Chapter 1 - Shevvo

The rain poured down, beating onto the streets. Mystikal, a western/Eastern Dragon crossbreed stood huddled in the mouth of an alley way, leaning against the dirty wall of an old factory, his paws stuffed in his jacket pockets as water ran down his face and dripped from his nose and long whiskers. Cars, buses, wagons and lorries rumbled past, spraying anybody on the foot path that braved the weather or got caught up in the sudden down pour with grimey water.

This was a city of Dragons. Western on the western side of the river, Eastern on the Eastern side of the river and Jin 'Mystikal' Tsang caught in the middle, wandering from place to place, doing odd jobs for anybody who would talk to him for a scrap of food or a few pennies.

His father a Western, his mother an Eastern Dragon, he didn't belong and was looked down upon by the Westerns for his lush mane of purple fur, long, elegant whiskers and scaleless hide, and shunned by the Easterns for his hidden ears and wings.

He stayed in the shadows and sighed as he watched the Eastern community going about it's business, braving the rain and running from building to building with purpose. Mystikal's only purpose in life was to survive on the streets, homeless and hungry, swiping food from dumpsters or food delivery vehicles and sleeping wherever he could that was out of the way. Right now, he'd made a temporary home on the top floor of the old factory he was leaning against, having found some old builder's sheets behind the corner shop a couple of blocks down to use as covers for the cold nights as winter grew closer and closer as the days slipped by.

He wondered idly how many people had spotted him stood in the alley. Probably not many. If he wasn't being beaten down by others, he was invicible, non-existant to either side. Just a shade walking the streets, a shadow flickering as a small cloud skidded across the sun.

His stomach growled at the smell of freshly baked bread, the delicouse scent being carried on the breeze from the bottom of the street. He pulled his hood up and obeyed his body's pleas for food, cautiously stepping out onto the street, looking from side to side, expecting at any moment that he was going to be cut down by someone. A constant paranoia that would always haunt him after being abandoned at a very young age and being brought up an old Eastern female who used to be a top thief, teaching him how to pick locks, how enter high security buildings without detection and how to fox the police if he were to be cornered.

When he was six, the old woman's house was broken into and he was forced to watch her be beaten to death with her own walking cane. He'd just barely managed to get out alive himself, and since then, he'd been labelled as a 'prize catch' to whom ever caught him, so he found himself looking over his shoulder almost constantly as he padded cat-like to his next destination.

Twenty one without a friend in the world. He thought bleakly. Maybe I should just end my life. No one would notice the loss.
He sighed at the thought and chuckled quietly as he stepped neatly around a puddle. He'd tried ending his life many times before. Even when he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life, he'd always found himself struggling to survive.
All these scars and scrapes should be on the body of a brave warrior, not a cowardly thief. He thought bitterly, rubbing at a wound on his left fore arm that he'd recieved when he'd been caught out raiding a butcher's shop. The old Western had tried to cut his arm off, but Mystikal had managed to dodge the falling meat cleaver, and recieved a six inch wound instead.

The smell of fresh bread grew stronger as the rain grew weaker in it's efforts to drown the twin city. He stuffed his paws back into his pockets, keeping his hood up he quickly ducked into the alley a few buildings down from the large bakery. He quickly weaved between the scatter of dust bins, dumpsters, piles of card board and masses of dirty puddles and made his way towards the back of the bakery, where the door was always open.

Mystikal hid behind an overflowing dumpster and eyed the open service door. He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear them.
One man. About fifty years of age. Eastern, naturally, as the two races didn't stray into each other's territory, and he was alone. No one out front manning the counter or out back. It was just him. Shevvo, as his work mates called him. An old, grumpy Eastern Dragon with greying red fur and an alabaster hide. Polite to his customers, but a real bastard to anyone else.

''I'll be with you in a minute! Just pulling some fresh bread out of the oven!'' Shevvo called out to the ringing counter bell.
Mystikal edged closer to the door as he heard the old Dragon's foot steps move closer to the front of the shop. He peered into the kitchen from his crouching position, and when he was sure it was clear, he darted in, as silent as a cat on the hunt, his claws not even tapping against the cold, hard surface of the tiled floor.

The bread was there, large, oval mounds of golden cooked dough, steam wavering above them still as they lay on the large baking tray. Mystikal edged closer and froze as he heard footsteps passing the doorway of the shop. Shevvo moving from one end of the counter to the other as his customer asked for a slice of cake to go. He retained his tense stance, wings pressed flat against his back, whickers slightly curled towards himself as he moved in a fluid motion towards the countertop that his prize was sat on.

Mystikal was about to reach up when he heard Shevvo come back into the kitchen, grumbling about picky customers. Mystikal was frozen to the spot, heart hammering in his ears, muscles so tense that he could've passed off for a statue if it weren't for his darting eyes. The old Dragon walked past the loaves of bread as Mystikal stayed crouched, stuck in position on the other side, praying that the baker wouldn't walk around the baking counter. He stayed put for a few more seconds then hazarded a glance over the top.

Shevvo stood with his back to him, cleaning one of the smaller ovens, cursing under his breath. Mystikal quickly plucked one of the loaves from the tray and winced, biting back a wimper as the still piping hot bread burned into his paw. He ducked down and started his slow and silent retreat, but froze again at the end of the baking counter, a scant few feet from the open doorway, when he heard Shevvo move.
''THIEVING LITTLE BA-''

Mystikal didn't wait for the rest; he took off, sliding into the back alley and started running as fast as he could, ignoring the To and concentrating on the From as more angry shouts echoed after him.
He didn't look back. He never looked back when he was running, no matter how tempting it was. He just kept his eyes forward, head down and feet moving with his prize tucked firmly under his arm. He rounded his fifth corner and loped to a halt in the park, between a small, but thick cluster of trees.

He sat down in the centre of them, ignoring the wet mud beneath him and chuckled, admiring the golden brown loaf of bread. What a meal he'd have today. Fresh baked bread from one of the best bakeries on the Eastern side of the river. He chuckled again at the thought of Shevvo. This wasn't the first time he'd been robbed by Mystikal and lost. His break-ins came at random moments, whether there were people in the kitchen or not. The old Dragon just couldn't catch the outcast.

Mystikal pulled a clump of bread off and popped it into his mouth, savouring the wonderful taste, knowing he wouldn't be able to taste something this good for weeks to come. The last time he'd tasted food this good was three weeks ago, when the owner of a foreign restaurant made the mistake of forgetting to lock the back door, allowing the hungry thief to get in without being detected. He'd stuffed his old ruck sack full of packets of noodles, bread rolls and cheese, grabbing a bottle of fine wine on his way out. Opportunities like that didn't come very often, but when they did, he'd grab everything he could and slink off back into the darkness.

He leaned against the tree, digesting his meal of bread as he thought about what to do next. It was getting dark and he was getting tired. He sat thinking for a couple of minutes when someone shouted. The sound of branches being bent back and snapped filled the afternoon silence of the park. He turned around and looked up at three, well built Easterns; Dark blue, black and green, lips pulled back into an evil, toothy grin.
'' 'old 'im down boys. This wun's fer Shevvo.'' The Blue said, cracking his knuckles.

The green and black stepped forward and pulled Mystikal from the ground and held him to the tree by his arms as the Blue loomed over him, a good two foot taller than his six - one. Mystikal tried wriggling free of the Dragon's grips, but they were too strong, their hold getting tighter with each move he made, making him wince. He closed his eyes and thought; Well, here we go again...

The air rushed from his lungs as the blue landed his fist firmly in Mystikal's gut, making him gasp loudly and tense up. The next blow was landed on his jaw, thankfully not hard enough to break it. He didn't bother crying for help, he knew it wouldn't come. It didn't matter if he was beaten to a bloodied mess in the middle of the market hill on market day, people either stopped to spectate or just ignored it.
The blue's fist pulled back again, and hit him in the side of the head, making the world spin violently around.

He felt the tight grip on his arms loosen and disappear as the green and black let him go. A knee to the groin forced him over to the floor, huffing for air, but exhaling more than he inhaled. A kick cracked a rib and he cried out in agony. The blue continued to mercilessly beat him, breaking bones, winding and cutting with claws until the young crossbreed lay still, wheezing quietly on the wet ground between the trees. With each breath, his cut lips speckled with more crimson.

A low rumbling in the distance and the sky grew dark with storm clouds again, the soothing sound of rain taking up pace once more as it fell to earth in another bid to drown it. Mystikal peered out of eyes swollen with bruises, everything a blur as his wounds clouded his senses. He thought he heard a voice in the rain, soft as silk, and as soothing as the rain fall hitting the soft leaves of the trees overhead. The voice got closer, asking the same questions; ''Are you alright? Can you hear me?''

Before he could make out the figure in front of him, his sight wavered and darkness swallowed him, drowning out all feeling, sound and thought.

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