The Door in the Mist

by Punk19

An alien-father is looking for his wife and sons, who have been missing for 1,600 years; after finally gaining the clue that he needs to find them, he finds himself having to overcome the many obstacles that try to bar his efforts in claiming them as his. Will Master Vile, the father of Angel Irene, thwart his uncle's attempts to find his daughter or will his uncle be victorious?

10. Chapter 10

Zing, Zing! Zing, Zing!

When the bell went off, telling him that he had a visitor, he, at first, wanted to remain where he was. After a few seconds of simply standing around, wondering who was at the door, and whether or not he should go to see who he could see off his property, he left where he stood then went straight to the foyer. His staff, just four days ago, had been given the order to not allow anyone into his home; if anyone was to be let into his house, he was to be the only one to admit them. Just a day and a half ago he had seen his son, his oldest grandson, and his granddaughter-in-law off—by simply taking note of who they were then simply walking away; the door hadn't been opened, and no word from him had been said. The three had simply been left all by their lonesome outside. Fifteen minutes later, they left; up to now, no one else had come by to see him.

His phone was currently off the hook—anyone who called got the busy signal—and he had been purposely keeping himself from diving into the mailed letters that came in from his family; he, in a lot of ways, had become a recluse. While he had known that the program might spark a mild interest in reporters, who might want to get the updated news on how everyone in the family currently felt about Angel's and her sons' disappearance, he hadn't expected for such a frenzy to happen or for his thirdborn grandson's search to be given a whole new lease on "life". It had taken him all of three days before finally deciding to hold himself up at home, disconnect all of the phones, and down-power most of the house's main tv's. While his cellular hadn't had its battery pack removed, he had stopped in answering any and all calls that came through that as well; if not for the feeling that had told him that the text that had come in at eleven o'clock four days ago had come from his uncle, he wouldn't of noticed his uncle's text or even said that it was okay for him and his family to come over to spend the rest of Family Week with him.

Like when Shlock's Plague blew through, he had hid himself well. He had made himself scarce, and he had made the house up tight so that not even a breeze could get in. No one, from reporter to family, could look in to see what all he was doing; he, his uncle, and his uncle's family had all had a good, pleasant, four days.

After reaching the foyer of his home, then stepping up to the decorative, carved-wood door, he pulled the white curtain that was over the door's diamond-shaped window to the side just a bit then peeked out. At first glance, he saw that there was just one person standing by the door; a quick scouring told him that she was alone and that she hadn't taken a car to get to his place. After a few seconds of wondering if he should let her in he decided, just for the hell of it, to open the door then see what she wanted.

"Cyla?" he said after undoing the door's two locks and then opening the door.

"Hi, Shaam." his daughter-in-law, who he now saw had a folder in one of her hands, said. "Are you busy? I'd like to talk to you, if it's not too much trouble."

He gave it a good ponder for a second or two before nodding his head; the door to his abode was thrown open, Cyla walked in, then the door was shut, and then promptly locked, behind her. Once she was inside, he started the process of leading her to the living room—the room that they were in was large, yes, and octagonal in shape, but it wasn't appropriate for conducting any of the business that his daughter-in-law seemed to want to do with him. The foyer had light green tile on its floor; there were headbusts of each of the founding male members of the Surfeit family in each of the room's corners; the walls and ceiling were a moss green color. While the walls had light green and milky yellow vines painted on them, the ceiling was just a plain, moss green color. The walk down the hallway took just two minutes; when they reached the living room, Cyla wasted not a second in making herself comfortable, or in opening and then sifting through her folder's contents.

"Poor Lass," he thought. "Instead of being here, concerning yourself over something that's been long-gone, you should be at home, tending your kids and my son."

The room that she was sitting all by her lonesome in had warm, rich brown walls in it; a light brown strip of wood was placed at every eight inch intervals. A large, dark green and black rug, that had light green floral designs on it, was in the room's center; the main furnishing items that were in the room were neatly placed on it. The room had three couches in it, all of which were a predominant dark blue color, and all that had light gray, gash-like designs on them; a thick glassed coffee table sat between the couch that his daughter-in-law was sitting on and the one that was across from her. Each of the couches had matching side tables by their arms—the one that was to the left of Cyla, and the one that was to the right of the couch that was across from her, had a hand-carved ashtray glued onto its surface; the other two side tables were bare of anything.

A black chandelier hung down from the ceiling, which was a near-brown color; black candles and diamonds on strands hung from it—the diamonds were catching the chandelier's light quite well;

a right shiny glow was showered out from them. There was an occasional torch or two on the room's walls; the single, copper vases that were under them caught the oil that dropped from them quite well.

The gray marble fireplace, which was in front of all three of the couches, was a fine piece of work; he, who had overseen the work done on this room, had made sure to have the contractors handle the building of this item with utmost care. The fireplace's mantle housed most of the items that one would expect for it to house—many photographs of him and his family, a few scented candles, and a spell-enchanted, flowering vine. A 50" screen was mounted above the mantle; the remote to this screen was in the center of the room's coffee table.

"Such a large room and you're the only one sitting in it, how strange is that?" he asked himself as he went forward to sit beside Cyla.

The old house that he had been living in when Duru was growing up—which happened to be the same one that he and his son had weathered Shlock's Plague in—had just been signed over to his son when the residence that he, his daughter-in-law, and his uncle and his family were in had been removed from the real estate market; he, its purchaser, had seen it one day about a month before the sign-over occurred. After a quick, long-distance checking, he had placed the call to see if it was available and to see how much the building, and its adjoining acres, cost—the hefty price-tag to the side, it had been a good place for a bachelor male, who had just made his only son the only resident of a household by in-trusting him with the old home, to live in. He hadn't really had a chance to put his special stamp to the place; a few months after buying the place, then getting it somewhat appropriate for him to live in, he had taken a trip—the likes, of which, had really been doomed from the start. If not for that trek, and its resulting chaos, which had cost more than fifty lives, and which had cost him his health, and him making the decision to take that potion that had put him in Limbo, he would of been a longer resident of the place—and it wouldn't of gone to shambles, or cost him over a hundred thousand dollars to fix up after returning to the Living World, either.

Even though the process of re-integrating himself into society had been hard—the task of re-learning how his body, and muscles, worked had been the easy part while the more difficult part had involved his learning how to go by the current world's laws and regulations, and on how to use the technology that most everyone was using, and, of course, on how to cope with the folk who had been born after he had made his trip to Limbo—he hadn't stopped himself from becoming fully integrated in it. Instead of just dropping off the grid, and living as a sort of hermit for the rest of his life, like some of the others who had been brought back from the realm that he had been in, he had embraced the second chance in having a life; this embracing of his second chance in having a life, and of being able to move freely among the other flesh and body forms of the Universe, had garnered him more than enough respect by others and it had also gained him a title—the likes, of which, he still had to that day. The title of the Most Eligible Bachelor in the Universe had been given to him almost immediately after he returned from Limbo.

Being back in the Living World was great; with the exception of a few things, he was still living very much the same as he had been before that potion was consumed. Having and dealing with the everyday antics of grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren was one of the few different things in his now-life—before taking that potion, he hadn't had any of those to worry about—while the issue on how he regarded his lived-in staff was really the only thing that he had ceased in doing. Before going into Limbo, he had done as most everyone on the rich scale had in giving certain members of his staff one of the available apartments that were located under his residence to live in; with what happened on that night, which had happened nearly twenty-two hundred years ago, he had stopped allowing this privilege to occur.

"A big, fuckin' mess. That's what I call that night." he thought after reaching the room's center.

He remembered the events of that night very well; they had all been sleeping, dreaming good dreams, or just sleeping while being dream-less, when the door to his oldest grandson's fortress home was blasted open. They had still been groggy when the three intruders rushed up the stairs, going up to the fourth level, which was where his great-great granddaughter, and his then-youngest grandson, Tazir, had been. One of the three intruders, all of which, he had found out a little later on that night, after everything calmed down and everyone was tended of their injuries, were related to him, had knocked Tazir out cold; Angel had been grabbed, and then thrown towards the door of the chamber that she had been found in. The infants—Bile and Lhaklar—had been retrieved very quickly then they had all gone down to the servant's quarters, where a problem had been encountered.

The butlers and maids had all taken a stand against the three; a fight had erupted, which had killed ten and had caused thirty others to be injured. The woman that he had been sexually interested in had been retrieved from the chamber that she had been sleeping in then she, Angel, Bile, and Lhaklar had been hustled along. One of the three intruders—the given-description on her had been vague; she had been said to of had very black hair, with the bangs and ends being blonde in color—had teleported out of the house after being severely injured soon after the woman was retrieved from her appointed sleeping quarters; the remaining two intruders had hustled their abductees back upstairs, where more fighting had been encountered.

He had joined in on that round; the five inch long scar that went across his stomach was a nice souvenir of that night—a pink energy strand, which had been used more as a knife than a normal power-attack, had hit him there; he had seen more than enough stars after the gash was made. After he was felled, the two grabbed then ran out of the house with the woman, Angel, and her sons. The only way that they had been able to stop the two remaining intruders was to injure one critically; Tazir had done that one himself. From what he had been told, Tazir had charged out of his brother's place like a bat out of hell; he had swung his arms out then he had shot them forward—a strand of black-colored lightning had zoomed through air for a short second before striking the back of the one that had been holding Angel.

The intruder, who he had been told a little later on was his oldest great-granddaughter, who had been disowned for attempting to harm family members in an extreme fashion, had dropped to her knees right after being struck; she had slid a few feet before gaining to her feet again. Before she could head back to retrieve Angel and her babies—all who had been dropped by her right after she had been struck by Tazir's initial attack—, she had been struck by a combination attack—black lightning and acid, was what he had been told. That attack had struck her shoulder with such force that it had made her fly ten feet back; no one was really sure as to what happened next. His oldest grandson claimed that his daughter, and the woman that he had been sexually interested in, had been teleported away by her daughter while others had said that she had been the one to save her own skin by teleporting away herself. All he knew was that the woman—who had had deep purple hair, with gray and white mixed in, and white eyes, that had small, black pupils in their centers—had teleported away, leaving the other intruder, another woman, behind to face everyone. Tazir had sent her packing with a double strand of white fire, two Acidic rings, and an energy beam of green, all of which had made a two inch wide hole appear in her shoulder. After she teleported away, Angel had been collected; she had been taken inside and then locked up. With that done, everyone who had been injured had been tended; the dead had been been counted at around that same time. While no Goblins had been killed, one had been very badly injured—Zshon Zultoa had taken a nasty blow to his arm after rushing forward to claim Angel and her sons from the women. Mr. Zultoa had nearly had his arm severed from his body; the energy blast that had been used on him had been a powerful one. He had also come close to losing both an ear and his nether region as well—from what he had been told, the leader of the women had had a good kick to her; she had just reeled back, and then swung forward with all of her might. The force of the woman's kick had sent the Goblin towards the ceiling.

If the three women were still alive, they had some pretty bad scars on their bodies to remind them of what went down on that night.

"It was a fight fit for a battlefield, yet it happened in one's house. I'm surprised that only ten were killed on that night; such small quarters for a battle to happen in... the ones who lived through it were damn lucky to of come out of it." he thought as he sat beside daughter-in-law.

After taking a seat beside Cyla, he reached forward then took the folder from her; it was placed on the coffee table quickly then one of her hands was taken into his. It was true—he had been especially close to Angel and, yes, he had been very hurt by her up and leaving like she had. On average, he had written around three letters a week to her; three to four phone conversations would be held between them a month and they had seen a lot of one another too. Even though she had known how he was with his sexual habits—his high libido—she hadn't spoken bad of him or had kept him at a far distance from her; she had spoken to him about it from time to time, and had "cautioned" him to be careful with who he brought home for an off-fling, but she hadn't said anything negative about his antics with the women that walked the planets of the realm that he and she lived in.

He had fibbed in the program, yes; he had said that he had been at the hospital when Lazeer was born—he felt right bad for saying that. He wasn't a liar and yet, on a program that had been seen by most everyone in the Universe, he had lied about something that was very important to both him and everyone else in the family. He had been a very active individual in the search for her; after she disappeared with her sons, he had gotten down to business in trying to find her and in trying to return her to the folk that loved her most. Instead of going off on his own, he had teamed up with most of his grandchildren—the idea, at the time, was that more eyes in one search party could aid in finding more clues or on, possibly, finding Angel. Yes, he still hurt from having to give up on the search; if not for his common sense, he would of searched forever for her and the boys. Three hundred years and not a trace; if she wanted to be found she would of been sighted by now. You've spent three hundred years away from your family. With that in mind, he had dropped out of the search; the grandchildren that he had teamed up with had also pulled out of the search—and for the same reason, he did believe. Everyone, except for his two grandsons and their wives, and Qeeta and the Ubalki's, had gone back to their lives; Kuruk and Irka had put seven hundred years of their lives on hold to find Angel and her sons before also coming to their senses. The only remaining ones to do the searching after Kuruk and Irka went home were Tazir, Qeeta, and the Ubalki's; even though Qeeta had looked willing to drop from the search, she hadn't done so... she had remained on her brother's side. She had remained hopeful that something would be found of the five who were missing.

Did he feel bad for abandoning the search? Yes, he didn't go through a day without feeling angry at himself for abandoning Angel and her sons. For giving up hope. Did he feel for Tazir? Yes, he knew that Tazir was hurting inside, and was clinging to a hope that Angel and her sons, whether all of them or just three, would be found alive. He knew that Tazir loved Angel; he probably loved her more than anyone else in the family—he knew that that alone was what was spurring him to continue the attempts in trying to find her.

The hope and the love; while he still retained the latter, he had lost the former, and that just made him feel ashamed of himself. If his senses hadn't of switched on, telling him to give it up and go home, he'd still be searching for her.

Like everyone else, he was also missing a chunk of himself; upon her and her sons' disappearance, a piece of him had left him. It would always be missing, he both felt and knew; as long as she and her sons were missing, he would always be lacking a piece of himself.

"I've seen the images on tv and can say that it's just a setting gone wrong on the cameras." ShaamVile said. "A sort of unintended trickery has happened—the cameras have Tazir thinking that who he is seeing is Angel when the woman is not."

"What about the ring?" Cyla reached forward, took the folder from the table, then took the extremely blown-up still of the ring that the fiery red-haired woman had worn on her finger out.

"Blown up images are distorted images," ShaamVile then pointed at the blown up image of the ring. "When this was blown up, the circular gem became oval. The process of blowing it up also distorted its color," he pointed at the three rows that were to either side of the oval aquamarine gem. "See? All of these have been slightly pulled up and down and then to the sides. The color on this part of the ring was distorted as well—see the brown? Went from brown to a very deep orange."

"That's the shine from the gems—"

"No, Cyla. The blowing up of these stills distorted everything. Makes everything change." ShaamVile said.

"Not secur—"

"All cameras, Cyla." ShaamVile said.

At around the time that Duru was born, image distortion hadn't been able to be done; one had to be content with the far-off image that a camera took, and one had to be content with the poor quality of the image as well. Even though the grainy, black and white, and blotchy images produced by cameras were gone—replaced with better quality images, that were both crisp, clear, and that were in color instead of black and white—there were still a few issues with the current-day cameras that the developers hadn't been able to remove from the items that they were selling to the general public. He had come to learn them flaws over the years, and he was trying to explain them now to one who had obviously been tricked by them. He wasn't allowed to get but very far; his heart came close to dropping in his chest after his daughter-in-law took a photograph of the younger youth that had been seen on and off during the previous week from her folder. He took one look at the photograph then stood up; he went to the fireplace then simply laid his hand across its mantle.

Before disconnecting all of the tv's in his home, he had seen the footage of the woman and youth that had, initially, been claimed to be Angel and her thirdborn son, Hazaar; he had taken one look at the displayed image of the youngster before saying that it wasn't who they assumed he was—he had gotten plenty of photographs of Angel's sons in her letters and e knew from memory what Hazaar had looked like. The one that they had tried to "play off" as Hazaar wasn't him. Nothing matched up. The skin color, the shape of the eyes, the hair... it was all wrong. Tazir and the reporters had come to their good senses on that one, but they hadn't come to their senses on who the woman was—pretty much all of the known images of her were of the blown-up kind; he had been able to detect the "artist's" rendering of each image right after they were shown on the tube. The actual woman that was being incorrectly identified as his great-great granddaughter had light brown hair; by way of pausing one of his tv's, then taking an in-depth look at the displayed image that had been on the screen at the time, he had noticed that there was a line of light brown running along the edges of her hair—the people who altered photographs were hard at work in causing a lot of trouble for him and his, sadly.

He had spent two days at Duru's and Cyla's place earlier that previous week; he had seen enough from their tv's to know what was going on with Tazir's search. Two days of trying to force himself to get involved in the holiday had been for nothing; after succumbing to his stresses, and the pain that Tazir's new search was causing him to go through, he had packed up and then gone home. One day of feeling this new pain had been experienced before the decision to disconnect the tv's located in his bedroom chamber, in the living room, and in a few of the other rooms in the house was made. Even though Tazir's search was being written about in the papers, he had forced himself to not look at the articles; he had just skipped looking at the pages that the articles were on.

He knew nothing else of what had come up with Tazir's search and, up to now, he had no desire to know what was going on. It sadly looked like Cyla was about to give him some insight on what was going on with Tazir.

"It's not any of them, Cyla." he said at last. "Either someone's trying to play us as fools—trying to give us more headache, and heart-ache, while also trying to make a quick buck—or someone's made a mistake in the identification process and doesn't want to own up to it."

"The stills of the woman sure look like Angel," Cyla said. "The same with the stills of Lhaklar."

"Suppose you'll say the same of the stills of that one youth?" he asked while turning to look at her. "He's not Hazaar, Cyla. Nothing adds up on him. None of the ones who've been "identified" as our own are our own. They're just normal-day civilians who've been mis-identified—I'm betting that them poor people are very annoyed with having themselves being called who they're not... probably wanting this new search of Tazir's to fall through and fast so they can go back to their normal lives."

"Tazir went to Earth yesterday." Cyla, who was having a time in understanding what her father-in-law was saying, and in trying to keep her rekindled hopes intact, blurted.

"Yeah, what for?" this piece of information was new to him; Tazir hadn't set foot to that planet in a long time now.

"Efagti and Amadh Ubalki saw and then gave chase of the youth that's been seen on the security footages yesterday afternoon; they chased him to a back-alley, where a woman looked to be waiting for him." Cyla explained as best she could of what she had seen on the news last night and that early morning. "After the two left, Efagti collected the dirt that they had been standing on. They had it tested right away—the tests said that they came from Earth."

"Was there a reason for the two of them to give chase to that youth?"

"Amadh approached him, then asked him a question; he ran off with a magazine, which hadn't been paid for, after a slight verbal altercation occurred between the two of them."

"Sounds like Amadh met up with a thief." he said. "Angel wouldn't raise one of her children to be thieves—I both know and can be sure of that. The woman that the two saw... she was obviously waiting for the youth to come back with the goods. She was the mastermind while the youth was just the pawn. Sadly."

After saying this, he went towards the couch that his daughter-in-law was sitting on then sat down. What he had just said was true—he was rich in this confidence of his that Angel was a decent mother, who wouldn't have her children going out to steal things. This piece of spilled information made him feel even more assured over the woman-youth pair not being one of his family.

"Take it that Tazir went to Earth alone?" he asked.

"No, he sent a hundred of his ground troops to Earch first; they scouted an area called Expedition Island, which lies just outside of the shields." Cyla replied. "Tazir went to the planet after hearing that they had found something."

"What was that?"

"Two camps—both that looked previously used—and several carcasses that looked as if they had been hunted with tools."

"Is this Expedition Island a park? What is it?"

"It's a national landmark," Cyla replied. "It is a park."

"Is it open to the public?"

"Yes,"

"Whose to say that the two camps, and the located carcasses, don't belong to a group of normal humans who had made the decision to enjoy a bit of the outdoors?" ShaamVile said. "Humans hunt, the same as we do—but they take what they want then they leave the rest... they waste the rest of the animal that they take down, you know that."

"Tazir said on the news this morning that there were two prints near each of the carcasses—one of them looked female."

"A man and a woman went camping, did some hunting, then left. Simple as that." ShaamVile said.

It took twenty, long minutes of hashing, point making, and then comforting before his daughter-in-law got what he was saying; he saw her, who looked to weigh twenty pounds heavier, but who hadn't changed a bit in appearance, out then went to the room that the items that he had inherited over the years were kept in. As he went on his way down the hallway, he couldn't help but be angry at Tazir—if not for his grandson's "rejuvenated" search, Cyla wouldn't of fallen from her good senses or had been in need of someone to bring her good senses back. Cyla had bawled her eyes out near the end of her stay; while he had tried his best to comfort her he had known that any form of comfort wouldn't give her any relief from the pain that she was feeling. Before leaving, he had asked her to spread the word on what he had told her to everyone; she had said that she would then she had gone on her way—she had walked the fifteen miles to his place. While initially wanting to give her a ride home, he had decided not to. The walk might help her some. It might help her in coming to terms with her grief and it might also cement all that he had told her as well. The folder, with all its fine content of newspaper articles and "photographs", had been left behind; before going to his Inheritance Room, he made a pit stop in his office, where it was filed in one of the available file cabinets.

He had been in his Inheritance Room before the bell went off, it sounded like the ones that he had left behind were still in the room and it also sounded like they were still chatting among themselves. Before entering the room, he knew that another conversation on Angel and her sons was about to happen—his uncle, his wife, and their adult son were just talking away, in the lowest of voices and in a semi-calm sort of way, about the ones in their family that were missing. When he entered the room, the conversation that they were having continued—as expected, he was pulled right on in in becoming a participant in it.

"Hello Trob," he said after entering the room.

"Shaam," his uncle, TrobrencusVile Bloym Surfeit, acknowledged him.

"Hello Shaam," his uncle's wife, Bahne Brotzol, said.

"Hello Bahne, everything alright with you two?" he asked. He was just being polite—even though they were talking about Angel and her sons, he still had to treat them politely. They were guests in his home, after all—he had to make them comfortable.

"Yes—hope you don't mind but we disconnected the tv in the room that you gave us." Bahne said.

"Just can't keep seeing and hearing it," TrobrencusVile said. "Just too much."

"Haven't had my tv turned on all week—don't want to see any of it." his uncle and aunt's adult son, TrivitVile Afck Surfeit, said.

"Don't mind at all—most of the house's main tv's are disconnected; been thinking about doing the same with every tv in the place." he replied. "As it is, my phones are set to busy—so I don't get any calls on it—and I'm refusing further guests. I want no involvement."

TrobrencusVile Surfeit looked at his nephew, who, besides his family, and Duru, was the only other member of his family to survive Shlock's Plague, which had had a good time in nearly destroying over a million years of fine breeding, training, and galactic terrorizing. His nephew was a gentle man; he was as easy-going and level-headed as could be—when the man was out, conquering a galaxy, he managed to turn all of this around... when he was busy conquering a galaxy, he made a normal conquest look almost like it was a piece of cake.

His conquest of the Bunswana Galaxy was a perfect example of this side of him—he had been a quiet man all during the week prior to the conquest then, pow, he had turned his other side on. He had gone into his well tactical, well militarized, self; he had gotten mean, and had showed his fine powers and strengths off well, which had paid off better than well for him. The galaxy had fallen into his capable hands in a little under two months time; the fifty planet compromising galaxy had fallen to him with little to no opposition or trouble at all.

His nephew was a tall man, standing at six foot, six inches; his body was better than appropriately muscled for one of this height—while his lower half was more "slender" in appearance, his top half was teeming in naturally gotten muscle; his back and stomach were teeming in muscle mass while his chest, which was barrel-shaped, was just the epitome of muscle. His arms were extremely thick with muscle; with the way his muscle mass was distributed around his body, he really did look like an upside down spinning top. ShaamVile Kondee Surfeit, or Shaam, as everyone in the family, and all of his nephew's friends, called him, had the typical body that was possessed by a Surfeit—it was bi-colored, with the left side of him being a carmine pink color and the right being maroon; the man's elongated ears were a burgundy color, they had black, Tiger-like stripes on them. The eyes that looked out from his nephew's face were a glowing white color; the pupils that were in their centers were small and red in color. He had long, maroon-colored fingernails on each finger of both of his big hands.

He had always valued and admired his nephew's dress sense; instead of going by the era in wearing a tuxedo, like most of the other men of fine breeding, or who were very well to-do money-wise, he had struck out to find his own sense of style in clothing. The dark red jacket, which had gold hems and pockets on it, and which ran all the way to the floor on the left side, but that's right side stopped at its wearer's waist, looked good on him. The red vest that was under the jacket was very shiny; it had equally shiny, gold buttons running down its front. The vest was worn over a normal, but nicely crisp and clean, white shirt; a pair of dark red pants, that had light gold buttons running down their outer legs, and white slacks covered his nephew's lower half well. The pair of brown suede boots that he had on his feet were nicely buffed up; he still thought that the tops of these boots being pulled down added a tinge more "flavor" to the man's dress sense. The gold chain, which dropped from the left pocket of his nephew's jacket, and which ran over to the right pocket of his vest, had a very expensive pocket watch on its end; on any given day, his nephew might take the pocket watch out a handful of times.

"A report came over the radio just fifty minutes ago—Vile gave Tazir a warning." Bahne said.

"What for?" ShaamVile asked.

"For his entering his planet without his permission."

Even though the sigh that came out of him was long, and drawn out, it wasn't one made in despair—it was a relief-based sigh; while he and his great-grandson didn't see eye to eye on most things, they did agree on what all this continued searching for Angel and her sons was doing. Both of them agreed that it shouldn't be continued, and that it was causing others in their family pain; Vile had even gone on record in saying that, if his daughter was alive and well, she would of made herself known a long time ago. Now that this threat of Vile's was made known to him, he was clinging to a hope that his great-grandson would do or say something that'd put Tazir's "rejuvenated" search to bed. His great-grandson owning the planet Earth to the side, Vile had a lot more say than they really did on this situation—he was, after all, Angel's second husband and he was, after all, Bile's actual father.

The planet Earth, which was where Angel, and her first son, had been born on, had quite a history to it now, which didn't just include natural disasters or normal-done wars; a laundry list of would-be conquerors had tried to come in and take it under their control over the last sixteen hundred years. The attempted usurptions had really kicked off at around the time that they had been looking for Angel and her sons; the Machine Empire had given it another go after its initial attempt in claiming the planet as one of its empires fell through then a half-assed attempt had been made by a space pirate named Divatox—he still thought that she, who was still so very young, should of stayed at her old job in pilferaging ships of their cargo instead of conquering. Her attempts in seizing control of the planet hadn't been good... they had, in more ways than one, been quite embarrassing. A very finely done attempt in trying to seize control of the planet had happened after a duo named Astromeda and Dark Spectre set their sights on it—not only had around a quarter of the Universe's population been wiped out by the resulting wave that occurred near the end of that attempted usurption but Vile had also come within a mere fraction of an inch of losing the planet. A woman by the name of Trakeena had given it a go in trying to take the planet from Vile's control about fifty or so years after them two's attempt fell through; quite surprisingly, Miss. Trakeena, who was no longer around to reek havoc in the Universe, had had someone in the family working with her during her attempted conquest. A trove of conquerors by the name of Scorpius, Queen Bansheera, Ransik, Master Org—a man who had been trying to tarnish his great-grandson's name by putting "Master" in front of his name—Lothor, Mesogog, the Troobians—a war-like alien species, who had been in the service of Emperor Gruum, who had been looking to show to the Universe that his great-grandson was going down due to his age and family ties—Octomus—another creature who had tried to show the Universe that his great-grandson was growing weak, but who, like all of the others, had failed—had tried and failed in trying to seize control of the planet.

Quite surprisingly, Vile hadn't seen each of these potential usurpers off himself; a team of teenagers, who had all been wearing spandex, and colorful, motorcycle-like helmets, had seen them off. A small fraction of the ones who had had their attempts in planetary conquests thwarted had a to-do with his great-grandson, who had sent them packing and fast soon after showing up. For the last four hundred years, no one had really given it a thought about trying to take possession of the planet; he was personally surprised that no one had tried to encroach on Tazir's conquered realms—due to Tazir's interests being absorbed in the search for Angel and her sons, all of his galaxies were unprotected against invading forces.

He guessed that it was Tazir's reputation that kept the potential usurpers from making an attempt on his unguarded territories—he was a fierce warrior... one who led his armies into battle shirt-less, and who was known to fight like a savage beast.

"He's also stopping any and all reporters from going to the planet and from reporting anything that Tazir's finding while being on the planet." Bahne said.

"Not a single reporter from our birth-galaxy is allowed to write or put out any stories on what's going on with Tazir's search as well." TrivitVile said.

"He should just plain order Tazir to stop—Angel is his as well. He, as both her husband and father, has full rights in saying what happens with her and on who can and cannot run stories on her." TrobrencusVile said.

"On Angel and Bile both." Bahne said in mild correction.

ShaamVile nodded in full agreement with the three; after nodding his head, he turned his gaze towards the only woman that was in the room. His aunt, Bahne Surfeit, was a very beautiful woman; she had creamy-colored hair, which flowed down to the middle of her back, darkly tanned skin, and a heart-shaped face that had two, very bright, solid blue eyes in it—along with the eyes, her face also supported a small, but trim, nose; a pair of large, full lips; and a trim chin in it. For one who had birthed ten children, she had a very good form to her—her figure was hourglass-like in appearance; her breasts were large while her hips were round, but petite, in appearance. She stood about five foot, five inches tall.

Despite her feminine appearance, his aunt was right tough; she had gone through a lot in her long life. Ten children, with four of them ten being twins; being moved to an underground bunker right when her third pregnancy was starting to show, and then giving birth to her first set of twins; weathering through Shlock's Plague while being in that underground bunker; watching her husband leave their underground "sanctuary" to bury the one twin that hadn't survived the birth; seeing her husband get hurt time and again during his conquests... she was just a tough old bird. He couldn't be prouder to have such a woman as her being his aunt.

Though being a trifle bit shy from time to time, his uncle's and aunt's oldest son was also very well known for voicing his opinions on things, and for his "antics" with the ladies. TrivitVile Afck Surfeit, or Trivit, as his friends and everyone in the family called him, had been born during the early part of Shlock's Plague; his twin brother, Tolibyte, had been born before him—the birth of non-breathing and non-living Tolibyte had put a merry scare in on Bahne and Trobrencus... Bahne had come close to wanting to be knocked out so she wouldn't see the outcome of the second twin's birth after he was born. Trivit was a perfect combination of both of his parents; his face was heart-shaped, like Bahne's, but it had a lot of his father's features in it. The puke-yellow trails, or markings, that were under his eyes; the red, flake-like patches of skin that were on both of his cheeks, on his neck, and on both of his arms; and his eyes had all come from his father. His creamy-colored hair had come from his mother—he preferred to wear it long; despite its length, it was very well clean and maintained. Like most of the known Surfeit's, Trivit was bi-colored—the left side of his face and body was red, while the other side of his face and body was purple. He had a lean, but strong as steel, body type; he stood six foot, two inches tall. Unlike his father, who was a very well-known conqueror, Trivit had no reputation or fame to him; instead of conquering planets, he worked in a museum. Despite his peasant job, he was a right intelligent young man.

"Angel's lid was more than flipped all topsy-turvy when she saw you," he thought after looking at his uncle. "Instead of accepting you, and welcoming you into the family warmly, she was scared out of her wits end of you."

Trobrencus, who had been given the name of TrobrencusVile Bloym Surfeit at birth, but who went by plain Trobrencus, or Trob, by everyone who knew him, had merely followed him and Duru into the nursery that was in Kuruk's fortress home; Angel, who had been in the room at the time, had had a moment of panic, which had paralyzed her in place—she had been so terrified of his uncle that she hadn't been able to move, much less say hello. Even though she had gotten use to him, she and he hadn't gotten but so close to one another—a few letters a year would be received on both ends, maybe a phone call or two would be sent, and they might of seen one another on a two to three time basis per year. He had been quite surprised that his uncle had joined in on the search to find her after she and the boys disappeared; Uncle Trob had put in a gallant search... he'd be on one planet no more than an hour before hopping over to another, and his given bulletins and flier hand-outs had been very to the point and serious.

His uncle had taken more after his mother than his father; instead of looking like a typical Surfeit, he looked almost spot-on for one of the Zomo race, which was what his mother, Birava Yamubabba, had been. Even though he had the bi-colored body of a Surfeit—with the left side being a light blue color while the right was a puss-like creamy color—he looked very Zomo-like in appearance; there were red, blood-like, trail-like markings under his eyes and there were several red, droop-like, flaky patches of flesh on his cheeks and forehead. The man's lower lip drooped; thanks to its shredded appearance, it almost looked like he had been ravaged by a rapid dog. His uncle had scruffy-like, dark purple hair; even though it was cut all nice and trim on the front and sides, there was a long, braided strand in the back, which fell past his collar bone. His uncle had no visible ears on his head; they were more located inside of his head than outside of it. His uncle's long face had a set of eyes in it that were very uniquely colored; the irises were red while the sclera and pupils were white. The nose that was in the center of the man's face was trim and pointy; it had triangular-shaped nostrils in it. The fingernails that sprouted out from the ends of each of the man's fingers were a dark, cream-color; not only were they medium-length, but they had also been filed enough so that their ends were finely sharp. Uncle Trob, while not as big as he was, was still a big man in his own right; he stood a good, six foot, four inches tall.

"Anyone ever think of doing an intervention?" Bahne asked. "Of just going and then having a good, heart-to-heart talk with Tazir? Of having him talk all of his emotions out... of letting him get all of what he's going through out of his system?"

"We've done that," ShaamVile said. "We've talked and talked and talked to him, he just won't listen."

"But did you—"

"We did, didn't work. We thought that the program would be a help in putting this nonsensical searching to bed but, as you can see, it hasn't." ShaamVile replied a bit too quickly. After interrupting his aunt, he sighed then said, "That and people wanting to make trouble. People who are distorting camera images for the hell or it, or that are unknowingly showing distorted images without realizing that the original images have been altered—"

"People who are trying to make good fortune out of our misfortune." TrivitVile said. "Who are trying to make a lot of dough while playing off our feelings."

"Yes—and which is, sadly, getting what they want it to." ShaamVile said. "Money, fame, attention, and interest in something that should of been forgotten a long time ago."

A quiet settled over the room; he took advantage of it by looking at the items that were on display. A lot of the items that he had had been willed over to him after his father and stepmother died; despite what Vile's little "autobiography" said, the Surfeit family had started out very much like that of other families—their ancestors had been peasant folk, who had made out a liking by working normal, peasant jobs and by living very normal lives that, nine times out of ten, included the entertainments that other peasant folk indulged in. It had taken many generations before the family started climbing up the society ladder; even though the family had nearly been wiped out by Shlock's Plague, he, his son, and Uncle Trob had managed to save it.

His great-grandfather, WexVile Surfeit, had once kept his sword, along with all of the items that he had willed over, in a thick glass case while his youngest, and only successful, son had kept his sword, and all of his inheritance items, in a case that had a single pane of glass to it. From what he had been told, his grandfather, IackVile Surfeit, had been an especially temperamental man; though smart in his own right, and very powerful, his temper had been the thing that had kept most people at bay. His father, RaalVile Surfeit, had used a case that had a triple pane of glass to it to display the items that he had been willed over—he had never used a case to hang his sword up in; he had preferred to keep it hanging from a normal sword rack instead.

He had been smart in designing a place to display all of the items that he had gotten after his father and stepmother died; soon after returning from Limbo, he had hired a contractor to build a room that would suit each of his willed over swords, and all of the other items that his kin had once owned and used. Each of the display cases were open to the elements—his builder had thought him crazy over this idea until he had shown him the bill from one of the more renown security firms. He had had a security beam installed in each case; five invisible strands went across each of the display cases. This system would burn the fingers, and, if the home intruder was brave enough to stick his, or her, whole hand into the case, hand off if they so much as tried to take any of his displayed inheritance items. All of his inherited swords were placed in order of who had owned them; he made damn sure to clean them once every two weeks.

The sword to his immediate left had once belonged to his great-great grandfather, LynkVile Surfeit; it had a gold and silver grip and a golden blade that was long and curvy. The sword's tip was silver, and quite sharp. The sword's sheath, which had been made out of pure gold, and which had rubies running down its center on both sides, was in the same case; along with the sword and its sheath, he also had the man's goblet, his fighting helmet, and his spear. The plaque that was in front of the sword's open-glass case said who the sword belonged to and what accomplishments had been made during the sword wielder's lifetime.

The sword that was beside that one had once belonged to LynkVile's oldest son, Wex; his sword was right unique... it had been made out of titanium steel, there was a blue-curved design in its middle. A twin-coiling snake design was on the grip. The sheath, which was also in the sword's case, was mostly titanium steel; there was an explosion design of blue on the sheath's top, the design tapered in a curve-like fashion all the way down the sheath's length. Along with the man's sword and sheath, he also had two of the robes that he had once worn in his collection—these were located in another of the room's display cases.

"Never could come into this room and not stare at this sword." he thought as he looked at the sword that had once been owned and used by his grandfather, IackVile Uovo Surfeit.

His grandfather had done some wondrous things with his sword and for it to be in his collection was outstanding. The sword that he was now looking at had been made almost entirely out of bronze; the grip had been made out of bronze and silver—it had been designed to look like a dragon, with its mouth open. It almost looked like the sword's bronze blade was being thrown up by the dragon designed grip. Even though the blade was bronze, it had flecks of silver and gold on it—which caused the blade to be quite bright. The sword's sheath, which was in the same open-glass case, was also bronze; the dragon skull, that was at the sheath's top, and the dragon wings, that were at the sheath's bottom, had been done in thick gold.

His father's sword was right beside that one; he had grown up knowing this sword... he had held it as a boy and he had watched as his father had washed, polished, and then propped it up on his sword rack. The sword was made of steel; it had three, iron spirals to it, all of which coiled around a band of blue flame, which was in the sword's middle. The grip and handle, even to that day, was very strong; a bright strand of blue diamonds ran along the grips. His father had never used a sheath. His sword had always flopped naked at his side, hanging off one of his many worn belts.

He had once tried making off with this sword when he had been a small toddler—no more than two hundred and ninety-two years of age. Instead of grabbing and then running off with the sword, and having his Papa follow after him—he had been fond of getting the man to chase him around the house at that age and that was what he had been trying to do on this one particular day—he had gotten a surprise. His father, RaalVile Surfeit, had been a good father; he had been stern and strict at times, yes, but, most of the time, he had been a good, kind-hearted, nurturing man who threw in a few good jokes, or goofs, from time to time. Instead of turning around, and then getting on him for trying to make-off with his sword, Papa had turned and then dropped to one of his knees; a gust of blue flames had come from the sword after his small hand had landed on it... instead of taking off with the sword, he had yelled and then jumped back. His father, who had had his back to him at the time, had turned around quickly; he had gone to work in looking him over for injuries right after the gust of flames shot out from his sword. Instead of finding him injured, he had found him being perfectly fine—he had also found, by way of looking at his hand, which had had a ring of blue flames around it, that his sword had jump-started his Elemental powers. Even though that power had been sparked on that day, his papa hadn't pushed the envelope on training him on how to use it; his papa had let him grow and mature a bit more before starting his training.

Uncle Trobrencus was standing before this one sword now; the man plain refused to go down the aisle, towards the other swords that were also on display—his reason in doing this was really quite obvious to both him, Bahne, and Trivit: the two swords that Uncle Trob's older brother, Rosol, had once used were right beside that one. Uncle Trob had never—not once—gone farther down the aisle; he was still having a time in coping with the loss of his older brother, who, along with a mass majority of his family, had been claimed by Shlock's Plague. The symptoms of his uncle's grief were noticeable even now—the sword that he was standing before had once belonged to his younger brother, Raal; though he hadn't been as close to him as he was to Rosol, he had been close to this brother of his and it was quite evident that he missed him.

"Angel's seen all of these." he thought as he contemplated on going down the aisle to see if his uncle was okay or not. "She's seen all of these swords, along with the other items—the goblets and gauntlets, the bow and arrow cases, with their few arrows, and the spears, laces, and malets, and so on—in my collection."

Sometime after getting situated at Tazir's place, and then getting fully acquainted with most everyone in the family, Angel had come to his place to both look at his collection and to ask him something. She had asked if he'd want to have her swords one day—she had had four swords in her possession back then... a black, a clear, a bronze, and a pearl-white, all of which could be joined together to make a very powerful weapon that she had called the Gladius Magnus, or the Great Sword. Even though he had been humbled by her question he had said for her to keep the four swords that she had in her possession. They might come in handy one day, he remembered telling her; you're a good swordswoman... if your sons gain your prowess in using a sword then, maybe, they'd appreciate getting and then having the option of using them.

As he looked at the swords he was suddenly struck with the realization that he couldn't remember what powers Angel's sons had started exhibiting at the time of their disappearance; Angel was an excellent wielder of not only Energy but also Elemental powers and Tazir was an excellent wielder of not only Acidic but also Energy and Elemental powers—and, he couldn't forget, the Telepathic, Telekinetic, and Time Warp abilities. Hadn't one of her sons exhibited Elemental powers before? How about Energy powers, or Acidic? Hadn't Bile once burned a tree on his adoptive father's property by shooting a gust of flaming air at it? Hadn't Lhaklar once burned his fingers after throwing glob after glob after glob of blue acid at the wall of his toddler-chamber?

He couldn't remember what powers the two boys had exhibited, or if they had exhibited any powers at the time of their disappearance; this caused enough sadness in him to make him turn around and then leave the room.