. Was he mocking her? No—his body betrayed his interest. Testing her, then? Gauging her emotions?

And then it clicked. An old adage from a tale she had read long ago.

Dragons do not share their treasures.

He wasn’t asking about her tactics, or trying to gauge her usefulness—he had no need to do so. The only thing he was interested in, was if she’d ever belonged to another the way she was offering herself to him now.

If she had ever needed to use this tactic before, if it had ever worked before?

"A woman," she let the word hang, thinking over what to say. She felt fortunate that she had never found someone she needed to go all the way to manipulate (not men at least) but would simply not having gone all the way be enough for him? "A woman uses the weapons she was born with." A deliberate shift, rolling her shoulders to emphasize the curve of her chest as she approached him. "But the… ultimate weapon?" Her smile was all sharp edges. "Modesty aside, I’ve never needed to go that far."

Will you be the one that forces me to do so? She seemed to be asking. Challenging.

Her pulse hammered in her throat. Every muscle was coiled, ready to lash out if this gamble failed. She watched his every microexpression, every twitch of his fingers—knowing full well that if he decided to kill her, Maiden powers or not, she stood no chance.

But Cinder Fall would not go gentle into that good night.

Then—

"Fun."

A chuckle. Then another. Then outright laughter, wild and unhinged, shaking his entire frame.

"Fun! Fun! FUN!" He threw his head back, the sound echoing across the ruined courtyard. "You're so much more entertaining than I expected, Cinder Fall!"

- - - - - - -

How had she ended up here?

The thought echoed in Emerald's mind as the wind whipped through her hair, one of those questions that were 'both simple and impossibly complex', as Professor Gary—a man that appeared much more suited to teaching Philosophy than World History—would say. He was one of the few teachers she could tolerate in that damned school.

Not because she gave a damn about history—Brothers, no. But because she saw a reflection of herself in his weary eyes. His scars were in places one did not usually get when fighting but rather when being played with. His gaze darted nervously to the door with every click of the handle, as if he expected something far more dangerous to walk through than a late student. He often began wolfing down his meals, then seemed to remember none of the pampered kids there were looking at him to steal his food (but rather to look at the comical way he was eating), and visibly forced himself into chewing at a normal pace.

She liked Cinder for similar reasons. Wanted to hug her, hold her, kiss her, fuck her—for the same, broken, sick reasons. Because she knew, beneath the arrogant facade, Cinder had suffered. She had suffered and she had rebuilt herself from the ashes, stronger than ever—something Emerald had never managed, not fully, and likely never would.

Emerald Sustrai didn't like broken people the way some of the unscrupulous bastards she dealt with in her teenage years did. Emerald Sustrai liked people who had been broken, and then glued themselves back together through sheer grit and willpower.

Perched precariously on the back of a dragon, the question that originated this entire tangent repeated itself inside her mind, with a literalness that Professor Gary could likely never have imagined.

How had she ended up here?

Perched on the back of Auburn, as she had come to learn his name, nursing the small bite he had told her to allow him to give her (for her safety, he had said), she thought of her past. Of Cinder Fall. Of Professor Gary. Of Mercury Black even. Most disturbingly, she thought that, against all common sense, this dragon—Auburn—might be the most broken being of them all.

Her eyes flicked to Cinder, legs twitching, eyes glazed over, lost in whatever power game she was playing with Auburn. When had Emerald ever seen Cinder Fall distracted? Never. She had always been completely focused—always in control.

And Emerald knew the reason. Better than anyone, she knew the pull, the allure of that power. It was the same desperate need that had drawn her to Cinder in the first place.

Still, it was a shame. She much preferred women. Yet fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Cinder thought of her as a foolish pawn, incapable of true scheming or betrayal. But that was only because the object of her desire had always been Cinder herself. Emerald had never felt the need to scheme or betray, for there was nothing which she could possibly gain by doing so. Only lose.

Now? Well…

Dragons in stories often had illusionists on their side, didn’t they?