Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 13 of 22

Draxin flexed his fingers. The yellow scales clicked along his knuckles. His arms felt heavy and light at the same time, like he was holding them and not holding them. He didn't understand the new weight. He only knew Spike was still standing there, and Spike had burned him. He charged. Spike threw ink. Draxin got an arm up on instinct. The black rope hit his forearm and slid off the scales in a hiss of steam. No pain. Spike's eyes went wide. "Okay," Spike said. "Okay, that's new." Draxin swung. He meant to hit Spike's jaw. His arm went too fast. His fist ripped past Spike's ear and cracked the tree behind him. Bark exploded. Splinters rained down. "Whoa!" Spike ducked and rolled sideways. He came up laughing, but the laugh was thin. "Kid, you don't even know where your hands are." He was right. Draxin's second swing spun him halfway around. He stumbled. His feet couldn't keep up with his arms. He caught himself on the scaled palm and the ground cracked under it. Spike came in low with ink pooling in both hands. Draxin threw his arm out wild. The back of his scaled wrist caught Spike across the chest and lifted him off his feet. Spike hit a tree trunk and slid down it, coughing. Draxin walked at him. His breath came ragged. He raised his fist over Spike's head. He was going to bring it down. He wanted to. He wanted the burn on his arms to be somebody's fault out loud. Spike wiped blood off his lip and grinned up at him. "Do it, banner boy." A hand closed on the back of Draxin's neck. A second hand closed on the back of Spike's. Draxin had one blink to see the gray scarf and the cigar. Dante didn't say anything. He slammed their heads together into the dirt. Draxin's vision went white. The star pupils rolled up. The warmth in his chest snapped shut like a door. He felt the scales still there. He felt Spike's shoulder against his own. Then he didn't feel anything. Dante stood over them. Ash fell from the cigar onto Spike's mohawk. He looked at Draxin's arms, still yellow and glowing faintly at the seams. He grunted. Zag crept out from behind the red bush. The little mushroom stopped at the edge of the clearing, stubby hands pressed to his green cap. "Come on," Dante said, not to Zag, not to anyone. He bent down. He hooked Spike over one shoulder like a sack. He hooked Draxin over the other. The scaled arms hung down Dante's back, knuckles dragging leaves. Dante turned toward the hideout and started walking. Zag scrambled after him, quiet, keeping up.