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Angrily, Scirye chased after the brown-haired boy who had stopped in front of the shattered case with the throwing stars. “This is no place for you,” she ordered, pulling at Leech’s arm. “You’ll just get in the way.”
“Playtime’s over,” Leech snapped at her, “so take your costume and get lost. Leave this to people who know how to fight.”
The boy was holding one of the stars like a spiked baseball.
Scirye gave a snort of disgust. “You don’t even know how to use one of those,” she snapped and plucked one from the half-dozen in his other hand. “You hold it by the tip.” She held up the star between her index finger and thumb as her sister had shown her. She had done well in practice, but she wondered how she would be in real combat.
Leech’s face grew stormy as he snatched it back. He looked if he were going to argue, but froze when the dragon’s laugh echoed around the dome like the rumbling of an avalanche.
The dragon’s scar twisted his smile into a menacing leer as he leaned downward. “Do you really think any of you can stop me?”
—FromCity of Fire