Dragon Metal Origins: Bitterness and Lightning

Part One of a short story featuring Erika, who we all know as the wielder of the Dragon Medal of Lightning!

But two years before that...well...just read.

Author's note: This is a special, unedited web version that will eventually be polished and included in a Dragon Metal Origins collected edition.

Author's second note: The following takes place about two years before Jestin Kase and the Masters of Dragon Metal

Dragon Metal Origins: Bitterness and Lightning

I felt vulnerable. And I hated it. 

Only 13, I looked in the mirror while my mom treated me like a dress-up doll. She styled my long copper-brown hair into waves and made sure my outfit brought out the color in my light brown eyes. She stuffed me into a blue, sleeveless button-down top--too tight--and brown pants that stuck onto me like a second skin. 

My mom said it looked feminine. 

I hated it. 

I hated her. 

“There,” she said as she applied blush to my fair complexion. I had to stop myself from swatting her hand away. “All better. Middle school is important, you know. It’s when the boys start to notice you. You have to learn how to command that attention. Use it.”

I rolled my eyes. My mom didn’t know how to parent, like, at all. She didn’t care if I did my homework, went to bed on time, or snuck a few drinks from her wine collection. She cared about one thing: teaching me the importance of finding a rich and wealthy man--her words, not mine. 

Mom tried that herself. She had a successful modeling career until her early 20s; dated celebrities and politicians. But now she lived alone with me in a crummy apartment in the Chicago suburbs. She stayed home in her bathrobe most days and drank until she passed out watching pointless entertainment shows like Royal Singles Mingle. 

“Why can’t I wear what I want?” I asked. “You’re making me look like a prissy brat.”

“Don’t sass me,” she said. “And wipe that scowl off your face. You’re a lady. You should be smiling.”

How could I smile with six gallons of paint on my face? “I just want my normal clothes.”

“The ones that make you look like a hipster?”

“Do you even know what ‘hipster’ means?” I wasn’t sure I did either, but it didn’t matter. I wanted my jeans and T-shirts. 

We argued back and forth a bit longer. She made me so stressed I started biting my nails, and she yelled at me for that too. Finally, she let me loose so I could walk alone to the bus stop down the corner. 

I carried a bright purple backpack my mom had given me, even though I hated purple, and tried not to twist my ankle on the cracked, uneven sidewalk, covered with gashes deep enough to swallow small animals. 

The bus pulled up right as I made it to the corner. Ugh, I dreaded a day at school. School had people, and I hated people. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone. I messed up my hair, tried to wipe the clown make-up off my face, and stepped onto the bus. 

Porter, the fat bus driver, waved a chubby hand at me. “Hey, Erika,” he said. “Show me that smile.”

“Screw off.” Like I said, I hated people. 

I walked to the back of the bus, ignoring everyone, and sat alone, plugging in my earphones and listening to Metallica. And I kept my head down so I didn’t have to look at anyone’s stupid face. 

***

I walked through the school’s first two entrances, passed through the metal detectors, and moved through the crowded halls filled with banged-up lockers and mouth-breathing middle schoolers. 

My own locker faced a stairwell that looked like it could collapse at any moment. I shuffled my books, trying to stall for time, mostly, pulling the same book from my bag, putting it into my locker, then putting it back in my bag again--anything to give myself a minute or two before getting to class. 

“Well hey,” a voice said from behind me. Great. I glanced over my shoulder to see a football jock dressed in his ridiculous letter jacket, dark red with royal purple. He looked like he spent at least an hour in the bathroom each morning, with styled and slick hair, a face that had at least some base make-up, surely, and pearly white teeth. 

He gave me the kind of creepy chills you get when you look at a corpse dressed-up in a coffin.

The jock leaned against the locker next to me and smiled, teeth reminding me of dentures. “You new here? Don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

“No, I’m not new.” I didn’t feel the need to elaborate, even though this idiot, Donny, had the same homeroom class as I did during the past year and a half. 

He lifted his hands defensively and stepped back. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, you look incredible. Do you wanna hang after school? Maybe we could start over.”

Ugh. Thanks, mom. I made a note to rummage through the lost-and-found for a baggy jacket or something. 

“I’d eat dirt before hanging out with you,” I told him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.”

The jock slammed my locker shut. His face went from pervy creep to angry creep. “What the hell’s your problem? I’m trying to be nice.”

“And I’m trying to go to class.” I adjusted my bag walked away, resisting the urge to punch his creepy corpse face.  

“Hey.” He grabbed my arm. “I’m not done talking.”

I tensed at his touch. Not the good tense. Anger and annoyance. Uncomfortable. Wrong. I grabbed his hand and twisted his wrist. He let out a yelp--I found that satisfying. 

“Gee, I hope that doesn’t hurt.” I let go and kicked his stomach, hard. The jock keeled over on the floor and tipped onto his side, grabbing his gut and whining like a brat. 

“Erika!” a voice shouted from down the hall. I recognized the voice: Mrs. Melfi, the school “guidance counselor.” 

 I gave Donny another kick and followed Mrs. Melfi into her office. 

***

The guidance counselor’s office looked no bigger than a walk-in closet, barely enough room for a desk and a couple chairs, with book shelves crammed against the walls.

Mrs. Melfi had a look of permanent fatigue, probably no older than her 30s, but with wrinkles and baggy eyes that made her look closer to fifty. She leaned on her desk and rubbed her forehead. 

“I’ve told you, you can’t go around kicking and punching everyone who upsets you,” she said. 

“He grabbed me,” I said. I did not want to be in that office. My throat felt tight and I wanted to bite my nails. But I stayed still, except for the tapping of my foot. 

“Then you should have reported it,” Mrs. Melfi said. 

“And then what? No one touches him, he’s on your precious football team.”

“It’s rugby, actually.”

“Actually, I don’t care.” 

Mrs. Melfi leaned back with a sigh. She really did look like she needed a nap. How hard could she have worked, though, with school ending at 3 every day? And no school at all during the summer?

“Look,” she said. “I understand boys can be difficult. And most don’t grow out of it. I work nights at this place downtown, and one of my co-workers, he always-”

“He wasn’t ‘being difficult,’” I said. “He grabbed me. I couldn’t-”

The intercom crackled throughout the school, followed by the words: “Lockdown, intruder.”

I groaned. We had lock-down drills all the time, and it didn’t immediately dawn on me that the announcer didn’t say anything about a drill. Mrs. Melfi moved like a well-oiled machine, turning off the lights, shutting her blinds, locking her doors. 

Practice makes perfect. 

She wiggled the door knob to make sure it was locked. Then checked it again. And again. Too many times. She started breathing heavier, and faster, eyes flickering back and forth like a crazy person, still turning the door handle.  

Was she actually scared? We did these drills all the time. We’d even had one of those “active shooter simulations” a few weeks ago; actors roaming the halls, pretending to gun down students and teachers, fake blood smeared across faces and clothes. Students collapsing to the floor, screaming: Help, please! I don’t want to die! Make-up for bullet wounds. Police and EMTs swarming the building. Dark hallways, cut by the beams of flashlights. Silence, snapped apart by sirens, screams, and fake gunfire. A whole production.  

Mrs. Melfi almost tripped over her own feet, hurrying back to her desk, hands shaking as she pulled her chair back. 

“Here,” she told me. “Get under my desk; stay out of sight.”

Holy crap this was real. 

I didn’t argue this time. I moved under the desk like the counselor wanted, not sure what to do or what would happen next. I didn’t have anyone to reach out to or check in on, thankfully, although I could have texted my mother. 

No. She had probably passed out by now, anyway. 

So what was I supposed to do? Sit under the desk and wait for someone to kill me? This was ridiculous, how screwed up was the world that something like this happened so often, and no one bothered to do anything about it? How could this be normal?

Something slammed the office door. Then another slam. And the door flew open. 

I glanced out from under the desk. The principal stood in the doorway. Dressed in a ratty suit with an unkempt beard, he looked out of breath and terrified, eyes open wide, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

“Megan,” he whispered Mrs. Melfi’s name with a raspy voice. Did he always look hung-over like this? I’d never met the principal; he let the vice principal handle the dirty work of disciplining the kids. “We have to run. Now!”

“Wha-” Mrs. Melfi looked startled, which didn’t surprise me--of course the adults would lose their cool. “Frank, get back in your office.”

“No!” He grabbed Mrs. Melfi by the arms and shook her. Why so psycho? “You don’t understand. They’re everywhere! We have to run! Now!”

“Who’s everywhere?” Mrs. Melfi slapped his hands away. Good for her. 

The principal practically barked a curse, grabbed hold of Mrs. Melfi’s arm, and dragged her from the room; she kicked and screamed. I heard other voices in the hallway do the same. The staff sounded crazy, shouting, fighting, dragging each other from offices. 

I waited a few minutes, not sure what to do. But I knew I didn’t want to just sit there in the empty office. I needed to get out. My throat felt tight--but no, I wouldn’t let myself be afraid, I was stronger than the rest of them, braver. They might have lost it, but I wouldn’t. 

Eventually, the screaming stopped. 

I didn’t hear anyone else. Just silence. 

Time to go. I stayed low, moved out from behind the desk, and stepped into the small hallway that stemmed from the main office. Staying close to the wall, I snuck into the reception area, where a wide desk sat empty. Toppled chairs dotted the floor, with papers strewn about everywhere. 

I kept moving and stepped into the main hallway. Empty. I ran to the entryway doors and tried to open them, but they were locked shut, meaning I was locked in with the crazies.  

Okay. Fine. I’d climb out a window. I went back into the reception area. And I almost yelped at what I saw. Almost. I wouldn’t let myself lose it. I wouldn’t. 

A teenager crouched on the desk. He wore all black, with dark skin, curly black hair and bright brown eyes. He smiled at me and put a finger to his lips, telling me to shush. 

A voice screamed from the back office. 

The kid hopped off the desk and dashed into the back hall. I waited, still, not sure what to do. Who was this guy? We only had a few black kids at our school, and I didn’t recognize him as one of them. Was he an attacker? Here to help? Or neither, like me? 

Why does it matter? I asked myself. Who cares? I needed to move, not stand around like one of my useless mouth-breathing classmates. 

A thump came from the back offices, and the weird kid walked back into the reception area. He flashed me a smile that made me want to punch his teeth. 

“Okay, we can talk now,” he said. 

“Who are you?” I asked. “You’re not one of the idiots who goes to school here.”

He sniffed a laugh. Did he think that was funny? “No, I’m not. Names Pan.”

Pan? Right. “Whatever, what’s your real name?”

“I told you.” He hopped back onto the desk and crouched like a Spider-Man wanna-be. And he still had that stupid smile on his face. “It’s Pan.”

“Fine, whatever.” If he wanted to mess around, fine, I didn’t have time to care. I just had one question I needed him to answer seriously. “Are you the reason the whole school’s on lockdown?”

“Well, no.” He still had that stupid grin on his face. What, did he think he was cute or something? “But that’s why I’m here. See, there’s not technically anyone attacking the school.”

What was he talking about? “Go on.”

“There was a fear demon,” he said, as if that explained everything instead of sounding insane. “It was probably drawn to all the fear and anxiety already in this place. Bad enough being a middle school kid, but you add all the metal detectors, shooting drills, armed cops arresting kids for smarting off to their teachers…A demon came and ignited that fear to feed off it.”

“You expect me to believe there’s a demon here snacking on everyone’s fear?” Why was I wasting my time talking to this guy? He belonged in a loony bin. 

“No, I don’t expect you to believe it, but it’s true,” he said. “You’re not affected though, which is weird.”

“Weird? What’s weird? I don’t get scared.”

“It’s probably closer to the opposite: you’re scared all the time and really good at hiding it from everyone, even yourself. That might give you some insulation at first. But eventually, you’re going to explode and make quite the snack for whatever fear demon set up shop in this place.”

“What are you, a traveling shrink?” 

“That would be a lot of fun, but no,” he said. “I hunt monsters.”

“Right. Pan the Monster Hunter.”

“Has a nice ring to it, right?”

“No. It really doesn’t.” I’d heard enough; this freaky kid had wasted enough of my time. “You can stay here and play make-believe all you want. I’m gone.”

He hopped down from the desk. “Or--hear me out--you come with me, and I can show you what I’m talking about.”

“I’d rather have a tooth pulled.” Why would I ever follow him?

“Seriously, come with me,” he said. “I have a feeling you might find it fun.”

Fun? “What is wrong with you?”

“Lots of things.” He still had that stupid smile. “That’s why I’m good at my job.”

*** 

I don’t know why, but I followed the weird kid through the halls. Everything looked empty, with classroom doors and lockers left wide open, and not a person in sight. The lights flickered--but that happened all the time. 

“Where is everyone?” I whispered. Why did I whisper? I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t. 

“If I’m right, they’ll be this way.” We entered a stairwell and walked up to the second floor. 

“And if you’re wrong?” 

“Then I’m wrong and we’ll try something else.”

Ugh, such a dumb answer. “You’re infuriating.”

“I know.”

The kid--I wouldn’t call him Pan--walked to the door that led to the upper level of the gym.

We looked through the door’s glass pane; the gym’s lights were off, but the high windows leaked just enough light to see moving shapes, about a hundred kids sitting at ground level. They seemed terrified. Some hugged each other, others held themselves and rocked back and forth, most of them cried. 

A handful of teachers huddled near the center of the basketball court. I recognized Principal What’s-His-Face and Mrs. Melfi among them. “What are they doing?”

“Well.” The weird kid took a deep breath, thinking, probably. Or at least trying to. It probably hurt his brain. “Keep in mind they’re not evil, they’re not enthralled, they’re just terrified beyond paranoia. Their instincts were probably to huddle together here, safety in numbers, or something like that.”

“You sound like you’re guessing.”

“A theory isn’t a guess.”

“Whatever.” I didn’t like this boy. “Do you have a plan, or are you going to stand out here and babble?”

“Both,” he said. “That fear demon’s gotta be around here somewhere. Depending on what kind he is, he could be possessing someone in the gym, or floating around somewhere in spirit form. Or he might be possessing an object, or in physical form.”

“You just said he could be anyone, anything, anywhere,” I said, annoyed. “That doesn’t narrow it down, does it?”

He cracked open the door, just wide enough for him to slide through, and asked me to follow. I did, for whatever reason, maybe to show him I had just as much bravery as he did, or maybe to prove his insanity. Fear demons? Yeah right.

We stayed low. 

I heard Mrs. Melfi scream-whisper to the kids as she paced across the court. She looked just as crazy as the principal now, wiggling her fingers at her sides, shaking her head. “It’ll be okay,” she said--holding a gun now, for some reason. Why was a teacher holding a gun? “We’ll just wait here for the police. Just wait here. Until it’s safe.”

One of the boys shouted--Dumb Donny. He shot to his feet and grabbed the girl next to him in a chokehold. 

“No!” he screamed. “Let us go, or I swear to god, I’ll break her neck!”

Pan tensed next to me. No more smiling. 

“He wouldn’t,” I whispered. Donny was a big, stupid bully. I didn’t doubt he’d hit a girl. But kill her? No, he wouldn’t. 

“He would,” Pan said. “If he’s being affected by the fear demon, he would.”

Pan hopped onto the bottom rail and leaned his ankles against the top rail for balance, looking down at the lower level of the gym. 

“Hey, up here!” he shouted. 

Why did we bother to sneak into the gym if he was just going to hop up and announce himself? Idiot. 

Donny panicked and nearly tripped over his own clumsy feet. “Stay back!” he shouted at Pan. “Leave me alone, or she’s dead! I swear to god, I swear!”

“It’s okay!” Pan shouted back--shouting at someone didn’t exactly calm them down. What was he thinking? “No really, it’s okay! Look, if you hurt her, they will shoot you. They’re in here right now. And they’re trigger happy.”

Donny’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for some sign of the non-existent shooters. What was Pan thinking? One wrong word and Donny would snap the girl’s neck. This was insane. All of it. Crazy. 

“Just let the girl go,” Pan said. “Let her go and we can all get out of here together. In fact, you can be the hero! You can take the lead.” 

The jock kept looking back and forth with his weasley eyes. 

I can still run, I reminded myself. I could get out of the gym, find a window, hop out and run away from this crazy school. I didn’t owe these kids anything. And Pan, I didn’t know him, he could be the real psycho shooter for all I knew. 

That settles it. I stayed low and moved back through the door into the hallway. If he wants to mess around with this group psychosis, he can go ahead. 

I started to run off, but stopped. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of my head or the tightness in my throat. I don’t care, I told myself. I don’t. Let them go crazy, let them kill each other, I don’t care. 

I felt caught in the middle of a tug-of-war. Part of me wanted to go back into the gym--although I didn’t know why--and another part of me wanted to say “screw this place” and run away. Instead, I stood there, caught in the middle. 

Stop being a baby and get back in there, I told myself, finally. I didn’t like wasting my time with pointless “inner struggles” or “self-reflection.”

So I made up my mind and acted. 

I went back to the stairwell, ran downstairs and moved through the main entrance of the gym. I stopped just a few steps onto the court--I couldn’t believe what I saw. If this is a group psychosis? I’m catching it. 

Two kids lay on the floor--shot, by Mrs. Melfi, who had dropped her gun, dropped to her knees, screaming into her hands. The sight of it, I couldn’t look away, not even with…

Pan stood in the center of the gym and looked up at a shadow of yellow and black, shaped like a giant spider made of smoke. Little eyes bulged from the smoke, too many, swelling like blisters, splitting open into tiny mouths. From inside those mouths, more eyes pushed their way out, wet and blinking, staring in every direction at once, and then popping. The shadow thing twisted and churned, moving at bent angles, but with gaps. And in those gaps--terror. The scariest parts of that thing were the missing parts you couldn’t see. 

I’m not afraid, not afraid. I rolled my hands into fists, tensed, and glared at the swirling shadow. It had to be a hallucination, all in my mind. Right? I looked aside. Most of the other students and teachers had passed out, except for Mrs. Melfi, still screaming into her hands.

Pan looked ready for a fight. He smiled at the sight of me. How could he smile? He lifted a small clay tablet. 

“Found the fear demon,” he called out to me. “It’s Sumerian, so this should be easy.”

The creature of smoke twisted and snapped out at me, like a web of shredded rags, and the gaps between the rags seemed to stare at me. It felt like something watched me, closely, watched my mind, my soul. I hated it. 

This can’t be real. I glared into the smoke, felt tension grip my throat. But I just stared harder. I’m not afraid. Not afraid.

I felt a tear wet my cheek. No. I wouldn’t cry, this stupid hallucination wouldn’t make me cry like a baby. 

“Good!” Pan shouted at me. “Hold him there, keep him distracted. This will only take a second.”

The shadow spider circled around me, above me. My mind fired off in different directions, as if grabbed and spun. I saw myself at the age of nine. Even then, my mom dressed me up like a doll. Boys laughed at me when I tried out for Little League. Then they cried after I beat them up. I stayed home alone most nights while my mom went out and did god-knows what. I’d sit in the dark and flip aimlessly through the TV stations, rolling my eyes at the sitcoms with prissy, weak girls and their perfect families. I didn’t let myself cry. I wouldn’t. I was strong. Who needed a mother? A family?

I fell onto all fours.

The shadows felt like whispers that prickled the insides of my head. This had to be a hallucination. It had to. 

Through the corner of my eye, I saw Pan slap his clay tablet onto the gym floor. He pressed his hand on it and whispered a word. “Zisurrû.” Then he spoke more words; I didn’t understand any of them. 

The tablet ignited with white light; a beam of power shot from the tablet and drew a circle of energy across the floor, surrounding the shadow-spider that floated around me. The shadow-- demon, hallucination, whatever--gave a silent scream. No noise, but I could feel it shout, yell, pain swelling and bursting. 

Pan shouted a final word I didn’t recognize. 

The ring of light intensified with a final burst of power that vaporized the shadow into nothingness. 

And with that, Pan lifted the clay tablet off the floor, dusted it off, and smiled at me. “See?” he said to me. “Fear demon. Told you so.”

***

School shut down the next day because of a “gas leak” that caused fainting and hallucinations. It sounded like a ridiculous excuse, but most people bought it. Even I wanted to believe that dumb cover story; it made more sense than fear demons. But no, the more I thought about it, the more I believed--the fear demon was real. Demons were real. What did that even mean?

Pan had disappeared, so I couldn’t ask him any questions. And all the kids and adults, once school reopened, they moved on like nothing had happened. We even had a lock-down drill not long afterward. 

My mom didn’t particularly care, not at all. Fine. Who needed her?

I didn’t have anyone to talk to. 

If I wanted answers, I’d have to find them on my own. 

Later in the evening, I ran away for the first time--not that anyone would notice. 

I’d find out how something like this could happen. 

Then I would stop it. 

Because I could. 

And I was not afraid. 

END