Chapter Text
The night was cool . Quiet. Stars dapped the inky sky, splashes on a black canvas, as the moon lazily yawned. Muffled horns honked, car alarms distantly cried. The neon lights climbing up the towering buildings glowed like fallen stars. Viscous water sloshed lazily against rotted wood supports. The musty scent of mould drifted through the air. Draxum’s hooves slipped on algae slicked planks. Draxum grumbled under his breath.
Two of his four creations trailed behind him, at a distance. The back of his mind, a traitorous thing, unhelpfully supplied; Subject three and Subject four .
Donatello and Michelangelo, he hissed back mentally.
The two—read, Michelangelo—had begged him to join them for “trash fishing” as Donatello had called it. Reluctantly, he had joined them. If not to make sure the two didn’t go on New York News. No one was more prone to criminal activity than the two of them together.
Their footsteps were quiet, like a breeze through grass. The muddy Hudson below their feet sloshed lazily, as though a fish had surfaced for a moment. Across the river, New Jersey lied masked by a thick cloud of smog. Distant lights glittered like cloud-masked moons. Draxum turned to his crea– sons , with an oddly cold feeling that spiked his blood.
Michelangelo held Donatello’s hand loosely, a lazy smile curled his beak. He seemed to be listening to what the softshell at his side was rambling about. Donatello’s hands flew each which way in excitement, dragging the box turtle’s hand with them. His eyes glowed with pride, smile self-assured.
Upon further inspection, he seemed to be talking about… explosives?
Oh the earth above…
“Boom boxes are elementary of course, it’s finding the tapes that gets difficult. I’ve been thinking of learning how to develop music into film, so you have more song choices to choose from–” Donatello stopped speaking for a sudden, a thick penned-on brow raised. “....did you hear that?”
A silken purr, the rumble of the ocean’s waves, settled over the trio. The docks groaned. Water sloshed. The growing roar of an overhead plane bled away any remaining noise.
“It’s probably nothing, Dee! Who goes here anyways? It's stanky as hell!” Michelangelo pulled Donatello along with an easy smile. Donatello sighed. A metal arm snaked from his prosthesis shell and scratched at his shoulder nervously. Michelangelo’s gaze turned to Draxum, and he tried his hardest to school his face. Something flat, something easy. He probably looked annoyed. “Did you hear it too, dad?”
…dad…?
Imperceptibly, Donatello’s eyebrow twitched. The softshell didn’t comment.
“....I didn’t not hear anything,” Draxum replied at length. His ear twitched. “But I hesitate to assume if it is just the wildlife in this….son…of hud, or something actually unusual.”
Donatello’s eyes lit up. He clapped his hands together and gasped excitedly.
“Ah!! Yeah!! There’s about two hundred different species of fish living in the Hudson, despite the rampant contamination in it! There’s also six different species of turtle,” Donatello rattled off excitedly. In a moment, he seemed to have forgotten about any disturbance. As he rambled, he flipped down his goggles. “You ever know the difference between a cooter and a slider? ‘Cuz cooters have longer and flatter shells while sliders have dome shaped shells, as well as a more pronounced yellow orbital stripe and—oh oh! This spot is perfect !”
Four metal arms snaked out from the back of his battle shell. He shot Michelangelo a grin, all yellowed and concerningly sharp teeth. Then he sent Draxum an expectant, flat, look. “So like, the Hudson is gross, so if I don’t have to go in there I won’t. Can you reach in there with your vines?”
The docks groaned. Rotted boards under his hooves shifted wearily. As he stepped forward, a pitter met his ears. A quiet swoosh. Barely perceptible. The river smelled of rotten eggs and old mud.
Draxum sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He clenched his fist, feeling a familiar tug in his gut. Slowly, a magenta vine slithered from a crack in the earth and snaked towards the water’s murky surface, hooked at the end like a fish hook.
A shadow flitted under the foggy depths. One of Donatello’s metal hands grabbed the vine Draxum had summoned, as the softshell leaned forward as though to get a better look. For some reason, Draxum’s throat was dry. His tongue tasted of ash.
As Donatello went to lean over the water, something burst out and snagged his ankle. Donatello and Michelangelo’s eyes went comically wide. Draxum froze on the spot. Whatever hand had grabbed the softshell was massive ; about as large as his foot, up to just above his ankle.
It was scaled, mottled with bumps like a gravel pathway. Watery green skin slicked with mud and dotted with grassy-looking algae. Donatello whipped his bō from the hook on his prosthesis and twisted the grip. The metal at the tip peeled away, reformed into a polished-looking chainsaw. With a panicked cry, he swung it at the offending hand, and hit true on its middle. It let go, and Draxum could faintly hear a muffled cry under the river’s surface.
“W-what was that?” Michelangelo cried. He hopped onto Donatello’s back, much to the softshell’s chagrin. Donatello sent a glare to the water as he rolled his shoulders.
“So that’s what I heard under the surface—h-how come I didn’t see it?” Donatello mumbled as he scratched at his thigh. A clear sign of agitation, Draxum assumed. He had no time to theorise, however, when a gargantuan figure burst from the river’s surface in a spray of filthy brownish water.
The creature, resembling a bipedal crocodile, was about as large as the tank on a gas truck. Its hide was thicker on the larger part of its body; almost rocky. Mossy green, like the surface of the Husdon, crept along its maw all the way down to the tail tip on the topside. Its underside was a light sandy grey. The scutes along its tail were spiked, so dark a green it looked almost black. White eyes glared with rapt, hungry, attention at the two turtles in front of it. The croc reared back and let out a gurgled, but still deep, roar and lunged .
“Duck!!” Michelangelo called as he whipped out his fundō. Donatello lept to one side as Michelangelo leapt to the other, skidding to a halt near a broken down lamppost in a crouch. He threw his fundō in a burst of brilliant orange flames and wrapped the chain around the dilapidated post.
“ Flip-o-rama !” Without much effort, he tore it from its bolts and launched it towards the crocodile just as the creature went to shove Donatello into the Hudson. The metal post hit true; knocking the crocodile back into the river with a heavy splash. The two turtles regrouped with Draxum.
“Is that a mutant?? That guy’s HUUUGE ,” Michelangelo made a gesture with his hands to accentuate his point. Donatello’s gaze never left the river, his muscles tense enough to tremble. His fingers twitched, as though he itched to do something with them. Draxum’s ears fell back and he let out a grunt.
“I don’t think it is, it's far too large; and as a crocodile ages, its skin becomes harder to penetrate,” Draxum observed with a growl. The three tensed as the crocodile burst out the water again with a reverberating snarl. The wetted wood under their feet trembled with effort. Donatello’s bō staff twirled in his grip, and he forced it to a stop under his left arm.
“Whatever it is, why don’t we take it down first , then worry about what its lamellar growth rings tell us,” the softshell quipped as he fell into a battle stance. Michelangelo grinned and laughed as he joined his brother.
“I agree! Let's show this handbag who’s boss, baby!” Michelangelo twirled his fundō at his side playfully. Donatello cast his gaze towards his brother and nodded. Michelangelo’s grin turned evil, almost, and Draxum couldn’t fight back his concern.
The crocodile lunged at them once more with a gurgled roar. It swiped at Donnie, but the softshell leapt out of the way cleanly. With that, the two had locked in a dance of taunts and attacks. Finally, the crocodile lunged into a punch that Donatello easily slipped by. He adjusted the angle of his bō with a spin and twisted its handle. The tip split open and shifted into a large hammer. He twirled it and slammed it into the Crocs arm with a resounding crack! that snapped through the clear air like a firecracker. The croc reared back with an agonised roar.
Michelangelo tossed his fundō towards Donatello, just as the crocodile went to bite the softshell. The fundō twirled around his bō staff, with each wrap-around it slammed into the croc's face and drove it backwards again. The boys disengaged their weapons and drew back. Donatello spun his staff to readjust the angle, whilst Michelangelo crouched low and wrapped his fundō around another innocent lamppost.
And Draxum—
Well, he was frozen . Fumbling with the idea of whether or not he should help; clearly the two had this, did they not?
"Potassum-Argon dating!" Donatello cried as he leapt up to the stunned crocodile and shifted his bō into a fist-shaped hammer. At the same time, Michelangelo yanked the other lamppost from its bolts with a resounding screech and tossed it at the crocodile. Unfortunately for the two boys, it recovered rather quickly. It grabbed Donatello’s hammer and threw the softshell away, giving it enough time to fall onto all fours and dash away from the encroaching lamppost.
It broke through the docks with a wet crunch.
Donatello hit the ground and mumbled a quiet and flat “ow” as he landed in an unnatural position. Michelangelo cringed. Metal arms shot from Donatello’s battle shell and hooked onto the lip of a supply crate. He pulled himself up with a grunt and wiped away dirt that clung to his beak. The metal arms set the scientist down gently and withdrew with a metallic chirr. Donatello held his bō horizontally and twisted the grip again. The ends twisted like self-tying ribbons into two large purple rockets, facing opposing sides.
Its boosters burst to life with a mechanical roar and hurtled towards the crocodile, twirling in the air like chopper blades. His makeshift boomerang struck true, as it slammed into the crocodile’s head with a sickening crack . The hulking reptile collapsed to the ground with a thud .
The two boys whopped and fist bumped. Michelangelo whistled. “Nice work, Dee!”
Donatello preened. He rolled his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Yeah well—”
Whatever self-assured remark the softshell had geared up was cut off by a bubbled roar. Draxum’s heart stopped. His blood ran ice cold. A clawed hand, as large as his own face sliced directly for the softshell’s throat. Too quick for the boy to react. A ringing burst forth in his ears.
Without thinking. Without breathing. His muscles tensed and he thrust his fist forward with violence, the tug in his chest felt as though his heart was being torn out and heaved onto the floor.
The bricks that lined the docks surged forward, like a football player catching a ball. They formed a protective barrier in front of his two sons. The claw connected and the bricks burst into a plume of dust and debris. A trail of smoke followed the croc’s claws as it brought it up to its maw. A fat tongue swept against its dust-covered claw, catching a faint trace of blood.
The next moments were the fastest and slowest of Draxum’s life.
The yōkai hurtled towards Donatello in a devastating burst of speed. The massive creature was a blur. A blink of movement. It crashed into the softshell and buried its jaws in the boy’s battle shell. Titanium screeched. Cried. Ground like stone against stone. Donnie’s “ow” morphed into a real cry of agony when its jaws tensed more. It peeled the shell off his back and tossed it aside like a banana peel. Michelangelo let out an indignant cry as Draxum fumbled to draw more vines from the ground.
Sweat trickled down his forehead. His muscles trembled with effort. His fingers prickled. Light and heavy, all at once. He tried again. He was met with the same blank response.
Michelangelo, however, didn't seem to struggle as much. He threw his fundō with an enraged glint in his eyes. The chains wrapped around the croc's body and he went to yank it forward. However, its grip on Donatello was too strong, and the creature merely used the softshell as a cushion for its fall. Donatello sent Michelangelo an incensed glare, probably about to admonish his brother for his recklessness. However, before he could speak, that rage was wiped off his face and replaced with an agonised look. A whimper escaped his lips as he brought up a fist to pry the crocodile’s jaws open. His attempts would prove fruitless.
Michelangelo’s chest heaved. His breathing notably quick. Fat tears bubbled up in his eyes and he blinked them away. He cried, with venom dripping from his tone; “Leave my brother alone you overgrown Louis Vuitton handbag!”
He threw the fundō towards two neatly stacked supply crates. With a grunt of effort, he leapt up and swung it in a circle around him, trying to build momentum. When he tossed it, with a cry of rage, it hurled at the crocodile like a freight train. The crocodile leapt away, skidding across the bricked floor with a burst of sparks. It sank low to the ground, with a mean hiss from the back of its maw.
The croc let out a snarl, muffled as it was. Distantly, Draxum wondered why the wretched beast hadn’t focused on him yet. It lunged towards Michelangelo and grabbed him by the shell and dove for the water. It sunk in the depths like a rock, dragging the two turtles with it as though they were as light as driftwood.
Draxum’s heart sank with them.
No no no no no—
Distantly, Draxum could have sworn he heard a dulled clatter.
He fumbled for a connection with the earth, the rocks, the wood— anything but all he got in return was a starburst of agony in his chest. He felt weak. No no no no—darkness swam in his eyes, an irresistible power that masked its intent within an ambrosial feeling of control —
He wished he had that control.
Without thinking, he dove into the murky depths.
The cold almost shocked him to his senses. But panic was a knife that dug through his heart and to his brain. The only thought on his mind was how useless he’d been the whole fight; how he should have helped them more, but froze .
He didn’t even understand why .
The water pushed on him from every side. His fur weighed him down. His clothes weighed him down. The feeling was akin to wearing the Kuroi Yōroi. Swimming in endless darkness, sapped of power but tricked with a modicum of control. His heart pounded in his chest, his ear, his skin and eyes.
A blurred figure shifted like an eerie serpent. Dull orange eyes glinted like candle lights in a dark room. Faintly, he could see the shredded insides of what was left on Donnie’s battle shell, but even that was beginning to fade.
A trail of something red, almost brown, floated in sluggish clouds from the blurred ever fading figure in the depths. Strands of liquid with a far different consistency than water twisted like ribbons thrown in a blender around him. He reached a trembling and feeble hand as the figure retreated where he could not go. His heart was skipping beats.
His chest was tight.
Too tight.
He couldn’t breathe.
When his fingers closed—
Draxum’s fingers grasped nothing.
He couldn’t breathe.
A mix of rage, agitation, anger anger anger anger tore hot through his bones. He snarled deeply and a roar escaped his lips. He thrust his hand forward, bubbles followed as the water desperately attempted to fill in the gaps. Out from behind, a pink vine burst from the earth, large enough to cave in the riverside it burst from in. It shot past him in a flurry of dust and bubbles. Like a bullet.
His body felt like it was being crushed.
His lungs grasped for something that wasn’t there.
In a blink, the vine’s tip faded into the blue depths. For a moment, his chest tightened with a different feeling. Please please please—-
A trembling hand grasped at the vine, to feel if he’d hit the mark.
Silence.
The dust had masked the scene in front of him.
His thoughts blurred together. Sluggish like mud. Was his vision blurry, or was it the murky waters in front of him?
The vine curled back, wrapped around his middle, and yanked him from the water. He landed hard on the cold concrete, gasping for air as though it were gold. It was cold. A cold deeper than winter’s chill; something that settled in his bones and rattled him.
His teeth chattered. His chest heaved. Air dragged against his dry throat like razor blades. He attributed the water that dripped down his cheeks to be the river water.
He cast his blurred gaze to the side to see a small purple square. Dulled recognition filled his ever sluggish mind.
That is Donatello’s cellular device.
Wait.
A misshapen plan, like metal before it's beaten to perfection, flitted into his mind. He shook the droplets from his hand and grabbed the phone. He struggled to turn it on for a few moments, before the phone lit up with a cheery click.
03:02
10 unread notifications.
4 Missed Calls from
Leon da Vinny.
Draxum’s attention focused on call back . Without much thought, he pressed the button—a few times, much to his frustration—and relief flooded through his veins as the call went through.
Leonardo answered within the second ring. The slider appeared on the screen, seemingly at work at their weird bone uncle’s Run of the Mill Pizza.
“ Hola mi hermano ,” Leonardo’s voice drawled from the receiver. He leaned against a kitchen counter casually, obsidian eyes glittering with mirth. In the background Draxum could faintly hear muffled conversations and a fuzzy song that sounded vaguely like “Send me a Peach”. The room he was in was lit with a warm yellow light that flickered occasionally. He was dressed up; a tailcoat suit, freshly pressed, buttoned over a white blouse and a neatly done up red tie. A few serving menus were clutched in his armpit. “Donathan, come to tell me how right I was—”
“Leonardo, I require your assistance,” Draxum interrupted quickly. He tried to expunge the panic from his voice. Wipe it clean, until nothing was left but authority. He did not have time for Leonardo’s childish teasing. The slider’s relaxed pose coiled somewhat. It seemed he noticed he wasn’t on the phone with his twin brother.
“ Barry? Que? What the hhhhhh eck are you doing here? Why do you have Donnie’s phone? ¿Porque estás en Nueva Jersey ???” Leonardo’s voice rose in indignation, though he never yelled. Draxum cast his gaze to the still river’s surface. A bubble rose to the surface and popped.
“It is…not apt to describe over the…cellular device, how long will it take you to arrive? The situation is rather dire,” the words caught in his throat. Leonardo’s smug grin twitched somewhat, strained. It was fake, then.
“I’ll be there in a second, Draxy,” Leonardo’s voice was straight, stern. He hung up before Draxum could reply. In another moment, in the blink of an eye, a blue portal tore itself open by his side. Leonardo stepped out, his steps feather light.
“What happened? Dee doesn’t let anyone on his phone, y’know,” He casually snagged Donatello’s phone from Draxum’s loose grip. Though he seemed occupied with Donatello’s phone, his gaze flicked to Draxum expectantly. He stuffed it in his medbag.
“We have very little time, Leonardo, Donatello and Michelangelo are in danger,” his tone clipped, clinical, scrubbed of earlier’s panic. If it were possible, Leonardo looked more serious than before. He slung his ōdachi over his shoulder. In a moment, the stressful seriousness was carefully masked with his usual roguish attitude.
“What’s the happs, Sheepman?” Leonardo tried again. It was hard not to notice the strain in his voice. Draxum turned to the river. He could not see the bottom.
“We were attacked by a crocodile yōkai, and Donatello and Michelangelo were dragged under the river. I tried going after them but…” He trailed off. They were at the bottom of the river. There didn’t feel like there was a bottom to it. His gaze fell down to his hooves. He’d never tried to swim before.
The great Baron Draxum? Unable to swim? To save the yōkai he’d sworn to protect?
Leonardo looked around and frowned. It seemed he noticed the ruined river side. He whistled. “Did you do that? Damn, Draxy! But uh, also, the river over here is like….150ft deep? No offence, hombe obeja , but you wouldn’t even reach 50 feet deep.”
“Are you going to be able to?” Draxum challenged defensively. A flicker of doubt caught in Leonardo’s eyes. They hardened to steel. An easy smile curved his beak. Leonardo let out a huff of laughter as he rolled his shoulders. It sounded overconfident. The slider stretched his legs with a clean pop! He cracked his back, too, for good measure.
“ Relax , Leon’s got it! Besides, I’m the second best swimmer outta all of us!” Leonardo unclipped his medical bag and set it gently on the ground. “It might take long enough for you to get medical supplies though. Get those real quick, because I gotta feelin’ things aren’t gonna be pretty.”
Draxum nodded. He didn’t have to be told twice. Leonardo crouched beside the water and frog leapt into the murky depths. His blue shell soon faded in the Hudson’s embrace.
The countdown began.
For whatever reason, the most difficult part of the afternoon was leaving.