The cold, damp night air enveloped the narrow alley on the outskirts of Nexus's slums. Leo pressed his thin frame against the moldy brick wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The stench of fear-sweat and rotting garbage filled his senses. Two large figures blocked his path, their gazes cold, their smiles sinister.
Slums Thugs, Rank F+.
"Anything worth more than a scrap of bread," growled the taller thug, his voice raspy like sandpaper. His large, grimy hand was already outstretched.
Leo felt his heart pounding wildly. His body was no fortress, especially not in its current state. Since washing up in the forest, he hadn't filled his now-growling stomach, and an incident had forced him into a chase with a Rank F+ forest monster. Now, a single blow from these men could shatter his ribs. His mind raced. Run? Impossible. Shout? Who would care here
"Don't waste my time, hand over anything valuable," snapped the second thug, shorter but more muscular, stepping closer. The pungent smell of cheap alcohol assaulted Leo's nose.
Trapped in desperation, the touch of something small, cold, and slightly slimy beneath his thin jacket reminded him. Drake. The Rank-S dragon he'd named. A brief memory flashed: a glimpse of golden scales, torn wings, a roar of pain that shook the cave before they escaped. Because Drake had used the last of his strength then, he'd ended up... shrunken.
Looking at Drake now... Leo felt a wave of deeper guilt crash over him. The creature wasn't just imprisoned in a weak form; he was still grievously injured and worsening. His essential energy was locked, his body shattered. Between the dull, brittle-looking green scales, Leo could see fine crack lines, like broken porcelain, and dark patches indicating deep bruises or unhealed old wounds. The small, bud-like protrusions on his back were wilted and inflamed. What remained was a mere shadow of his once-mighty potential, leaving a creature that looked dying and in immense suffering.
But they were cornered.
With no other choice, driven by desperation and guilt at forcing the sick Drake, Leo threw open his jacket. "D-don't... don't come closer!" he yelled, his voice cracking. From behind his grimy shirt, he gently pulled out Drake, his movements filled with reluctance.
What emerged was no terrifying monster. Drake, the size of a small lizard, had dull, slightly slimy green scales. His large eyes, which usually emitted a faint light, now looked dull and listless in the gloom, ringed by deep, dark circles – signs of extreme exhaustion and suffering. Each shallow breath seemed painful, his tiny body trembling weakly. He looked like a dying cave creature, more like a crushed earthworm than something dangerous.
The tall thug frowned, then burst into loud, rough laughter. "What is this? A half-dead damp earthworm? Or your grimy failed charm?" he jeered, pointing at Drake coiled tremblingly around Leo's fingers. "Looks like it's about to kick the bucket!"
The shorter thug sneered, his face twisted in disgust. "Disgusting! Toss that dying trash! Let's grab his stuff!" He stepped forward again, large dirty hands ready to seize Leo.
It was then that Leo, heart breaking, sent a desperate mental command. "Sorry, Drake... Now!"
Drake, weak and in pain, felt the peak of his master's panicked fear. Though hesitant, the bond that tied them forced obedience. With visible struggle, his small, slimy body tensed, making the fine cracks in his scales more apparent. He gathered the dregs of his nearly depleted primitive strength. Then... he let out a hard sigh.
But the sound that emerged wasn't a terrifying roar that shook the air. It was hoarse, fragmented, more like a groan of agony than a threat. "Hhhssssshhh-gllrk- cough!" The sigh ended with a kind of tortured little cough, causing his whole body to spasm weakly.
The tall thug laughed even harder, doubling over. "What a freak! Sounds like a wet fart while dying! Worse than a sick cat!"
But the shorter thug, who was now very close, was startled and utterly revolted by the sudden sound and the too-close, too-clear sight of Drake's sickness. Reflexively, his hand reaching for Leo jerked towards Drake, trying to swat him away roughly. "How dare you!"
Drake reacted. With the last reserves of energy he'd been gathering throughout the journey, his normally slick movements were stiff and slow. He flicked his short, stubby tail, not for a hard strike, but for a quick touch and lick. The cold, damp, and profoundly unhealthy-feeling touch of his tail landed on the shorter thug's wrist.
Damp Touch (Rank F Strength).
Like being licked by a sick toad. No wound, no physical pain. Just an intensely unpleasant sensation of cold, wet, sticky filth on the skin, like touching something rotten.
"Ugh, damn it! What the hell is that? So disgusting!" the shorter thug yelped, more from intense revulsion and shock than pain. He snatched his hand back, wiping his wrist frantically on his trousers with a look of utter disgust and anger, glaring at Drake who now looked completely spent, hanging limply in Leo's hand, only short, ragged breaths escaping him.
The opening lasted a fraction of a second. Profound disgust, confusion, and a touch of horror at the sickly creature washed over both thugs. Leo, though his heart ached at Drake's state, saw the gap. With his last strength, he shoved the shorter thug who was busy wiping his hand in disgust, slipped between them, and ran for his life towards the alley's end. His weak legs felt leaden, but fear and guilt pumped them. He felt Drake's weakening warmth in his grasp.
"Hey! You filthy, crazy disease-ridden brat!" yelled the tall thug, but it was too late. Leo had already rounded the corner of the alley and vanished into the labyrinth of squalid lanes.
In the alley, now quiet again, the two thugs looked at each other. The shorter one was still wiping his wrist, face annoyed and disgusted. "That crazy brat, carrying around a dying damp earthworm! Touched like the slime of a rotten corpse! Ugh, creepy!" He kept rubbing his hand on his trousers.
The tall thug shook his head, his mocking expression fading, replaced by a murky curiosity. "Earthworm? Didn't seem like it. His eyes... huge, empty, not like a normal animal's. And that sound... Like it was in pain. Did you see? Its scales looked cracked?" He looked in the direction Leo had disappeared, then at his partner. "That newcomer... he's got something weird. Something disgusting, sick, but... weird. Like a pet, but not like a pet."
The shorter thug's face wrinkled. "Report to the Boss? About a dying worm?"
The tall thug nodded slowly, a sly glint in his eyes. "Yeah. Report. That newcomer's got... a weird monster. Small, damp, disgusting, and seems nearly dead. But... Weird. The Boss needs to know. Could be some rare thing he's hiding, or dangerous trash. Or maybe... a potential money-maker." They turned and walked back into the darkness, leaving behind the varied stares from the people who had been watching all along from behind torn tarps serving as homes, carrying news of a dying, slimy little creature that could only whimper weakly and touch with a revolting dampness. News that, in the city's underworld, could spell even greater disaster for Leo and Drake, now little more than a nearly dead cave slug.
Leo, leaning against a crumbling boundary wall not far from the earlier alley, carefully lifted Drake level with his eyes. The dim light of a street lamp made the small creature's suffering clearer. His cracked scales looked even duller, his breath was ragged and irregular, his eyes half-closed with pain. Leo could feel an unnatural, cold tremor running through Drake's body. "Sorry... sorry, Drake," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with regret.
He gently touched Drake's back where the protrusions were, feeling abnormal heat beneath the cracked scales – a sign of infection or severe internal injury. Leo's breath was still ragged, his body weak. He had won. For now. But the look in the tall thug's eyes before he fled... the last words he'd overheard... and most heartbreakingly, Drake's worsening condition after his small effort, filled his chest with unbearable fear and guilt. They would report. They would be back. And next time, a weak whimper and a revoltingly damp touch wouldn't be enough, especially if Drake's condition became critical.
His first gamble might have saved him tonight, but he'd just plunged himself and his grievously injured cave companion into a darker, crueler whirlpool of danger. The shadow of the Boss, the gang leader of Nexus's outskirts, the ruler of the discarded, now began to haunt Leo's thoughts – far more terrifying than disgust at Drake's slime, because this time, the threat was aimed at something already clinging to life by a thread.