A/N: Hi. (glances around sheepishly) Long time no post?
Anyway, this next chapter was supposed to be longer, but I decided to post what I had now. The italics you'll see is about Deth's past, because he wasn't always this seemingly crazy madman in a mask. Originally, I had wanted Deth's flashback's to be in one chapter, but I'm putting the rest of his flashbacks in the next chapter, since this one is being split into two. So...enjoy, for those who still read this. :P
Disclaimer: I don't own DB.
A Sinking Feeling
Deth stood slowly from his confident seat on Syrrox. Syrrox noticed his rising and planted his feet firmly, realizing Deth meant to end it now. He was done playing with the hero.
As Syrrox prepared himself, Deth appraised his victims. He cocked his head to one side. "Is this all? Can all you do is dodge with help from…your friend?" He glanced toward Kitt, then laughed and tilted his head to the other side. Success was on his side, and, from what he had seen from these imbeciles from the future, surprise was as well. He had plenty of surprises.
"I can do more than dodge," Moordryd yelled back.
Deth raised both hands and created twin balls of energy that floated above them. "Then show me," he said in a raspy voice, filled with the hint of barely controlled rage.
Moordryd hesitated, then groped around for Artha's jakk-stick. Kitt growled and pulled on his arm. "What are you doing? We have to leave, now!"
Moordryd looked at her as if she were babbling nonsense. "Leave? I don't see a way. And besides, I can do more than dodge!"
As Moordryd shrugged her off, Kitt grabbed his arm again. "No, you can't. I don't think little mag-pushes are going to drive him away, Moordryd. We have to…"
"Get off!" He grabbed her hand and yanked it away from his arm. He swung his newly found jakk-stick at her, grunting with the effort. Kitt barely had time to blink as his unexpected attack hit her in the stomach and knocked her from Wyldfyr's saddle. Beau growled up at him.
"Are you scale scrapped?" Kitt hissed through clenched teeth as she stood up from the ground, trying hard not to place a hand over her bruised middle. She swung an arm at Deth, who had combined his two mag balls into a larger on above his head. Apparently he wanted to finish them off in style. His masked face peered down at them, as if he didn't even need to look at what he was doing, as if it were all too easy for him. If what Connor had said was true, and that Deth had a personal revenge to extract on the Dragon Booster, then Kitt could only assume that he would finish them both off in a way that was worth waiting a millennia for.
His deadly sphere of energy seemed to stop growing when it was three times the size of his head. It then began to slowly change from a purple hue to white. Kitt found herself riveted by the feat, of how the white attacked the purple in such a passive way, and then seem to shine such a brilliant light that she had to finally look away, until the only place she could see without being blinded by the light was directly behind herself and out into the expanse of the drop that would send them to their doom if the attack Deth was preparing wouldn't kill them straightaway. Through it all, Deth watched them carefully, not intending them to leave his sight.
Moordryd and the dragons looked away too and turned around. Kitt squinted at Moordryd, glaring at him, blaming him for everything. "Okay Moordryd. Fight him. Do something now."
Moordryd, with what protection his black visor gave him, was able to look sideways at Kitt without shielding his eyes. He paused momentarily, and with the little resolve he had left after such a display of Deths power, power that was still growing, barked over at Kitt, "You do something!"
Kitt felt like strangling him. "You're the Dragon Booster!"
"I didn't want to be the Dragon Booster. Get me out of this! I was only supposed to do what my father told me, not get killed by something that's after you stable brats."
"Don't pretend that this is our fault, Paynn. It's your father who did all this and you who went along with it!" Kitt shouted as loud as she could at him, but she doubt he heard. She could barely hear herself.
A loud noise came from Deth's sphere of energy, drowning out the sound of everything else. It rose in volume and pitch, until it began to sound like a million tracking dragon flitting around her head, and eventually rising until it became a high shriek, like someone screaming their very soul out.
Kitt covered her ears with her hands and felt the enormity of the situation fall on her and constrict her. She had never felt so beaten, so helpless, and so doomed. She shut her eyes tight and dared to peek at Moordryd. She felt slightly relieved that Artha wasn't there, that the real Dragon Booster would live on. But would that matter? Without his suit, in an alien body and without the Dragon of Legend? A new warrior was released on the world, and Word had won, even though his plan had not succeeded, this was enough.
Briefly she took the time to wonder if Word would feel guilty for sending his son to his death when he found out, if he found out. Then the terrible noise and blinding light stopped all her thoughts until she thought of nothing else but what death must feel like.
--
Willim Trajjik reached up and quietly pulled on his hood, pulling it further over his face so it was fully hidden. He crouched over the table he sat at and grasped his mug with both hands. He instantly felt the heat from the steaming liquid within, and was immediately grateful he had decided to come in the inn for a while, to warm himself up. He just hoped he wasn't jeopardizing anything just to receive a minute or so of warmth. He hunkered further over the table, and felt relieved that no one seemed to have recognized him yet.
He licked his lips and cocked his head to one side as thought slow and deliberately. This was it. He smiled to himself. He was finally doing it.
He stole a glance at the innkeeper, whom everyone called Crash, because he had once caused the largest crash in the reasonable sized town, right in the middle of the busiest intersections. Willim grinned at the years old memory, then let his smile disappear. Everything here was so familiar, in this aggravating, yet safe town he had grown up in. He was leaving it all behind. To do what? To do what he had always dreamed of, to fulfill his destiny.
Crash - Willim still considered it to be a poor, unimaginative nickname - paid him no more attention than he did to the other patrons. For that Willim was thankful, but the other customers stole him glances of curiosity and suspicion at the hooded figure.
Willim didn't blame then. It was war, and anything, or anyone could come to the unlikeliest of towns and stir things up, cause a revolt or spy. They were fearful of spies, ever since the Dragon Flare Empire unleashed a number of well planned out attacks that could only be completed as a result of beforehand spying. Rivenstream, this was the town, was in a strategic location, and though its fealties were sworn to the Dragon Eye Empire, an empire which controlled the region, people feared what would come in the future if the war should continue, which it was likely to do. Nothing would stay safe forever, and the attacks by the Dragon Flare Empire had sent them nothing more than an omen of fear that it could and would happen in this town as well.
So he ignored the glances. He would be gone soon anyway. Running away in the middle of the night - a rainy night, not one of Willim's better plans - and stopping at the local inn was almost sure to have him recognized by someone. Then his father would come and…Willim didn't want to think of the rest.
Willim cast one last look around before downing his drink. He would leave soon. The heat was worth the risk. Willim had not come in just for the heat and warmth, but for the last taste of home and everything familiar before he set out, not knowing whether he would ever return.
As Willim paused to force on his hard gloves, Crash noticed his readiness to leave and came by the table. "Will you be paying now, or shall I put it on your tab?"
"No, I have some…," Willim began to say, but suddenly stopped and started at Crash's blatant observation. Willim glared daggers at the innkeeper. "How did you know it was me?"
Crash seemed taken aback by his serious tone, then chuckled. "Willim, I've known you since you've been born. How could I not recognize you, even under all that clothing? You wear that coat all the time, you know."
Willim bit his lip, and looked down to where he had undone his heavier jacket because of the warmth of the inn, clearly showing his lighter coat beneath.
"Scales, Crash. Be quiet," he hissed as he quickly covered his coat.
"Why? You're not supposed to be here? I though as much. Your father would have a fit if he knew you were here this late at night. I heard you two have a very busy day tomorrow, what with all the new…"
"Crash," Willim interrupted, letting some of his irritation at himself for his lapse of concealment drip into his voice, "I don't want my father to know I was here."
Crash winked at him. "When have I ever told him you've been here late at night? You're walking profit, Willim."
"I'm serious, Crash. I'm…I'm leaving."
Crash studied him, his smile faltering when he heard Willim's serious tone. "What do you mean, leaving?"
"Well, I'm going to join the army."
Crash straightened and looked back at the other guests, who immediately looked away. Sighing, he looked back at Willim. "The army? Why, Willim? Do you fancy an early death?" Crash put his hands on his hips after he wiped them on his pants. "I can see why you don't want your father to know where you are. He'll be worried. And you'll be in trouble."
"Chasel joined the army." Chasel was Willim's older brother; a foot taller than him, as thin as a stick and had the bravery of a mouse. He couldn't even work in his father's slaughter house like Willim did. It made him too queasy. Why his father sent him off to the army was still a mystery for Willim.
"Doesn't mean you have to."
Willim sighed heavily and glared at him, in a foul mood. "I should've gone. Chasel faints after he gets a scratch. Gold draconium, it's a wonder he's alive."
"It is. But the army can change a man."
At this, Willim scoffed in disbelief. Crash picked up Willim's mug, but was loathe to leave. Though his inn was calling to him, and quite a few of his customers were getting pretty irritable at him, Crash couldn't leave Willim yet.
"Go, Crash. I'm leaving now anyway." Willim drew his heavy coat shut, readjusted his hood and stood.
Crash took him by the arm, forcing him to stay. "You'll get killed. The other empires are getting fiercer every day, those grey dragon are beginning to tear up the place, and the Dragon Eye Empire isn't the…well, they're strict and brutal."
"I know," Willim replied, staring into his eyes as he pulled his arm free. "That's why I like them. If you're saying I can't take it, you're wrong, and you know it." Which was true enough. Willim was stocky, strong and resolute. And one of the least squeamish men Crash had ever met.
"It's not just that. There's this new…hero they're calling him. The Dragon Booster. He's allied with the Dragon Flare Empire, they've helped make his new armor. They say he and his dragon are unstoppable."
"I swear, Crash. You're such a newt."
"Does 'Dragon of Legend' mean nothing to you? Last golden dragon? You'll be killed. And your father needs you here."
"The chances that I'll actually face him on the battle field are next to zero. And if I do, I'll be trained."
Willim shoved his way past Crash and peered at the others beneath his hood. It seemed as though no one else had recognized him, and he was almost out. He would be gone soon. He would become a hero soon. A hero of the Dragon Eye Empire. Armeggeddon himself would hail to him.
Crash placed the mug back onto the table with a thud, and hurried after Willim. Willim glanced behind himself as he pulled open the door handle. He hissed venomously back at his friend. "Crash, stop it!"
"Willim, you're making a huge mistake."
"Crash, you're my friend, not my fathe…"
As Willim opened the door, he came face to face with brown eyes, flecked here and there with red, as if to symbolize his trade. Suddenly, the cold, whipping wind and lashing rain had no effect on Willim as he stared astonished.
"Father!" he said be fore he could stop himself.
His father stared back at him. "Willim? Why on Draconis are you wearing all that? For dragon's sake, it's not that cold out. And get back to the house. I'll not have you sleeping in tomorrow."
Willim stared helplessly, and felt himself succumbing to his father's wishes. He almost hung his head in shame and mumbled "yes sir, right away." But he stopped himself. "No," he said instead.
Crash hurried off, his leaving unnoticed by the two Trajjiks. "No?" his father echoed.
Willim shook his head slowly, not for his father, but for himself. He was this far already. He was leaving. "Father…" Willim wondered why his argument didn't sound so convincing anymore.
"Willim," his father growled, not one to be disobeyed, and pointed a finger at him, "Get back to the house. Now."
Willim shook his head again. "No. I'm going to join the army. Like Chasel."
"You fool. You'll be killed."
"I have a better chance than Chasel."
"Chasel's older. He knows what he's doing."
"Chasel couldn't even help in the slaughterhouse."
"You don't have a dragon."
"I'll get one."
As he stared at his father's bloodshot eyes, and as his father stared into the darkness beneath the hood, Willim finally elbowed past him and into the night.
As he walked away, his boots already filling with water and his face venerable to the cold air, his father called out after him, "This war will make me father to one less son. You hear? You're making the biggest mistake of your life!"
Willim didn't look back until the entire town was out of sight, and the warmth of the lights faded into the night. He stared ahead, resolute. What did his father know? He had a destiny to fulfill.
--
Moordryd was sure Deth was ready to unleash his brutal power on them and kill them where they cowered in terror. The noise and bright light stopped all his movements, his thoughts and any instincts he might have that would have told him to get out of there. He was aware of nothing but himself. And then he was falling. A resounding crash, louder than thunder and brighter than lightning, ended the horrible noise and searing light.
Moordryd opened his eyes, expecting himself to be dead and thought he was. He was weightless, falling, and blind. Then, as his eyes readjusted to his surroundings, be began to make out lights in the distance. The further ones stayed still, while the closer lights flew upwards. Lights below himself sped towards him. He heard a roar and saw Beau. Beau shook his head and grinned up at him.
Then Moordryd realized. He was still alive, somehow. And he was falling. "Kitt! We're falling!"
"Thanks, Mr. Obvious," she snarled back, rubbing her head. "No thanks to you."
"What?" Moordryd looked behind himself, which was also up, and saw what remained of the track falling behind them. Huge chunks of draconiun street were hurtling down.
"We're lucky Beau and Wyldfyr jumped before that mag…push hit the street." Kitt bent down to rub Wyldfyr on the head. "Good job, boy."
"Yeah?" Moordryd asked, and cringed at the sight below. "Was that such a good idea?"
The street below rushed up to meet them in a most painful embrace. Moordryd clutched Beau's handles and pressed himself as close as he could to the saddle. He imagined himself hitting the street in a bloody splat, only to have the hunks of street above them to squish whatever was left of him to squish.
Kitt looked at him in worry. Or was it desperation? "Fly."
"Fly? Fly? You expect me to fly?"
"No, I expect Beau to fly. The Dragon Booster can do it. You have to do. Release the dragon, Moordryd."
Moordryd couldn't believe what he was hearing. Neither could Kitt. "You expect me to…"
"It's your only chance. Either that, or you die. We're running out of time."
Moordryd could see the truth of her words, but realized something else. "What about you and your dragon?"
Kitt bit her lower lip and stroked Wyldfyr's ear. Moordryd felt a pang of guilt. "I don't know how Beau could fly and carry Wyldfyr…"
Moordryd let her trail off sadly, then brushed off dust and pebbles that had fallen on his helmet. A good-sized chunk of street barely missed his head. Kitt squeezed her eyes, then looked at Beau, who looked back in genuine sadness. To Moordryd's eyes, Wyldfyr simply looked tired and ready for the inevitable.
"No, I can't leave Wyldfyr," Kitt said. "You don't know how much he means to me. How much we mean to each other."
Moordryd looked at her and understood how she felt. What if Decepshun were the one plummeting to her doom? Looking down, Moordryd saw that they had few precious seconds to spare.
Beau moaned to Kitt that he was sorry. He couldn't possibly fly to safety with another dragon. It was too much. Kitt rubbed a tear from the corner of her eye. "It's not your fault." She opened her mouth to say more, but closed it quickly, unable to.
"Well," Moordryd grunted, getting uncomfortable. "Get on."
"I can't leave him. I just can't let him die."
Kitt looked at him, and Moordryd expected her eyes to be full of pleading for some sort of salvation for Wyldfyr, but saw only defeat. The pain was too much for him. And he realized, that he truly must be as weak as his father always told him, if her pain was affecting him as well. If he had any kind of strength, he would do as she say, and fly away. But he couldn't. Moordryd cursed himself.
Suddenly, it was as if the Dragon Booster, Artha Penn, was right beside him, telling him "Beau chose you too. You can be a hero."
Scale him and his far fetched ideas.
He flung an arm around Kitt's waist, pulled her from her saddle, and threw her behind himself. Kitt sobbed into his back. "Beau," Moordryd instructed the dragon. "Grab his saddle in your mouth."
Kitt stared at the back of his helmet, nearly appalled. "But Beau can't possibly fly while hanging on to Wyldfyr. We'll all…fall."
"We don't need to fly, we just need to glide, to somehow get a softer landing than we otherwise would."
Looking ahead, he couldn't tell whether Kitt was looking at him as if his plan would never work, that the weight would be too much and they would fall, or if she believed in him, or in Beau, rather. He assumed he had her support as she gripped his waist with her arms. This was, after all, Wyldfyr's only hope. Providing Beau would actually fly.
"Release the dragon…" Moordryd started, uncertainly.
"You have to relax, to…to let the power flow through you."
Easy for her to say, she didn't have to do anything. Moordryd gripped the handles tighter, then relaxed his grip and relaxed his whole body. "Release the dragon…" Moordryd wondered what made Artha the Dragon Booster? His body? Or was it himself, and did his body have nothing to do with it? Or was it the suit? Either way, he wasn't sure he could do this.
Sensing his self-doubt, Kitt said, "You can do it. Let Beau and yourself become one….it's all in the suit." She added in as an afterthought, to give him some encouragement that he had help as well.
Moordryd sighed heavily, then tried again. Kitt clutched his armor. Moordryd could tell they didn't have long. He chanted the phrase over and over, forcing himself to relax, wondering whether it would work.
Though his eyes were closed, he could sense the golden glow beginning to surround Beau. And if Kitt's gasp of hope was no hint, he didn't know what was. He smiled and chanted out loud, with Kitt joining in as well.
"Release the dragon. Release the dragon."
He didn't know how to describe it. It was like part of him was flowing into Beau and part of Beau was flowing into him. If their lives hadn't rested on this feat, he might've been scared out of his wits.
"Release the dragon. Release the dragon."
Finally, it happened. Kitt laughed, Moordryd heard a strange sound of something unfurling, Beau grunted and strained with his neck muscles to lift his head which still clasped Wyldfyr's saddle tightly, and Moordryd felt their fall subside. They were gliding.
He opened his eyes. Well, they weren't actually gliding; it was more like a very slow fall on an angle, but it was a gliding motion.
"Yes!" Moordryd laughed and pumped his fist into the air, concentration no longer needed. "I did it!"
"I think Beau can do it!" Kitt exclaimed as she looked down at the approaching street that was suspended between two buildings. "Come on boy, you can do it!"
Moordryd looked down to Beau's face, where the strain was clearly evident. Wyldfyr was trying his best not to move while Beau tried his very best not to lose what little lift he had.
"Oh, yeah. Go, dragon, go," Moordryd added.
Kitt suddenly gasped and pushed Moordryd's head to the right, rather violently and completely unnecessary, he thought.
"Hey! Watch it, stable br - "
Moordryd stopped mid sentence as a block of what was once called a street thundered past his head, along with a few scraps of metal pipes. Beau stifled a pained whine as they glanced off his upper right shoulder.
"Oh, no." Moordryd heard Kitt say behind him. No longer angry at her for saving his precious head, he looked behind and saw the broad edge of a very large piece of track falling right above his head.
"Oh," was all he said to the track that seemed to hover right above him.
When he looked down again, and wished he hadn't, he saw the other street. Stationary, solid, full of people and dragons and promising a world of hurt. Great. They'd hit the street, and immediately after, the falling track above would squish them. But tough luck, because Moordryd Paynn was not ready to die just yet, and neither were any of the humans or dragons currently falling.
"Um, lean back!" Kitt said, hoping that their position on Beau would help him better if they weren't actually leaning forward.
Moordryd gripped the handles in both his hands, pulling back and throwing his body weight behind him. Beau struggled to maintain the correct angle for descending as the seconds slid by and the street below raced towards them, all while the plunging track above them fell with in torrent of wind accompanied by the sounds of metal and concrete striking each other. Moordryd felt the smaller pieces bounce of his helmet.
Wyldfyr held his tail between his legs and curled up into a ball as their time ran out. Beau growled and flung his head back, trying to lift Wyldfyr so he wouldn't hit the side of the street as they plummeted by it.
Kitt and Moordryd both screamed as both dragons hit the side of the street, taking out the guard rail as well. Beau bit down hard on Wyldfyr's saddle as Wyldfyr himself roared in pain. And just as quickly as they had made contact with their forbidden, suspended street, thankfully at enough of an angle so it wasn't quite a direct hit, they were falling again. They had merely hit the very edge of it.
Moordryd looked up. They had made it! The track that had fallen with them exploded onto the street that Moordryd had been sure would have been their final resting place. Crumpling under the force, the street broke, but Moordryd, at that point, didn't really care. They were past it!
"Look out!" Kitt exclaimed. Moordryd glanced forward and both screamed again as Beau careened into an alleyway, for a moment gliding over the ground, then crashing to the ground and finally stopping in a mound of garbage. Moordryd felt himself fly over the handles, and for a while, his world was spinning and every part of his body was being hit at the same time. Then it was immediately over with a jarring stop.
When his bearings decided to return to him, he groaned and realized he was nearly upside down in the garbage pile. He heard several boxes shift and fall over, the dragons moan, and Beau apparently breath a sigh of relief. He groaned to let the others know that the fall had hurt him as well. Even though he was wearing armor, it hurt like scales.
He lifted his head slowly, then jerked it up when a realization hit him. He couldn't hear Kitt. Only the dragons.
"Kitt?" he called as he attempted to straighten himself out. He managed to fall through a broken box, taking the entire pile of trash that was on top of him along for the ride. He groaned anew as he hit the cool pavement. He debated whether he should actually get up, or if he could rest for a while, at least until his whole body stopped hurting so much.
He heard the dragons stumble around as they got up, or whatever it was they were doing. Moordryd didn't much care what they did. He was alive, and for now, that was all that mattered. He took in a deep breath that smelled like rotting trash, dust and sweat. But he didn't care.
Beau, meanwhile, stood shakily up on his legs, and was quite a bit more worried for his companions their current Dragon Booster was. His shoulder was bleeding and countless areas of his body hurt, especially his strained legs and his hind feet, which had took the brunt of the collision with the street they had been trying to avoid. Not to mention the left side of his face had a deep scratch from where the guard rail had hit.
Beau closed his eyes and growled, knowing full well that things were going to get worse. They had not escaped Deth, just outran, or rather, outfell him for the moment. Beau attempted to take a few steps, but could do no more than one without collapsing. He looked around for Wyldfyr, and saw him lift his head painfully a little ways off. But where were the humans?
Shut up, stupid dragon, Moordryd thought begrudgingly. His head was hurting from Beau's continuing roars. Then Wyldfyr joined in as well. Oh yeah, Moordryd thought. Wyldfyr. Kitt should thank me for…Kitt!
Moordryd stood up, brushing aside and throwing boxes from him. He still hadn't heard Kitt. He looked at the two dragons and was shocked at their condition. Blood seeped from their once reflective scales, and Moodryd was beginning to feel guilty, that he had been the only one with armor to shield him from nearly everything and to protect him from impact. Even Kitt hadn't had…
Moordry gasped and glanced around quickly. Kitt had no armor. "Kitt!" he yelled and began to grasp boxes and junk and hurl them away, looking for his buried comrade. No wait, not comrade; just a stable brat.
"Kitt!" he called again, but was rewarded with no answer.
