A/N: Sorry to all who are reading this, for the late update. Though I'm not too sure about how I handled Connor down below. But I had to put in some angst, in a way. Read (you probably will, if you're reading this) and review. (You must review!!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Booster.

The Foreboding Feeling

Artha groaned as he saw Moordryd saunter up to him with a smirk on his face and a mouth full of gloating. "Hey Penn-brat."

Artha sighed and turned to face Moordryd from where he had just about to duck into his crew tent. He should have stayed out of sight, like his Dad had said, and not gone to watch the race, which Moordryd had apparently won.

Moordryd's high and mighty air of confidence was more than a simple reason for Artha to dread the coming conversation. He wasn't looking forward to answering any questions or to be barraged by a relenting stream of insults, especially those directed to his inability to talk correctly. Artha politely forced a small smile to acknowledge Moordryd's presence, as his Dad always said was important, even when the person you talked with was Drakkus himself. But not surprisingly, the attempt to receive a civil answer in return was brushed aside.

Moordryd stood and crossed his arms, an unspoken gesture to indicate that right now, he was the one on top of the whole world. In his own opinion, anyway. "I missed you at the race. I had thought you were sick, but…" Moordryd stared at Artha's body, still half in his crew tent. Moordryd continued with a smirk. "You don't look all that sick. What happened to your mouth?"

Artha grimaced, with pained him. "Hi Moordryy."

Moordryd closed his mouth from whatever he had been about to say in response, and actually tried to hold back his laughter, an unexpectedly polite thing for him to do. "What?"

Artha sighed inwardly and outwardly. "I hav troufle talkin," he forced out, trying to move his jaw as little as possible and still be understandable.

Moordryd stared at him. "You…I'm sorry, stable-brat. I didn't understand. Can you repeat that?" Moordryd grinned sardonically at him, causing Artha to fantasize about dropping a few hundred pounds of dragon dung on Moordryd's head.

Artha released the image grudgingly. "I haf t'go." Artha mumbled and turned to go in the tent.

"Wait, is that why you weren't racing?" Moordryd asked, grabbing Artha by the shoulder and stopping him with a rough hand. The sudden movement reverberated through his jaw. In pain, Artha only gave a slight nod. Moordryd laughed sharply. "What's the matter? Afraid your jaw would hurt? You avoided an academy qualifying race because of your jaw?"

"Et really hurts," Artha managed to respond coherently.

Moordryd scoffed at him. "How did you mess up your jaw?"

Artha ordered his mind to frantically work up a good alibi. Since he had only expected to watch the race and disappear without anyone seeing him, he didn't have an alibi ready. Oh, Connor had told him that morning to make one up, but Artha had put it off till later. "I, uh…" Artha stalled, knowing mentioning Slatr was out of the question. It was best to lead Moordryd in as different a direction from the Dragon Booster as possible.

"What'd you do? Walk into a door?" Moordryd chuckled and slapped his knee. "I bet you did!"

"I dindt!" Artha protested to no clear avail. No way was his alibi going to make him look clumsy or such! "I…I god it while…uh, safing someone."

Moordryd cocked his head and peered at him questionably, all traces of his former amusement gone. "You what?"

"Yesh, I safed someone."

"You…saved someone?"

"Yesh. Thads how I god this bruise."

Moordryd let his arms dangle by his side. "You did not."

Artha clenched his jaw in defiance, which hurt a great deal. "Did too."

Moordryd's face was unreadable, but Artha could tell he didn't believe him one bit. Then they were interrupted, which Artha was thankful for, as it gave him more time to think of how he actually saved someone.

"Hi, Moordryd, what a pleasant surprise." Parm's voice came to the two racers hesitantly. Moordryd clenched his teeth and turned to meet the rest of the Penn Racing crew with a sneer.

With Wyldfyr strolling behind, Kitt walked beside Parm, her face just as displeased as his to see Paynn. "Actually, I would rather come face to face with a hydrag."

"An ugly hydrag! With bad breath and…."

"Lance…"

"What?"

Kitt rolled her eyes as Lance just shrugged. "What are you doing here, Moordryd?" She stopped and put a hand on her hip in annoyance.

Moordryd answered in a friendlier tone than he had greeted Artha with. "Nothing. Just seeing how Artha here was doing. Shame you missed the race. Not."

"Lucky for you then. Artha would've kicked your scales," Lance piped in defensively.

Moordryd chuckled at him. "Keep dreaming mini-brat," he drawled. Lance put on an irritated look, only broken by the slight rising of the corner of his mouth in playfulness that usually only came about when Artha himself was teasing him in brotherly affection. Moordryd grinned at him fondly, then immediately replaced it with an angry smirk directed at the rest of them. He turned back to Artha and looked him over to assess the competitive danger he faced. Artha frowned as Moordryd shrugged him off.

"I guess you won't be racing for a while then, if you're weak enough to let a bruise keep you from even one race."

Artha tightened his fists. He would have raced that morning, if not for Beau's condition. "I'll be rasing soon."

"You sound funny." Moordryd laughed. Artha growled.

"If you're done here, Paynn, maybe you should just scale off." Kitt said and took a few steps closer to Artha to lend her support. Parm nodded and crossed his arms. Artha waited for Moordryd's response as he looked them over.

"Fine." He huffed, but lingered to prove that when he left, it was because he wanted to, and not because they told him to. "But since I've won this race, you'll practically have to win all your next few races just to keep up with me, Penn." Moordryd poked Artha on his chest, causing him to fall back a step and right into the crew tent.

Artha threw back the flap of the tent's canvas irately with his hand, stood in the entrance and glared at Moordryd with his usual, 'I hate Moordryd' glare. Unfortunately for him and to the amusement of Moordryd, the tent flap quickly bounced back and slapped him in the face, making him stumble backwards.

Moordryd burst out laughing instantly, Kitt chuckled before she could clamp a hand over her mouth, Parm winced and Lance snickered without bothering to try to cover up. Artha groaned crossly and glared at Moordryd when he spoke up. Moordryd shook his head at him. "I don't see how you could've saved anyone with those moves, Penn."

Kitt, much to Artha's dismay, turned to him. "Saved someone?"

"Drac, Artha! When did you do that? Who? And how?" Lance asked eagerly.

Artha rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, you kno. Thad's hoe I god his bruise."

His racing crew looked at him questionably. Moordryd glanced at them, then laughed before he strode away. "I still say you walked into a door, stable-brat!" He walked away, chuckling.

The crew stood silently for a few seconds before Parm spoke up. "Oh, uh, saving someone was your excuse for how you got the bruise?" Parm asked hesitantly. Artha nodded, somewhat miffed.

"Well, don't sweat it, stable-boy," Kitt said.

Lance decided to offer a bit of consolation. "Yeah, who cares if he tells everyone you walked into a door?"

Artha sighed and walked into the tent miserably. The others followed.

----------

Moordryd glanced coolly around, a smirk on his face and his eyes gleaming with the thrill of yet another steal. The stables remained as quiet as before as all occupants, undisturbed, continued to slumber. He saw Rancyyd give him a thumbs up from his hiding place across the street. Moordryd jumped up quietly and grasped the small ledge with his fingers. Lifting himself up, he looked through the window of the stable door. Four dragons. All asleep, save for one, who had eyes half closed and a look of contentment on her face.

Moordryd grinned and dropped down to the ground in an instant crouch. This could quite possibly be easier than the last dragon theft they had pulled off. And four at once, better than the last night. His father would, should, be pleased.

Moordryd beckoned Cain over with a slight wave of his hand. As Cain ran over, Swayy crept out of the shadows and walked her dragon closer to them, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Rancyyd went to retrieve the wagon.

As Cain reached Moordryd in a soundless run, achieved from years of practice, they both opened the stables and readied their drain whips and flash sticks. Moordryd didn't want the one dragon to make a fuss and wake everyone up.

As the door to the stable opened, the one dragon, a turquoise, raised her head. She yawned sleepily. Hearing the wagon being backed up to where they were, Moordryd and Cain prodded the dragons awake and into the wagon. As the turquoise, who hadn't made so much as a peep from being urged out into the night into a strange van, passed him, Moordryd glanced her quickly over, then dismissed her. His father had mentioned that Slatr's 'poison' would infect the dragon and keep it from sleeping and give it a large appetite. But this dragon wasn't the Dragon of Legend, it had too short a face and no chin.

"Swayy," Moordryd whispered up to the girl on the black, "any others in the stable?"

"No," she responded, as quiet as he had been, "these are the only ones. The others are somewhere else."

"And might return soon," Moordryd grumbled. "Let's get going."

"Ah," Cain sighed and closed the back of the van up. "Three nights of stealing, and still no Dragon Booster."

"Like my father said, his dragon is in no condition to do anything since he was stabbed." Moordryd said, pleased with the idea. His smile faded as he noticed the unhurried movements from his crew. "Get moving! I want to steal as many dragon as I can before that idiot comes back."

As the van pulled away from the stables without hindrance, and as Moordryd and Cain mounted their dragons and guided the laden wagon back to the compound, Cain remarked. "You know, since his dragon was stabbed, the Dragon Booster won't ever come back. His dragon is doomed. And what can he do without his dragon? As of now," Cain's grin of maliciousness was accompanied by a short laugh, "the Dragon Booster is no more."

Moordryd had to say, he was absolutely thrilled with that idea.

----------

Artha stared at the stable floor, his shoulders heavy with the burden of the Dragon Booster. As he should have expected, the crime rate had increased dramatically, suggesting Word knew he was, for the moment, out of order. As more and more dragons disappeared in the deep of the night without so much as a whisper or the ghost of a footprint as to who was behind it, the people began to ask, "where has the Dragon Booster gone?" Huge thefts, night after night, and still no hero to stop them, like he always used to do.

Artha crossed his arms and laid them onto his knees, which were also supporting his head as he sat beside Beau. Beau lay on his side, his breathing normal again. A few nights ago his breathing had been laboured. Now he seemed healthier and on the verge of getting better. Artha was glad to know that. Beau's stab wound had healed dramatically, enough so that Connor felt it was healed enough for Artha to take Beau out for a spin during the night, to stretch his muscles.

Artha and Beau had just returned from that very night out, during which Beau had ran along happily and without the slightest indication that he had been terribly wounded not too long ago.

Beau rolled onto this belly and nosed Artha's head with is chin. Artha lifted his head. "What?"

Beau gestured to his food trough, which he had completely emptied right before they had left. "What, more food? You can't still be hungry, Beau." Beau nodded his head vigorously.

Artha sighed and stood slowly. "Alright, just a bit more. You've been eating a lot lately. More than Cyrano." Artha grinned at his dragon. Beau chuckled and followed Artha to the food trough, where Artha emptied the remaining contents of a sack of dragon food. Beau thrust his head into the trough and gulped up the food as if he hadn't eaten in days. "Well, I guess eating gives you more energy, and helps you heal faster, right?" Artha watched Beau lick the bottom of the trough. "Either that, or it's just going to make you really fat."

Beau looked at Artha and shook his head seriously. Artha laughed and patted Beau. "We'll be kicking Moordryd's scales soon, won't we? Maybe tonight even." Beau brightened and nodded his head enthusiastically, then abruptly yawned. "I guess you ought to get some sleep first, huh?" Beau wished he could.

"Artha? How was Beau?"

Artha turned to see Connor walk in, followed by Lance. "Lance here tells me that Beau did pretty well. No limping or anything?"

"Nothing, Dad." Artha said, cheerfully. "It was like he hadn't been hurt at all!"

Lance sighed. "Like I said, he's the Dragon of Legend!" He finished in a deep, dramatic voice.

Connor chucked and ruffled Lance's hair. "He is, and that's probably why he healed so quickly. I'd say he's close to ready to save the day again. And you too. Your bruise is…getting better."

Lance sniggered. "Better? It looks like you have a…"

Artha touched his bruise as Connor covered Lance's mouth his with hand. "It's getting better, Artha. Even though it doesn't look like it."

"Yeah, at least I can talk again." Artha grinned, then slowly that grin turned into a frown. "Dad?"

Connor could already sense where this was going. "Yes?"

Artha looked at Beau, and tried to find some comfort in his friend. "Dad…" Artha said as he turned back to look at his father, and his younger brother who waited to see what would happen. "If Beau's ready, I think we should go."

"Artha…" Connor paused for a moment. "You're bruise is still very…erm, noticeable, and I don't want anyone realizing that both you and the Dragon Booster have a bruise in the same place. And Beau's sleeping patterns aren't normal yet, in fact, they're very…."

"But he looks fine, Dad. Aren't you boy?" Artha looked at Beau, who nodded his head. He too recognized where this conversation would ultimately lead. Artha and he had a certain responsibility to the city, and they couldn't ignore it for too long. Which Artha was afraid they were doing.

"I mean, Moordryd's been stealing a lot of dragons lately. And I'm not there to stop him." Artha continued, and his tone became persistent and stubborn. "Kitt, Parm and Lance aren't stopping the Dragon Eyes. And they can't deal with the Shadow Booster. I can. Moordryd has to be stopped. And since Word knows the Dragon Booster isn't there anymore, who knows what he's planning!"

Artha took his father's expression in with a hopeful heart. Connor looked Artha and Beau over, somewhat worriedly. Was Beau ready? Intense and very recent memories of watching VIDDscreens suddenly flashed through his mind.

When he had first heard of Slatr rampaging through the city, his mind had told him that the Dragon Booster would end the chaos, like he always managed to do. He had never expected one dragon to be such a challenge. Like always, whenever he had been waiting for Artha and his friends to finish up any mission, he would wait apprehensively, full of worry. So many things could go wrong. Though nothing ever did seem to go amiss, that never eased his fears. Each day held new dangers for his sons.

That day when he waited for Artha to return from fighting Slatr, he waited with the same feelings, though believing he would return safe. He remembered sitting in the stables, waiting, until Parm contacted him on his wrist-comm. Parm had been rambling and barely coherent, but Connor had heard enough to think his heart had suddenly skipped more than a beat. Hurt bad…don't know if they're alright…heard an explosion…Lance is dead…the blood…. Connor almost surprised himself, at the fact that those were the only words he remembered from talking frantically to Parm. The waiting after that was intolerable, with so many fantasies about what had happened to his sons, his only family. Then, seeing both his children, whether they were covered in the stomach contents of the dragon or with a horrible bruise and contorting expressions of pain on their face, gave Connor a realization. They weren't going to be safe forever, and this scare could quite possibly be one of the most mild ones he was to get. That thought scared him.

Connor looked to Artha and Beau, angry that Beau was healing so quickly. He wasn't ready to let Artha back onto the streets. Why had he let him go before, all those other times? "I…"

"Dad," Artha said, looking into his father's suddenly pale face. "That dragon is dead."

Connor blinked, slightly wary that Artha had somehow read his mind. "I know."

"We have to stop Moordryd."

Connor found himself nodding slowly, though he didn't feel ready. He had thought Lance was dead, and Artha and Beau terribly wounded. The thought still sickened him. "Word doesn't usually…rebound after an attack." Connor said softly, attempting to convince himself to let Artha go, like he had so many previous times.

Artha nodded. "Moordryd has never really hurt Beau and me before." That comment let Connor know that Artha indeed knew what he had been thinking, to a certain degree.

Connor breathed deeply and made his decision. "If there is another stealing tonight, you…I want you and Beau to stop it."

Artha grinned widely, and Lance, who had been unusually quiet, shouted, "alright! Dragon Booster is back!"

Artha and Lance rushed to pet Beau, while Connor chided himself. The Dragon Booster should not be held back by a worried parent. He had to grow strong and save the world. Connor felt his heart fall. No matter how hard it hurt, or how hard it was to see his son in danger, it was the Dragon Booster's duty.

Beau grinned feebly as Artha began talking of the Dragon Booster's triumphant return, aided by Lance's dramatic additions. No one noticed Beau's phony grin. He felt strange. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. And he was hungry again.

As Artha's arm brushed particularly close to his mouth, it opened. Beau's teeth were inches from Artha's arm, his hot breath on the sleeve. Kill. As quickly as the arm had appeared by Beau's mouth, it left as Artha playfully pushed Lance.

Beau was slightly horrified at himself. Was that his thought, the one that quickly jumped into his mind? What terrified him further though, was the fact that he wasn't as horrified as he should have been. He had just though of hurting his closest friend, and he didn't care.

Beau laid his head down on his paws. He didn't feel so good.

----------

The Precinct stable door opened, and cast a glaring beam of light that fell upon the three restless dragons within. They turned and growled, bearing their slavering maws towards the wretched human that dared to disturb them. Magis looked from one to another, and quickly stepped further behind the stable door, wishing he hadn't opened it to check on the DCS dragons in the first place. The dragons roared at him in unison, whipping their heads around as they did so with unbridled energy from being stuck in the stable for days, never mind that they hadn't gotten rest or slept. Then they charged forward.

Magis threw all his weight on the door and tried to close it quickly. He would have succeeded, had one dragon not sent a mag-push his way that managed to hit his hands. Magis was very lucky his fingers had been the only part of his body not shielded by the stable door. He fell to the ground and held his bloody fingers before his pained and frightened face.

The dragons thrust their heads into the opening and pushed the door open. They looked down at Magis, noticed the blood and growled. Magis struggled to his feet and immediately ran. The dragons were about to give in to hot pursuit, but were stopped as a command seemed to overrun all other thoughts in their minds. The poison from Slatr overtook them.

Destroy the Dragon Booster.