Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 12 of 22

Draxin walked until the trees thinned. He stopped at a gap in the brush where a strange bush grew from the dry ground. Dark red branches twisted up out of the dirt. Small orange flowers glowed on it like the warmth in his chest. He touched one leaf. It was hot. Zag climbed off his shoulder and pressed his green cap against the stem, sniffing. The mushroom's stubby hand pointed back the way they came. Draxin turned. Spike stood between two trees. His white and purple mohawk caught the last light. His jacket was open. The purple skull on his shoulder looked wet. He was smiling with all his teeth. "Told you," Spike said. "Worse." Draxin grabbed Zag and shoved him behind the bush. "Stay." "Cute pet." Spike raised his hands. Black ink bubbled up from his palms and dripped into the dirt. The dirt hissed. "Captain's not here, banner boy. Just us. Just work." Draxin ran at him. It was stupid and he knew it. He swung. Spike leaned back, laughing, and flicked his wrist. A rope of ink whipped across Draxin's forearm. The pain came a second late. Draxin looked down. The skin on his arm was smoking. A strip of it peeled back like wet paper. He screamed and stumbled into the bush. Thorns caught his side. "That's the acid," Spike said. He walked forward slow. "Don't get it in your mouth. Bad day." Draxin punched at him with his good arm. Spike caught the fist and slapped ink across Draxin's other forearm. The skin went black, then red, then wrong. Draxin fell to his knees. His arms hung at his sides, cooked and shaking. "Come on, kid." Spike crouched in front of him. His piercings caught the orange from the flowers. "Use the stone. Do the thing. Give Captain a reason." Draxin shoved at the warmth in his chest. Nothing. He spat at Spike's boot. Spike laughed. He stood up and lifted one hand. Ink pooled in his palm the size of a skull. "Alright," he said. "Neck it is." Draxin closed his eyes. The warmth in his chest tore open. Heat ran down his shoulders into his ruined arms. His eyes snapped wide. He could see the veins in the leaves. He could see the sweat on Spike's throat. Everything had a yellow edge on it, like sun through paper. Spike's smile dropped. "Wait," he said. Draxin looked at his arms. The burned skin was lit from underneath. Small hard scales pushed up through the raw meat, one after another, yellow as the flowers behind him. They clicked as they came in. His fingers curled. They did not hurt anymore. He looked up. His pupils were two white stars in a field of orange fire. Zag peeked out of the bush and made a small, scared sound. Spike took one step back.