A/N: This here be the final chapter. For most of this chapter, Dorkus and Pinter will be whispering as indicated by the italicized dialogue. This is also the only chapter in which another language is not used.

Seeing Dorkus not move from his position in Sheen's bedroom doorway, Pinter looked at him curiously and gently flapped his left wing on his cheek. "Sir?"He whispered to him again. For some strange reason, Dorkus wouldn't move, his red-violet eyes transfixed on Sheen's sleeping form.

The alien boy rested peacefully and unaware what was in store for him; he didn't think that he was in any sort of danger, which was one of the reasons why he didn't bother to lock his house up. Nesmith offered to lock the house, but Sheen insisted that it stay the way it is, even as a huge mess that was a result from the previous night.

'These aliens astound me…especially the boy. Despite the fact that he annoys me to no end, I feel that I must commend him on being extremely lucky. The monkey on the other hand I care less about…'

Dorkus finally took a couple of careful steps forward, with Pinter now perched on his shoulder.

"Watch if you have to, Pinter…this won't take long." Dorkus whispered to Pinter as he walked over to Sheen's bed and looked down at him. He then looked to his right and saw that Nesmith was sleeping blindfolded and was snoring rather loudly. "Make sure he stays that way, Pinter…"

"Of course, my liege." Pinter acknowledged and flew off of Dorkus' shoulder and landed carefully on the edge of Nesmith's bed. Dorkus was almost thankful that Nesmith's snoring was loud enough so that he wouldn't suspect anything out of the ordinary with his own sounds that he was going to make.

With Dorkus still at the edge of Sheen's bed, the Sorua treaded carefully to the left side where Sheen was closest and grabbed for his dagger again. The feeling of the blade in his hand almost made Dorkus smile as memories of what he had done with this particular dagger over sixty years ago came flooding back.

At first, the memories of what he was in the past filled him with immense pride and happiness. Dorkus was a warrior, and a rather skillful one at that. One of the most skilled warriors that the Emperor had the pleasure of knowing; he was more or less considered a hero in the Emperor's as well as the Zeenuians' eyes. Many a time, Dorkus was called upon and was required to give an opinion of what would happen should the Emperor or his family be in danger with Zeenu's criminals. Dorkus gave the answer that he would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of the kingdom and its people even if he had to kill the perpetrators.

About a couple minutes of silence later, the Sorua aimed and lifted his dagger preparing for the first strike. It wasn't until he stopped midway and gasped when he saw flashes of images of the splattered blood of the one he cared most about. The one he failed to protect. The reason he decided to retire at the age of one hundred and twenty-three years old; to him he was still a young man, despite appearances.

Pinter looked at Dorkus and grew concerned for he had taken no action on Sheen as of yet. The dagger Dorkus held was still in the air and his hand started to quiver. Pinter sighed as he knew what this meant; his master was hesitating. In days of old, Dorkus would have ended a life so swiftly, that he would show no emotion afterwards. The lives that he had ended were sentenced to die at his own hands. Pinter remembered how Dorkus used to thrive on that power, how much it thrilled him when he was given the task to kill on command. Knowing not to say or do anything to disturb Dorkus, Pinter stayed silent and remained still on Nesmith's bed, still watching Dorkus' every move.

Dorkus' whole body began to quiver as the horrible memory came back to him as swift as lightning. How could he not protect the one he cared about? How could he fail them? And more importantly, why was he doing this?

You're not a bad person…

You may say that, but I still have my doubts…

Doubts that you are a good person? I know you…you wouldn't do something that would ruin your reputation. I know that for a fact.

If you knew who and what I was, you wouldn't want to be around me. Simple as that.

"C…" Dorkus choked back a sob and felt tears coming to his eyes. The person in his mind was but a blurred figure; someone unrecognizable. He tried to remember the person's face, the person's voice, the person's personality. But he realized that he was trying too hard and the memory dissipated from his mind. He looked at the dagger in his hand, then to Sheen and back to his dagger again. "I…I can't do it…"

Pinter flew up to Dorkus' shoulder and landed on it again. "Let's go home milord…" What Pinter just witnessed was something that was almost a decade's worth of pain, sorrow, and hate. The painful memory that his master had to endure was also instilled in his memory as well; the only difference was that Pinter was able to identify the person that Dorkus was trying to remember. However, just like Dorkus, the memory had faded as quickly as it appeared.

Dorkus looked down and sighed as he realized what he had done. Or rather what he almost did. "I can't kill him, Pinter…I don't know why, but I know that I can't…" He whispered shakily, his body still quivering but not as much as it did a couple minutes ago.

"Don't worry about it, sir. But it's time to leave…" Pinter whispered back as Dorkus slowly backed out of the room, withdrawing his dagger and reattached it to his cloak's rope.

The time was now close to midnight and how Dorkus knew was that it was relatively darker when he walked back to his home than what it was when he left it. Departing to his bedroom with Pinter, Dorkus ran a clawed hand down his face and felt sweat. Interesting enough, Soruas don't normally sweat unless they were incredibly stressed and filled with intense emotion.

Dorkus walked over to his nightstand and placed the dagger back inside. There was no further use for it now that he wasn't going to do this ever again. He just hoped that whatever happened to him just moments ago don't happen again when he's around the alien. It seemed to Dorkus that whenever he was around the alien boy, various memories began returning and it made his blood boil and caused him to go into fits of rage. The fits of rage Dorkus was able to withhold in his mind as he didn't want the Emperor becoming suspicious of what was happening to him. The Emperor didn't need to know what was wrong with him; it was supposed to be the other way around with him worrying about the Emperor's sake as well Princess Oom's.

He got into his white nightrobe and proceeded on going on his spiked bed again before beckoning Pinter over to him. "I don't know what came over me tonight, Pinter. But one thing's for certain: I cannot kill him by my own hands. I'm going to leave this to the Emperor himself. While I still have a sense of sanity left in my being, I need a favor from you."

Pinter, who was grounded on a pillow, walked closer to Dorkus, eager to know the favor that his lord will ask of him. "Anything, sir. Just name it and I'll do it."

Dorkus exhaled and closed his eyes. "I don't know how long it will take until I lose what is left of my sanity, Pinter. I still have those books that I took from my father, the ones for evil spells and such…if I were to concoct something that would put the boy in danger or anything like that, I want you to make sure that I don't succeed and that you add a wrong ingredient or something in it in regards to potions. Please, Pinter…for me." He finished as he held Pinter closely to his chest.

The action caught Pinter off guard as he felt Dorkus' hands surround his body in a hug. It has been years since he had done this to him in this manner. His friend had nothing else in this world besides him and the Emperor and he couldn't afford to let him down. "Anything for you, my liege. Anything. I will do what you say…"

Hearing the words of his loyal companion made Dorkus smile slightly. It was still a smile that Dorkus had rarely showed, one that wasn't with malice, one that wasn't evil. Dorkus closed his eyes as he let probably the last tears that he would ever shed fall down his face as he drifted off to sleep.