6.
The sharp end of Naya's pike zoomed at Drake's chest. He just stood there… staring. Eventually he managed to wince, hands slamming together, as if it'd help.
He fell back as if yanked by the spine, only he had not moved. Time, space and everything in between moved, gravity had let go and a vacuum had embraced him, holding him from behind. It a mother, him the favourite son, it had his wrists, placing them together and…
Clang!
He opened an eye, a giant green arm stuck out the concrete, thick gold plating wrapped around it.
Another rose, a symbol of five rings overlapping with a black spear passing through tattooed upon it.
Hair tickled his ankles and he rose.
He stood on an orange and green surface with black individual hairs running in a line down the middle, a Mohawk. A head tilt dropped him into a green palm, which straightened enough to slide him to the ground.
Drake gaped. The creature green, its head and chest painted with an orange lightning bolt. Like a bulky Native American with a pony tail on his Mohawk.
"Naya, how'd you know?"
"They showed me. We all have one. If you can see one, you have one. They protect and fight with and for you. It's an extension of you. When you fight, you're a part of everything it does."
Every word out of the maniac's lips were cool. What could be done with it? No idea. But it'd rock.
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