Chapter Text
Pristine Milk steels himself against the carnage, of Burning Spice's forces besieging the Kingdom - the Blueberry Kingdom was the last Kingdom standing, barring the hidden away Silver Kingdom.
Parts of the Kingdom had already gone up in flame, buildings crumbling around him, cobbled streets ripped up, gardens scorched - his Spire remained untouched despite the blaze, thanks to the magic around it, but even that was weakening as the Kingdom is burnt to the ground.
Pristine Milk had evacuated most of his remaining citizens (The sick, the elderly, mothers and children, orphans and widows-) but those that had stayed back were in danger. Danger that Pristine Milk didn't want them to be in, especially not with the fact that he can hear members of Burning Spice's armies somewhere in the Kingdom.
It was risky, they were trapped towards the center of the Kingdom, his Spire too far to reliably flee to with this many people - it sat in its own courtyard towards the south of the Kingdom, but it was much too far. Especially if the Fount went with them - his magical signature alone would give them up when the Herald shows up.
The (former) Virtues all know each other's magic as well as they know their own. Pristine Milk can feel the heat that makes up Burning Spice's magic - the way that it seems to feed from the flames and carnage around them.
It's wrong - it's twisted. Just like how the other former-Virtues felt. Mystic Flour's magic still made him want to sneeze, but instead of being delicate as it covers you it feels more like it's suffocating. Silent Salt's sparkling magic had dimmed, sucking in light rather than producing it. Eternal Sugar's soft, sleepy haze had turned into a miasma, forcing everyone under it's effect.
And now Burning Spice? His once warm, comforting magic had turned into a blaze - overwhelming, burning everything indiscriminately, friend and foe alike.
Pristine Milk hopes his magical signature hasn't changed- that curl of starlight and sunshine in his chest felt normal, at least. The Other Realm was stable, his Soul Jam hummed softly (Knowledge at the back of his mind, worried but trusting him) and his magic seemed responsive. He shouldn't fret, and should simply trust in his Light, in his Knowledge.
Even though his magic had to change to account for the new… situation. Pristine Milk had shoved aside his preference for nonlethal magics for the spells he taught his battle mages. It hurt, to crumble other Cookies, to watch someone's life evaporate before his very eyes, caused by his own spells, but he had to.
This was war, and there is no pacifism is war. He is the last bastion of the light in this world, and if he did nothing but cower, what example would he be sending to everyone fighting for the good of this world?
No. He wouldn't be a coward this time. Pristine Milk would fight, even if he would carry the guilt of his actions for eons afterwards.
Burning Spice's troops were at the gate. Pristine Milk's small militia stand behind the Fount as he grips his staff, soot on his face, the fur on his tail singed, his hair cut short in the wake of him nearly getting caught by one of the cultists that surround Flour a few months back. That close call was the last push he needed to cut off the sparkling hair he loves so much - to keep his tail close under his robes.
He didn't need to be easily caught. Not when everyone wanted his blood. Not when he was the last Virtue, the last piece of good. He had to stay safe, for the Cookies under his protection.
"Fount! Are we going to be okay?" One of the militia - Choco Nutmeg, his loyal advisor turned strategist calls from where they hover beside an injured Cookie. "We still have a few citizens to evacuate!" Their tan skin is stained with soot and jam, chocolate hair wild and messy from far too long without respite, hazel eyes wide as their gaze flicks between the Fount and the injured Cookie by their side.
"Focus on getting them out of here!" Pristine Milk shouts back, "You know where to take them!"
"On it!" Choco Nutmeg begins to usher the last few civilians out - to the hidden escape path in the Spire. Hopefully with the Fount remaining here, they'll be able to slip by unnoticed. His Spire will protect them then.
It's a group primarily made up of children, all teary-eyed and scared. Most of them have lost their families, their siblings, their friends. His heart breaks for those poor children as he thinks of his own, hidden away in the Silver Kingdom. He told them the leave the second he got wind of Spice's armies - and regrets not sounding the alarm sooner.
If he evacuated his own apprentices, why hadn't he thought to start evacuating sooner? Maybe then no one would've had to die. He shouldn't have been so much of a coward, desperately clinging to the hope that everything would be fine and go back to normal.
And now countless people are dead.
Pristine Milk hopes that the group will be safe - Choco Nutmeg is reliable, a fighter in their own right, senses sharp and reflexes quick. If anything happens, Choco Nutmeg would fight till their death to keep the children safe - Pristine Milk had even assigned them to overseeing the younger classes of his Academy, given their love for the children of the Kingdom.
A scream. It pierces the air, jam-curdling and raw, the wail of someone who's just seen something horrifying. He's heard it far too many times - from Cookies mourning their spouses and children, from children crying out for their parents, from the Cookies of his militia watching their friends die in front of them…
Pristine Milk whips around from where he had been staring at the main gate, fully expecting Burning Spice to be dramatic about it, he is Destruction, but no.
They had come from the side gates.
Pristine Milk was a fool. He expected Burning Spice to be the brute he always was - taking the quickest, most dramatic route. He hadn't considered him changing how he operated - but maybe he should've. Burning Spice wasn't going to charge in against the Virtue of Knowledge.
He was so stupid for not even considering it!
"Choco Nutmeg!" He calls as he takes off in a sprint, ignoring the debris that digs into his paws and the fires that singe at his fur. "Choco Nutmeg?"
"Aw, Fount, you're still standing?" Burning Spice stands - in front of Choco Nutmeg's body, their head decapitated, blood spilling onto the cobblestones. Burning Spice holds their head like a trophy. "Wasn't this that pathetic little advisor of yours?"
"You killed them." Pristine Milk breathes, only for his eyes to slide off of Burning Spice and to the corpses behind him. "Th-the children…?"
He recognized those Cookies. Students as his academy, now heaped in a pile of crumbs and jam, some mutilated beyond recognition. Some with bites taken out of them as if they had been eaten by the wolves in the forest - some with deep gouges, edged with spices. The youngest was barely old enough to walk on her own. She had been left behind in the wake of the fighting, her parents abandoning her as they fled.
And he led the poor thing to her death. She'd been abandoned, and he just got her killed! He promised to keep her safe - he was going to take her in like he did with Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple once he fled to the Faerie Kingdom after getting the rest of his citizens out.
"How could you?!" Pristine Milk can't help the tears - he had promised them safety and instead led them to their deaths! His voice cracks, but he can't help the yelling. "They were children, Spice! You even killed Cherry Jubilee! She was barely able to walk!"
"Psh." Burning Spice just waves a hand, and Pristine Milk cringes at the jam that flies from Choco Nutmeg's neck with the motion. "They serve a higher purpose, now! They fuel the fires of a new kind of Change!"
It's in that moment that Pristine Milk recognizes that the Herald of Change he once knew is gone. Fragrant Spice replaced with Burning Spice, a murderer and a brute not even above the murder of innocents.
"No, they don't," Pristine Milk wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, dropping into a fighting stance as he clenches his staff so hard the metal creaks under the force. "They died for your rampage. No higher purpose. No dignity." He'll avenge them. He'll avenge Cherry Jubilee. She didn't deserve that fate.
Burning Spice just grins, hefting his axe off his shoulder as he tosses Choco Nutmeg's head aside. "Oh? Going to lecture me? How cute. You know you won't stand a chance, Milk."
Pristine Milk just growls - he hates that he knows how to do that, when he used to only purr. He was a pacifist. He hated conflict, hated violence.
But he will not allow someone to hurt his citizens, to slaughter children, to kill everyone he cares for!
"Fount!" Another Cookie calls as they skid to a stop behind the Fount, "We-"
"Shush. Go out the southeastern gate. You know the route, right, Burnt Toffee?" He whispers his instructions, knowing that Burning Spice's hearing is iffy from all the explosions his magic causes.
"Indeed!" The Cookie nods, scurrying off in the direction they came. "Be safe, Fount!"
"Still playing the savior?" Burning Spice calls as he swings his axe, the Fount jumping out of the way at the last second - hissing at the fact that he still gets clipped on the arm, blood spilling out from the slit left in his robe's sleeve. "Face it, Milk, you're useless against me!"
Burning Spice was bigger. Stronger. Sometimes even faster. But Pristine Milk was agile, good at dodging and tiring his enemies out. It was a game of endurance more than strength, and Burning Spice knew that - but if he got a few good hits…
"Stop being a coward, Milk!" Burning Spice growls as he misses another slash, Pristine Milk breathing heavily as he wipes jam from his cheek - the cut was shallow, at least, but that was close. "Fight me!"
Pristine Milk just glares, and when he dodges this time, he leaves behind a blast of ice - the spike managing to impale Burning Spice's arm. Burning Spice barely even seems to notice, simply yanking his arm free of the spike, heedless of the yellow-orange jam that drips from his arm and coats the ice on the ground. Blood drips down to coat the hilt of his axe, and Burning Spice tilts his head, giving Pristine Milk a feral grin.
"Cute trick. You really think that can stop me?"
Pristine Milk gulps, eyes darting around the area they were in - one of the squares around his Kingdom. This one often hosted the weekend markets, and Pristine Milk frequented those - a chance to talk with his citizens and see how the Kingdom was prospering. He never thought that his love of the hustle and bustle of the markets would become his savior.
If he's smart about this, he can lose Spice in the alleys and streets that lead away from the square.
He manages to dodge another hit, Burning Spice's axe grazing his leg - a superficial wound, at worst - and retaliates with another blast of ice. It slows him down for a few seconds, but then he's right back to charging at Pristine Milk.
Every attack Pristine Milk throws, from ice spikes to fireballs to electric bolts, Burning Spice just shrugs off.
The power of being a Virtue, Pristine Milk supposes - the enhanced magic resistance must just come with their Witch Magic imbued dough.
"Come on, Milk, do you really expect that to work?" Spice taunts, all sharp fangs and a haughty tone.
"I-It might not stop you, but it'll slow you down!" Pristine Milk yelps as he dodges out of range of another swing of Burning Spice's axe, feeling the breeze it leaves behind as it narrowly misses his neck.
"Will it, now?" Spice retorts as he gears up for another attack, Pristine Milk barely diving out of the way in time. He's too close but any time he tries to put distance between them Burning Spice is always right on his heels.
Well, maybe he can at least distract him to give himself a chance to regroup…
He charges a ball of electricity at the tip of his staff, aiming carefully as his hands begin to shake as the shocks travel down the metal staff and to his own hands.
But he narrows his eyes, and aims - and it lands.
The metal of Spice's axe becomes electrified, just enough to startle him into letting go. With Burning Spice needing to grab his axe, it gives Pristine Milk a chance to bolt - putting space between them.
"Fight me properly, coward!" Spice roars as he swings his axe - it's reckless, with no real aim, and Pristine Milk can easily dodge it. He sure got his axe back fast… And he's much faster than Pristine Milk is - far more used to running (and on sand!)
Pristine Milk smacks into a wall, dissolving his staff and yelping as he manages to dodge another slash of Burning Spice's axe and duck under him and between his legs, racing the way they came.
"Stop running!" Spice growls, and Pristine Milk throws another electricity spell over his shoulder as he summons his staff once more - it's just enough time for Pristine Milk to wonder if he shouldn't start trying to lose Spice amidst the maze of city streets - but he can still feel the rage under his skin, the desire to get revenge for those kids he sent to their deaths.
Does he run, or does he fight a pointless battle for some meager gratification?
That decision is made for him when Burning Spice lands a proper hit, taking advantage of Pristine Milk's momentary distraction, and sending Pristine Milk flying - his staff slipping from his hand and clattering to the ground a short distance away.
The pain doesn't even register for a moment, until he hits the stone wall of a house and crumples to the floor. Blood spills out from between his fingers as he presses a hand to his side - the gash is long, deep enough that if he were a mortal Cookie he would've been dead before he even hit the wall.
It burned - Burning Spices' axe was coated in spice, entirely to make it hurt more. Brutality had become his new specialty, it seems.
The wound throbbed under his hand as Pristine Milk scanned for his staff - he was lucky it landed nearby, but Burning Spice is standing over him before he can crawl towards it.
"Is that all you've got, Milk? Aren't you meant to be a good mage? Your spells felt like nothing." Burning Spice sound bored, "I know you have more power than that. So what gives? Am I not good enough for your full power?"
"You… can still… stop this." Pristine Milk wheezes out around a mouthful of blood. Burning Spice just hums, acting as if he's considering it - before he lifts a leg and slams it down on Pristine Milk's.
Pristine Milk is pretty sure he's never screamed as loud as he did in that moment. Bones splintering under the weight, a sickening crack emitting from where Burning Spice had stomped. He knew if he looked his leg would be at the wrong angle, all mangled beneath his robe.
The pain radiated outward - he couldn't even feel his left leg anymore - and he wants to sob. Blood is still oozing out from the wound on his side, pooling beneath him and making his robe sticky and tacky, and hysterically, all Pristine Milk can think is about how hard it's going to be to get the jam out of his robes.
His throat is raw from screaming. He keeps coughing up blood. He feels like nothing but a massive ball of agony.
He wants Burning Spice to just end this.
Instead, Spice toys with him.
The countless small wounds - he could handle. But this?
When Spice decided to hurt him further?
The scream Pristine Milk had let out when Burning Spice stomped down on his tail was shrill, a truly panicked sound as Burning Spice shattered the fragile bones beneath his weight. The crunch alone was enough to make the Fount nauseous, bile rising alongside blood in his throat as he wails, fingers clawing against the ground until they're raw and bleeding as he tries to escape. Blue jam littering the cobblestones beneath him, dripping heavily from the wound on his side, smearing from his fingertips.
"Sp-iiice. Pleassssse… Sssssstop…" He slurs, the pain overwhelming. His tail. HIS TAIL. HIS TAIL.
"Hm, no can do, Milk. Gotta send a message, you see." Burning Spice speaks casually, as if this is just a regular chat - not a torture session. "I will not be taken lightly. And mangling you? Well, what better way is there to send a message than via everyone's beloved little Fount?" There's bitterness in that tone, but Pristine Milk can barely hear it over his own heartbeat in his ears as he continues to fruitlessly scrape his bloodied fingers against the ground.
Spice lifts his tail, hand crushing the already broken bones as he inspects it - whistling slightly at whatever he sees - and then there's a rush of air, and pain.
Hellish, agonizing pain, as Burning Spice cuts open the thin flesh and dumps spices on the wound. It radiates outward, up his entire spine, manifesting in his head as a sharp migraine that makes him want to cry, but all that comes out in a hoarse whimper - his throat is shot from screaming, and he's already cried every tear he has. His tail spasms involuntarily due to the pain, but Spice hadn't moved his axe - and it just makes more flesh cut open, dripping jam to the ground as spices fall into the wound.
"Doing my job for me now? I'd call it boring, but hey, if that's what you're into!" Burning Spike laughs at his own joke as Pristine Milk chokes slightly on his own blood - spitting up a mixture of blueberry jam and bile.
Pristine Milk wonders if this is how he's going to die - with Spice bleeding him dry and covering the wounds in fiery spices.
It only gets worse when he reaches for Pristine Milk's staff, inspecting the Soul Jam embedded in it. "Wonder what I could do with this, huh, Milk? Maybe I should be glad you were such a boring stick in the mud, because it means I got to read all your research!"
Oh no.
Burning Spice was surprisingly meticulous, for a brute. Just enough pressure to hurt, to send cracks radiating through his Soul Jam. The pain is soul-deep, as if Burning Spice has reached inside his chest and gripped the very essence of his being, cutting wounds into it and compressing it until it wants to snap.
Pristine Milk feels like he's being ripped apart from the inside out, reaching weakly for the Soul Jam. Blood still drips from his fingers, his claws long-since broken, and all Pristine Milk succeeds in doing is shifting slightly and putting weight on his broken leg.
The pain makes him go limp, blinking tears he didn't know he had left out of his eyes to mix with the blood and bile beneath him.
He wants this to end.
He wants to die.
He's almost glad when he sees the black spots at the edge of his vision - and all he can do before he passes out, is pray that the last citizens and the remnants of his militia got out safely.
"Oh, my darling Virtue." A voice, hazy, distant. "They've hurt you so badly, haven't they? Worry not, my dear. I'll help."
It's soft. Calming. Almost parental.
Sensations are dull, as if he's reaching them through a dream. Hazy, distant - not-quite-there.
The spike of pain feels like nothing compared to what he just went through. A small shock to his system that barely registers against the burning pain in his side, in his tail.
"I know that hurt, but you're already hurting quite badly, aren't you? Poor thing. I can do this one thing for you, before this all ends."
Pristine Milk doesn't know what's happening to him, but the hurt dulls and fades, and Pristine Milk falls into unconsciousness once more.
The last thing he remembers hearing is the sound of someone screaming.