by Aaron Crash
Steven recalled what the red dragon had said about strength, armor, the ability to shift his shape, and exhalants. He closed his eyes. He felt the energy in his chest, that terrible churning heat, which burned all the brighter as he focused. It quickly became painful, almost unbearable, but he pushed on, pressing his eyes shut tighter as he concentrated. An image bloomed in his mind’s eye, brilliant strands of opalescent light churning and twisting, unfurling like a flower’s petals, only to curl up and lash out like writhing tentacles of power.
Somehow, he knew he was looking at the raw life force, the Animus, filling him up. But he couldn’t make sense of it. It was anarchy in motion.
Still, Tessa’s words echoed in his mind: “If this were a video game, you could get an ability tree …” That? That he could comprehend. So, he sharpened his thoughts like a knife, envisioning the various skill trees from a half-dozen different games he’d played, and forced the shifting, chaotic strands of Animus into a more familiar shape. His heart raced, sweat broke out across his brow, and his hands and arms trembled from the sheer effort.
But something was definitely happening. The twisting strands of opalescent light were pulsing, throbbing in time with his heart as they took on a new form. Slowly, slowly, a flickering image appeared, a skill tree, though not like anything he’d ever seen before. A skill tree in the form of an intricate black dragon, studded with glowing lights like burning stars. The image wavered and danced, refusing to resolve long enough for him to get a good look. But he gritted his teeth and pushed ceaselessly against the mental resistance, determined to win this battle. This was his brain, dammit, and the Animus belonged to him, so it would do what he told it to do!
His brow furrowed, and his chest and back slickened with sweat. And then, just when it felt like he would collapse from the exertion, the image appeared again. Dim, vaguely translucent, but there:
Steven glanced over the strange image. The burning dots had to be different skills and abilities that he could unlock and utilize with the Animus flowing through him, but they were all blank save for the dot in the center, which read Animus Absorption. And then the image was gone, disappeared, as his concentration broke. He was panting hard and his mind felt weak from the effort. So instead of trying to force the tree back into view, he tried something a little different.
This time, he thought about how cool it was to be bulletproof. What if he could double down and really thicken his hide?
He imagined having scales like the red dragon knight had when he was in his partial state, part human and part dragon. He imagined being able to turn his arms into strong, scaled limbs with razor-sharp claws. He envisioned wings protruding from his back, wisps of smoke curling up from his nostrils. The smell of orange blossoms filled his nose, followed immediately by a smokier scent, like a roaring campfire in the heart of winter. And not just any campfire, but a campfire burning cedar—simultaneously sweet and spicy.
He cracked his eyes to find Tessa staring at him. “Do I look different?” he asked.
“No, but do you smell that? It’s coming from you,” she said and pulled him down to bury her face in his chest. “And it smells so good! It makes me want you again!”
“I can arrange that,” Steven said.
Then hell struck his house. The entire building shook. The window in his room shattered, flinging glass.
Steven leapt from the bed, hit the floor, grabbed his jeans, and slid them on in one quick motion. Something huge hit his door. The wood shuddered and creaked in protest.
A figure appeared in the window, a huge man, with a bald head, dressed in leather. Across his back was … no … couldn’t be … but yes, he had a broadsword sheathed on his back. If he got to that weapon, he’d hack Steven to pieces.
Steven couldn’t let that happen. Charging forward, he drove a shoulder into the guy climbing through the window. The man gripped Steven and hauled him outside. They fell onto a car in the driveway between houses. There were two cars and an SUV parked in a line.
“Steven!” Tessa screamed from inside. Another loud bang from whoever was trying to breach the door. If they got inside, they might hurt her.
Lights flickered on all over the house. People yelled out in alarm. Most likely, they would all call the police, or at least Old Man Yank would.
Steven clambered to his feet. The metal hood of the Subaru bent and crunched under his weight. The bald guy rose, standing on the hood, and yanked the broadsword from the sheath. He attacked.
Steven raised an arm and took the edge on his forearm. That sweet cedar-fire smell once again filled the air. The blade struck his arm in a shower of sparks. Steven’s right arm had changed. His shoulder was white skin, but that skin ended in black scales covering a huge bicep. He could hardly believe it was his arm. Not only had his muscles grown, but his hands had elongated into dragon claws. Each finger was tipped with a three-inch obsidian talon as sharp as a switchblade knife.
His left arm was normal, but Steven’s right hand had become a deadly weapon. Behind him on the ground there was movement, but unfortunately it was too late to turn. Another man—this one with long hair hanging greasily onto a crappy leather jacket—slashed his own broadsword down Steven’s back.
No scales there. The blade carved through his skin. Pain exploded through his nerves, and blood gushed down his back and into his jeans. Steven whirled and pressed his back up against the house next door. Baldy was on his left now, Greasy on his right.
How long did he have until he bled out? He didn’t know.
Two against one, not fair.
“Steven! Someone’s coming in! Do you have a weapon, a gun, something?” Tessa called out from the window above.
“I don’t!” Steven yelled.
Tessa, he had to get to her. He had to get past the two swordsmen and take care of the third guy inside. At least he thought it was a guy.
Greasy hacked at Steven, but he leapt over the blade. He came down on the car, spun, and clawed through Baldy’s leather jacket, knocking him back.
Another sword stroke sliced into Steven’s leg. Thankfully, the gash was shallow. He leapt on Baldy and swiped his sharp talons through the man’s throat. Gore, dark in the night, bubbled up from the ruins of his neck. The severed carotid artery spurted out blood in rhythm to the doomed man’s heart until both stopped.
Steven rolled off the hood and into the crevice between the car and the brick of his house.
Greasy raised his sword to split Steven’s skull.
But Steven gave him his armored arm instead. The blade bounced off his scales, allowing Steven time to get to his feet. But the wounds were taking their toll. He was dizzy, feeling weak, his vision narrowing.
Tessa wailed. Sirens pierced the night. The police were coming, but if Steven didn’t do something soon, Tessa would get hurt, and he might die by the time the cops arrived.
Light flashed from the corpse of the bald man Steven had already killed. The agony of the burning inside him made Steven wince, feeling like he was breathing lava. But then he felt the power fill him—Animus, from his kill.
So much power and where to put it? He wanted to end the fight and save Tessa. Stronger, he needed to be stronger. Muscles thickened, his whole body grew, and the seams on his jeans popped. New strength flowed through his body like his cells had become super-powered. He must’ve healed some because he felt so much better.
Steven shoved the swordsman back and clawed through an arm. The broadsword twirled, but Steven ducked. The blade chipped into the brick. He grabbed the man’s wrist with his left hand. Adrenaline and his new power fueled him. He crushed the wrist, the bones audibly snapping.
Steven saw the fear in Greasy’s eyes. Could he really kill this man? Baldy had been in the heat of the moment—almost an accident—but this was cold and calculated. Yes, yes he could. These men had come to slay him, but he was going to kill them first. Kill them and eat their Animus. He squeezed harder, and the sword clattered to the ground in a metallic ringing.
Steven flexed his dagger-like fingers and slashed the man’s face, slicing through his eyes and cutting off his nose. Bending, Steven grabbed the sword and drove it into the man’s chest. Blinding light erupted from the pierced heart, and Steven breathed it into his body.
More armor, better armor—he focused on improving that skill, and his left arm scaled over and his hand turned into a claw. Now he had two black dragon arms and a fistful of claws.
From inside the house, fire alarms took up an incessant buzzing that blocked out all other noise. His housemates from upstairs descended the fire escape on the side of the building.
Home invaders and now a fire? What else could go wrong?
Steven jumped back onto the crumpled hood of the Subaru. Broadsword in hand, he hurled himself back into his room through the torn-out window.
The door lay in splinters on the floor. Tessa had managed to get her skirt and top back on before they’d smashed through the door. But now she wrestled with one man, some thick thug with a muscled neck, stubbled face, and a stubbled head. Thug #3.
And at the door stood the guy in the lizard mask from the Coffee Clutch. But this time, with clearer eyes and more understanding, Steven saw that it wasn’t a mask. The guy had green scales, a leering mouth, and a ridge of spines going up and over his head and crimson eyes. Like the dragons Steven had seen in his dream, this one had a thick beard drooping from its scales.
The dragon man gripped a broadsword in one clawed fist. This weapon, though, was different from the other rough-hewn claymores. A green gem in the pommel glowed and green flames flickered over the blade. The sword might be green, but the fire alarms painted the villain in a hellish scarlet light.
Steven raced forward and drove his sword into the gut of the stubbled thug, driving him back into the hallway. The dragon man cut through the thug and into Steven’s arm. That green sword was magical, must’ve been, because it cut through his scales and sank into his flesh underneath.
The dragon man leered.
Steven growled and clawed through his attacker’s face, driving him back into the hallway. The dragon man laughed even as blood dripped down his cheeks like red tears. “Tough guy. Didn’t see that coming. Well, the Slayer Blade will take care of you. Like it’s taken care of so many.”
Steven raised his sword to defend himself. He couldn’t let the Slayer Blade hit him again. Blood dripped down his arm and onto the floor. It was his main concern because that wound he felt. The slash on his back and the one on his leg were strangely quiet.
The bearded dragon man waded forward to end Steven.
Steven braced himself for the attack, but it wasn’t necessary. A stream of fire struck the dragon man, pushing him down the hall. In seconds, everything was fire and smoke and chaos. The fire detectors in the hallway were silenced, consumed in the blast.
What the hell just happened?
The scene flashed through Steven’s head, and it clicked into place: a fire-breathing dragon, obviously.
But were they friendly? Or would Steven have to slay his first dragon while his home burned?
SEVEN
First things first, when your building is on fire, you grab your precious shit and get the hell out. Steven whirled and pushed the broadsword into Tessa’s hands.
“Hold this while I get my things,” he told her.
Tessa nodded, speechless, shocked, as she should be.
Steven felt strangely calm. He’d just killed three men. Three. They were dead, they were gone, their families would weep for them, and they would never again drink coffee or eat another meal. Gone. Death was one permanent state of affairs.
Tessa went to the window, dragging the sword behind her.
“Don’t go out yet,” Steven cautioned. “There’s a dragon out there. Not sure if it’s on our side or not, so better to be safe than sorry.”
“Burning, house, smoke,” Tessa sputtered. “We have to leave. Dragon or not.”
“In a second.” Steven glanced around. Nice thing about being poor, he didn’t have much to rescue from the flames. The only thing he had that was worth anything was the laptop in his backpack, which he slung over his shoulder. He slipped his phone into his pocket. It hardly worked, but it was better than nothing.
The heat from the fire in the hallway washed into his room along with choking smoke. The heat from the fire didn’t bother Steven. In fact, it felt good, like a sauna. It was far better than the hot-coal burning inside of him. The fact that the outside air matched the terrible agony inside him made him feel better.
He grabbed a few books, including his copy of The Hobbit, and threw them in a box of important papers. He tossed the cardboard box outside. Then he helped Tessa, who was crouched near the floor to escape the smoke. She tossed the broadsword out. He helped her out the window then followed her, dropping down onto the Subaru.
Tessa crawled across the blood-spattered hood to stand on the asphalt of the driveway. She held the broadsword like a broom. She was pale white, and her eyes were wide and frightened. Then again, she was near two dead men, both of whom Steven had killed.
That seemed like such an impossible thing … that Steven Whipp could’ve killed anyone. But what choice had he had? They had come to murder him.
But why? Why? He shook his head, confused and uncertain. The magic of three, he thought. Maybe there would be some answers once he tracked down the clues offered by the pendant.
Steven crawled off the Subaru and stole a look around. There wasn’t any sign of the dragon that had breathed the inferno through his house nor the dragon man with the Slayer Blade. Good news on both accounts.
Steven went to retrieve his box, but he didn’t have to.
Aria Khat held it in steady hands. “We need to go,” she said simply. “Now.”
“What about the police?” Steven asked. “The bodies? I need to fill out a report. I need to tell them it was self-defense. I can’t just flee the scene of a crime.”
Smoke plumed from every window of the old house. Out front, a fire engine pulled up, and men clambered out. Sirens were everywhere, flashing, screaming, hardly audible over the sounds of the house burning. The odor of the smoke was stifling.
But Steven liked the smell, which shocked him. How could he like the overpowering stench of burning destruction when all his housemates were losing all their possessions? Poor Old Man Yank and his wife. All their memories, gone.
Aria raced forward. “No police. No report. If the assassins are working for who I think they are, you’d be killed in a jail cell.”
She herded Steven and Aria around the Subaru, through a gate, through a backyard, and then through an alley that ran next to a house, adjacent to the street. Steven knew the gravel and glass on the asphalt should be killing his feet, but he didn’t feel a thing.
Neighbors were out, watching the tongues of the fire leap into the early morning sky. The fire engines were already in action, three of them at least. High on extension ladders, firefighters soaked the houses around the blaze while two worked on the main conflagration.
A Mercedes AMG roadster chirped to life, lights flashing. Aria popped the trunk, stuck Steven’s box in the back, and headed for the driver’s side. “Get in. Now. Fast.”
Steven opened the passenger door. Tessa tossed the broadsword in, then pulled the seat forward and squeezed into the back seat. Steven got into the front, backpack on his lap. Before he even had a chance to close the door, Aria was speeding away.
They were all quiet for a time.
Steven breathed in the scent of cinnamon, which mixed nicely with the rich smell of the expensive car’s soft leather. A Mercedes. The car was probably worth his entire education plus an extra hundred thousand dollars easy. He could sell the car and buy a house in his mom’s neighborhood and use cash to do it.
Police cruisers raced by them in the opposite direction, but none pursued them.
Steven hugged his backpack to him and started to catalog everything he’d lost: his favorite
clothes, that one pair of boots he got in high school, birthday cards from his dad, most of his schoolbooks, his TV, and his PlayStation. Ouch.
Gone. Up in smoke. Burned away in dragon fire.
Now that Steven was sitting—the adrenaline fading from his system—a myriad of injuries and pains he’d ignored before began to creep up on him. His jeans were stiff from his own congealed blood. His back and his leg ached like mad, but worst of all was his arm. He checked it, thinking he’d see black scales, but his skin was human again. When had he lost his scales and claws? No idea. There had been fighting, running, fire, Aria—what the hell? What was she doing back? He pushed a palm over the ragged wound he’d received from the Slayer Blade. It had already scabbed over, which was good news, but it hurt. Bad.
Aria turned onto Colorado Boulevard and pulled off to the side as more police cars sped by, lights flashing red and blue. Their sirens blared loudly then were gone, hushed, as quiet as the three in the Mercedes.
Finally, Tessa said, “I don’t have any underwear on. I didn’t have time to put on underwear.” She laughed, loudly, clashingly, tittering until she was guffawing.
The laughter made Steven smile, then he was laughing too, and it felt so good. He laughed because he was wounded, and he laughed because he’d lost all his stuff, and he let loose cackles at the fact that he had killed three men. Boom, boom, boom. One with his own claws, then two with a fucking broadsword. Seriously. What the hell? What had happened to his life?
And sleep, damn, he was on his second day without any real sleep.
Aria drove on as the two laughed like loons until they got themselves under control.
“Are you quite finished?” Aria asked.
A long, tense beat. Tessa didn’t say anything. But then Steven burst out, “I’m not wearing underwear either!”
That brought on more hilarity. Ha, fucking, ha.
Aria whipped the Mercedes into a U-turn, heading back down Colorado Boulevard. Where was she going?
She hit Colfax, turned right, turned right again, then hung a left back on the main street and headed south.