Dark energy coursed over and through his body, coalescing into his armor and full face mask. When the shadows finally released him, he knelt next to Decepshun and smiled to see her transformed as well as breathing easier. She even lifted her head and grinned back at him. Even though her breathing remained labored, he could tell that, if need be, she would make it through the night.

"Shadow Booster!"

He turned in time to catch Penn's jack stick across his chest, sending him sprawling on the floor. The blow knocked the wind out of him and he fought to catch his breath again.

Penn frowned when he heard his rasping breath and looked at Decepshun, whose highlighted markings and ridges could not disguise the fact that she was the same black psi-class dragon, and suddenly Shadow Booster's real identity was no longer difficult to guess.

"Moordryd Paynn," Penn said, tightening his grip on his stick as he loomed over him. "I should have known."

Moordryd narrowed his eyes. "Don't beat yourself up. You're just as dumb as your stable brat!" He turned on his side and lashed out, kicking Penn's legs out from under him. "Didn't anyone teach you never get too close?"

Retrieving his jack stick from Decepshun's saddle, he extended it and blocked Penn's next attack, startled by how fast the older man could move. At least his armor gave him extra power, enough that his own swing sent Penn flying from the stable, and he used the few spare seconds to grab his flash stick and a couple of disrupter mines. As he followed after Penn, he paused long enough to put a hand on Decepshun's neck to calm her.

"Stay here," he said. "Conserve your energy. I'll handle them."

Although she gave a worried whuff, she lay her head down again and watched him walk out. She couldn't even offer the simplest mag moves to him right now. He would be on foot while nearly everyone else had their dragons.

Once outside, Moordryd tapped the locks on the side of the wall and closed the stable off, protecting Decepshun from any stray fire. Penn was back on his feet and the other three, Kitt, Parmon and Lance, were already on their dragons, warned by his sudden cry before.

"Lose your dragon?" Kitt taunted, but her tight grip on Wyldfyre's saddle belied her nervousness.

"How'd Shadow Booster get inside without us seeing him?" Lance asked, nervously edging his dragon Fracshun back a few steps. Even without his dragon, Moordryd's armor and natural stance made him look more formidable.

"Because he's Moordryd Paynn," Penn said. "Be careful. He'll be even more dangerous with his back against a wall."

"Without his dragon, however," Parmon started, fingers tapping across his hand-held computer, "I calculate that he's down to less than half his usual power output, deprived of all mag moves and down to at least seventy-three percent strength--"

"Oh, knock it off, egghead," Moordryd sighed. "No one's listening to you."

Parmon frowned as if offended and opened his mouth to argue, but Moordryd spoke before he could, pointing his stick at Penn.

"You think I've got my back against the wall?" Moordryd laughed and knelt, preparing to leap. "You got it all wrong. You're the ones trapped inside with me!"

Despite lacking a dragon, he still leaped over the row of dragons in front of him and landed behind them, giving him enough time to smack Kitt's red thruster gear and send her and Wyldfyre rocketing into the wall. While Parmon maneuvered Cyrano's heavy bulk around to face him, Moordryd leaped up beside him and activated his own thruster gear, jamming it down hard so it wouldn't come up again. As expected, Parmon shrieked in panic and tried to force it back, finally activating his ramming gear to protect Cyrano as they neared the far wall.

Meanwhile Moordryd landed where he'd started and faced Lance, the younger Penn brat. Although he heard Lance's father yelling at the boy and running to protect him, he briefly considered the rider who was little more than a child.

"Moordryd?" Lance asked. "Is that really you in there?"

Ever since he'd carried the boy back home from his father's trap weeks ago, Moordryd found himself loathe to even speak harshly to the brat. But since he couldn't have the boy interfering in this fight, especially since Lance often showed a resourcefulness that belied his age, Moordryd simply used his flash stick to momentarily blind him and his dragon.

The next moment, he had to block Penn's attack. The ferocity and rapid strikes from the older man drove him back several steps. Hard pressed to block each one, Moordryd winced every time one slipped through and slammed against his arm or side. Worse, he felt the poison still flowing in his veins, sapping away what strength he had. When he fell to one knee, holding his jack stick overhead to block Penn's strike, he realized he couldn't keep fighting so straightforwardly.

"It's over, Moordryd," Penn said, pushing harder to force him to bend backwards. "It ends here!"

"Only for you!" Moordryd allowed himself to fall and landed hard on the ground, but the new position let him double-kick straight into Penn's stomach, sending him reeling back. Breathing hard, Moordryd snapped back to his feet and planted his flash stick into the ground. Setting it to flash a short intervals, he stood beside it with his finger on the button, ready to activate it as soon as someone charged.

Kitt, finally shaking her head clear from the hit against the wall, snarled and steered Wyldfyre straight at him. Moordryd activated the flash stick and looked away as it flashed bright enough to light the entire arena for a brief second. He heard Kitt scream and pull her dragon to a stop, and he ran forward though slightly to one side, using the techniques he'd learned stealing dragons to keep her off balance.

She saw him for a brief moment as if he was a still picture before the next flash went off, and just before it flashed again she saw him coming closer, this time from the other side of her dragon. By the next flash, he was frozen mid-air in front of her, jack stick held ready to strike. In the next moment, she and Wyldfyre went sprawling across the arena.

Moordryd backed up next to his flash stick again, but this time no one charged, knowing all too well what he could do. Even Penn kept his distance, inching his way closer with one hand over his eyes.

A loud crackle of energy flew behind him as Lance magged his flash stick away, sending it flying well out of reach. Moordryd cried out in frustration and palmed his disrupter mine, and Lance aimed another mag burst at him.

"Lance, no!" Penn yelled.

Too late. Moordryd tossed the mine at the same time Fracshun's energy burned towards him, and even though it was blue energy, Moordryd caught it in his armored gloves the way Armegaddon had taught him. The disrupter mine went off, sending smoke and a small concussive blast in front of Lance. Fracshun braced himself for the hit but Lance coughed and slipped off his saddle.

Channeling dragon energy at last, Moordryd gathered it into a burst that he started to aim at Penn. Instead he heard a scream and turned in time to see Kitt running at him, her own jack stick aimed at his head. Acting solely on instinct, he magged her up and over towards a tall pile of crates in the corner of the stable. She yelled as he used up all of his charge, and without the energy pushing her forward, she fell to the side instead, merely clipping the edge of one of the crates.

Moordryd turned to face Penn again, but when he saw the look of horror on the man's face, he looked back at the crates. To his surprise, the crate Kitt had clipped now slipped free and fell behind the stack. That left the rest of the top crates precariously swaying in the breeze and as one they started to topple towards Lance, still coughing and disoriented from the mine's blast.

"Mini-brat!" Moordryd darted forward and wrapped one arm around Lance's waist, pushing him up against the bottom crates as he positioned his jack stick diagonally over them. He hoped it would take the weight of whatever Penn had stored in those boxes and closed his eyes, afraid to watch it all come down on them. Just as he managed to draw his body in as much as he could, he felt something land hard on his leg and he cried out in pain.

By the time Penn reached them, the crates had stopped falling and lay still. Yelling his son's name, he bent and tried to see between the boxes, but there were too many and this part of the arena was too poorly lit.

"Stand back, Mr. Penn," Parmon said as he rode Cyrano in close and started to mag the crates out of the way. Fracshun joined him, followed quickly by Wyldfire with a sore and wincing Kitt, and all three of them worked to unbury the two trapped underneath. Halfway through the pile, they heard voices and paused despite their rush, too curious to know what they were saying.

"--you okay?" Lance asked.

"Of course I'm not okay!"

With his jack stick braced against the boxes and his armor providing some protection, Moordryd lay on his side with Lance safely between him and the few crates that hadn't fallen. He hadn't fared so well, though, with one of the heavy containers pressing impossibly hard on one outstretched leg.

"Scales!" Gotta be sprained, Moordryd thought and glared at Lance. "What the heck were you thinking running around like that? This is all your fault!"

His pity squashed by the thought of getting in trouble, Lance squawked. "'My' fault? You're the one that didn't move fast enough. My father says you've got no one to blame but yourself for not training enough."

"That has nothing to do with it, you ungrateful little brat! I've been poisoned! See if I ever save you again if this is the thanks I get."

"You never say thanks when someone rescues you."

"That's totally beside the point!"

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not to infinity."

"Is not to infinity plus one."

Lance cried out in protest. "You can't add one to--"

Kitt magged the last few boxes aside and smiled as the two turned, startled. "Am I interrupting something?"

Lance gave her an apologetic smile, but Moordryd only saw the two dragons--no, three including Fracshun--lined up in front of him, all ready to blast him away. And either Kitt hadn't noticed the crate still on top of him or she'd left it there intentionally to keep him trapped.

"Lance," Penn said, coming up close. "Get over here. Hurry."

"I'm kinda stuck here," Lance said. "Besides, he's hurt and if I move--"

"Even hurt," Penn cut him off, "he's still dangerous."

"But..." Parmon reluctantly mentioned, "he did save Lance's life. Those packing crates would have crushed him if Moordryd hadn't blocked them." He winced when he saw the last box still on top of Moordryd's leg. "Ouch."

"Yeah," Kitt snapped, "after he threw me across the stables and knocked 'em over in the first place."

"I was trying to stop him," Moordryd growled, pointing at Penn. "He's like a rabid hydrag with that stick."

Penn narrowed his eyes. "You're a menace to the entire city. I had to stop you--"

"From what? Sitting next to my sick dragon?" Moordryd tried to turn to face him rather than craning to look over his shoulder, but the move put pressure on his ankle and he yelped. Lance gently touched his shoulder in sympathy and suddenly Moordryd felt nothing but tired. He couldn't move and he could barely breathe now. Why bother anymore?

"You threw the first punch this time." He lowered his head and let his jack stick fall from his hands. "Just remember that when you tell the stable brat he went all that way for nothing."

"We're not going to let you die," Penn said, surprised that Moordryd would think that. He sighed and looked away, feeling like he'd lost the fight instead. "You're right. I saw your armor and didn't even think. You transformed to save your dragon, even though you knew we'd probably attack you. Even though you'd have to fight while you were sick."

"I was right before," Lance said softly. "You really do care about your dragon."

Moordryd didn't answer except to look away. Armegaddon, even his father, both taught him that caring made him weak. Helpless in front of the stable brats, it seemed that they had been right after all.

"Wait a minute," Penn said. "You called him stable brat. You only call Artha stable brat. You know he's the Dragon Booster!"

Before Moordryd could answer, heavy dragon footsteps echoed from the other side of the arena as Artha returned. His armor and Beau were covered in dust from riding hard over the wastelands without stopping, and both of them were breathing hard from the run. In one hand he held the container with the flower inside. He stopped in front of them trying to make sense of Moordryd in his armor, Lance right next to him and his father's scowl.

"Um," he wondered. "Did I miss something?"

TBC...