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Chapter 2: The New Body

Artha blearily opened his eyes. One moment he was playing yet another game of battle ground dragon with Lance, and then the world had suddenly turned dark. He wondered if he had fainted. He tried to get up, as he was sure he was on the ground, but his arms refused to move far. He struggled to move his legs, but they too were obstructed in some way. And they felt different. Longer, if it were possible. "What the…" He started to say before shutting his mouth closed with a snap. His voice sounded odd. Finally his vision started to clear, and he saw the last thing he expected. Word Paynn was watching him intently, a malicious grin on his face. Artha looked around frantically. This definitely wasn't Penn Stables. He was in Word's citadel.

"How are you feeling, Artha Penn?" Word asked softly. It seemed to Artha that he spoke the last part in a near question. He glared at him. Something wasn't right. How did he get here? He started to ask just that.

"Why am I…" He was unable to say anything more as the foreign sound of his new voice echoed in his ears. Why had his voice changed? It frightened him.

"Why are you in my citadel?" Word guessed at what he had been trying to say. His grinned widened. "My, but that is a mystery to you, isn't it?" Artha's mind raced with possibilities, but each one he thought up was dismissed immediately. Word smiled as he watched.

"What do you want with me, Paynn?" He said harshly. Artha's eyes widened as he recognized the sound. Word laughed and pulled out a mirror he had been concealing from behind his back.

"Care to look?" He questioned. Artha stared at him, barely grasping the truth of it all. He struggled to turn his head, only finding out why he was immobile. Green trapping gear snaked across his arms, chest and legs, holding him up tightly to the wall. He looked down. He was wearing a heavy, black jacket. His neck ached as he ignored Word's continuing laughter and twisted his head as far as it would go to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw stark white hair.

"No!" He screamed as Word finally held up the mirror.

"Artha? Helloooo?" The distant sound of a young voice accompanied Moordryd's sight as he opened his eyes. The room spun in circles, then finally stopped on Lance's worried face. "Artha? Artha, are you alright?"

"What?" Moordryd sat up and put a hand on his head as the last remnants of dizziness subsided. He glanced at his hands. He wasn't tied up anymore. His breath caught in his throat as he realized he was no longer in his father's citadel either. "Oh no," he breathed, "Magna Draconis, no." But it was too late. The echo of Artha Penn's voice hung in the deep silence between the two boys.

"Artha? What's wrong?" Lance persisted in his fretting tone. Moordryd looked at him, confused.

"Oh, uh…nothing…er…Lance? Nothing. I…er…I fainted…" Moordryd gave a weak smile, then decided to chuckle. Was that how Penn acted? He had no idea. Lance looked at him skeptically.

"That's not how people faint."

"What?"

Lance sighed as if it were obvious. "When people faint, they don't drop down like they're dead." He glared at his older brother, who looked on in complete confusion. "They put their hand to their head and their eyes roll up into their head. Then they fall backwards." Lance then provided an excellent imitation to his explanation.

"People don't faint like that!"

"Yah-huh, they do! It's in all the movies!" Lance said in rebuttal.

"Magna Draconis, mini-bra…er…bro, no they don't." Moordryd nearly shouted. Luckily he was able to cover his near slip quite nicely, he thought.

Lance was at first shocked by his brother's quick temper. As he looked on in surprise, Artha merely attempted to act casual. Something must definitely be wrong with him. "Did you almost call me mini-brat?"

"Uh, no. I called you mini-bro." Moordryd drummed Artha's fingers on the ground, as Lance looked on in bewilderment. Then he shakily got to his feet and looked around. Artha was pretty short. It appeared he was in a stable, which also served as the Penn Racing Crew's equipment and gear room. A rather pathetic gear room. Now it was time to figure out the Dragon Booster's identity, and return to his own body.

"You sure you're feeling drac?"

"I've never felt so drac before." Moordryd lied. He was sick to his stomach. "So, uh…"

"Oh, I get it." Lance said bluntly.

"Wha?" The mini-brat couldn't possibly know, could he? Moordryd mentally slapped himself. Of course he couldn't. "Get what?" He said as he acted as casual as he could.

"You faked it, didn't you? You couldn't bear to lose to me again." Lance folded his arms and looked up at his older brother in victory.

"Ah, of course. You caught me." Moordryd put on a fake smile.

"I knew it." Lance bent down to pick up the VIDD-game Moordryd had left on the ground. "You really stink at fainting you know."

"I know." Moordryd clenched his fist tightly. Just get this over with.

"Artha, Lance!" Parm called as he and Kitt walked up. Great, Moordryd thought, now he had to be polite to Penn's friends. He didn't actually mind being with Lance, but if he had to pretend to be egghead's best friend, he just might scream.