Drasus

Iwill kill those warriors. I'd kill them all if only I could get up and swing a blade, or my claws, or a nevving tail. Anything to shut them up and leave me to die in peace.

If my head isn't spinning from paraxio, I'm virtually dead to the universe anyway. The times I have any form of consciousness, I hurt from the tips of my claws to the bottom of my feet. I'd hurt all the way to my tail and wings if I had enough energy to shift.

But I don't, and it's nevving worse than being collared. All I can do is lie here and stare at the ceiling, listening to the remaining Sarkarnii warriors who have little respect for anyone, especially their armory quartermaster.

I growl as loud as I can, but it's nothing compared to what I was before being taken by the Belek, the former wardens of this prison maze, not once, but twice.

I am not just a warrior, I'm a nevving good one. To end up at the hands of my enemies more than once…I'd snarl if I had the energy.

When I don't sleep, all I can think about is how I could have avoided being taken and how I can get my revenge. My blood boils in my veins and is acid in my stomach, accelerant in my sacs. I don't remember eating, but I remember it coming back with a vengeance.

I'm weak, useless. Not a warrior.

"Awake?" Drega looms out of my darkness. "Looks like Daeos' blood did you some good after all."

"I told you not to put that nevver's blood in me." I attempt a snarl. And fail.

"You did, but I ignored you because I am your healer, warrior," Drega intones, trying to instill some order in me.

He's pulling rank. As leader of the scaled battalion, he has the power, while I have none. All I get is a blood transfusion from one of the most unhinged warriors in the Kirakos. I can't possibly believe it's done me any good at all.

"It was a good idea the human healer had. Your vitals have improved considerably." He eyes me over the top of the med-scanner I recognize from the Golden Orion. "How do you feel?" he asks stiffly. "My mate told me this was a question I was supposed to ask," he adds after I stare at him for a while.

"I feel like a nevving spaceworm fell on me. Presumably because I'm filled with blood from that nevver, Daeos."

"The spaceworm only fell on part of him." Drega checks his machine, not looking at me. "And he could shift, as you well know." He glares at me.

"If I could shift, I would." I growl, but all of this talk has taken any strength I had from my body and mind.

I can already feel consciousness fading and I hate it. I hate Drega for being unable to heal me faster, for filling me with another warrior's blood. And I hate myself for being so nevving useless, so weak, so pathetic it's all I can do to return his glare until finally, finally, everything goes black.

Then there is a scent I can't get enough of, drops of sweet liquid on my lips and a cooling cloth on my brow.

But afterwards, there is simply pain.

And noise from the other nevving warriors.

"Shut the nev up, or once I'm fit, I will rip your wings off," I'd like to yell, but the words come out as a hoarse rasp.

The noise from the pair of them does cease. A young warrior's head appears around the door to my pit of despair.

"Drasus." He grins at me. It's a young male called Dynos if I'm not mistaken. Didn't know one end of a psi-grenade from the other not so long ago.

"Why the nev are you still here? If you can make that amount of noise, you're surely well enough to work." I snap weakly.

Dynos wanders in, his tail, semi shifted, flicking behind him insolently. His friend, a warrior whose name I don't recall, sticks his head around the doorway too. I hate this situation with an intensity I don't think I had when I was well. As Dynos comes within range, I fire out a set of claws with my little remaining strength, take hold of his arm, and pull him down to me, my other hand gripping his throat.

He tries to pull away.

I don't let go.

"Leave me alone," I snarl.

Dynos chokes, his eyes bulging. I watch him until my vision spots and the blackness encroaches from all sides.

"Let him go, Drasus," Drega says. "That's an order."

"I'm well past being ordered," I spit. "Kill me and get this over with."

Once again, there is nothing. For a long, long time.

Maybe the nothing will last forever? Maybe I have my wish and I am dead.

But then air fills my lungs and life comes rushing back with a howl and excruciating pain.

I am not alive, but I am not dead, and I hate it all.