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?

26. Chapter 26

As expected, the memorically made photographs, that had come from her Grampa Cheshire's copied memory, had been added to the room that all of the information on her mam and brothers was being put in; she was currently in that room, and before them three photographs now.

Daddy had said that the one in the photographs may be one of her younger brothers; though reluctant to say that he was one of them, he had said that there was a good possibility that he was—there had been no mistaking the excitement that he had been trying to hide from her on the day that he had said this. His "hidden" excitement had rubbed off on her rather well; she had practically been skipping down the halls of the ship in her excitement over the new find that had come up in the search for her missing family. She had also found herself humming a little something while writing in her diary the two days that followed; her diary now had five pages in it that were full of her hopes on the second youth that had been claimed by her mam being her brother. As if the writing of her hopes in her diary wasn't enough, she had also had more than enough dreams on the youth; in these dreams, which were mostly black and white, and which mostly took place on a grassy knoll somewhere, she had run up to give Bile, Lhaklar, and the youth who could be Hazaar a big hug.

Her excitement over this find had come to a stop after the rational side of her brain had clicked in to give its two-cents on what had been found. Her daddy had several mares at home, who had given birth to multiple foals who were near-duplicates of their siblings—her mam, after leaving home, and then possibly succumbing to them urges that adults got, could well of had another son who had come out looking almost identical to Hazaar. Dogs and cats, she knew, could also have back-to-back litters that were nearly identical to the litters that preceded them; with this thought, and the thought on the mares at home having near-duplicate foals, in place, she had stopped being excited. The idea of this new youth being someone else had taken over, which had caused her to feel somewhat blue.

"For all we know, mam might have gone and named him "Hazaar" in honor of my brother who was lost to a plague, or natural disaster, sometime in the past." she thought as she struggled to hold back the tears that wanted to come out. Thinking this was hard; women sometimes did name their subsequent children after the ones who had died before them—either the named-in-honor children would have a II behind their names or they'd just go around with the name given to them. She also knew that, sometimes, people even named their new pets after the ones that had passed away—a friend of hers had done that twice now, so she had that as a good example of this.

The room that she was in was, technically, a spare one; up to their settling on the planet, it hadn't had anything in it. It wasn't very empty now—upon entering the room, she had found herself having to be careful of where she put her feet, and of where her arms went. There were four bookcases in the room; one had memorical stills of her mam, Bile, and Lhaklar on it while another had the latest newspaper articles that revolved around her family on it. Her father was still recording all the program segments that had been done over the weeks on their missing family; these were all on the third bookcase. The fourth bookcase was dominated by the photographs of the two, unknown youths. Along with the four bookcases, which were sitting in the room's center, back-to-back to one another, there were a series of shelves situated all around the room that contained old photographs of her and her daddy with her mam and brothers. There were a few things hanging from the ceiling as well—mostly, just red and medium purple banners, that had all sorts of silver charms hanging from them. Her father, soon after putting the banners up, had called them "Good Luck Charms"; no one disputed their cause or spoke negatively about them. Everyone just accepted that they were there as a sort of spiritual aid to their finding and then capturing her mam and brothers.

"Daddy said that this was a free-entrance room—anyone and everyone can come and go as they please, which includes me." she thought as she tried to look away from the three photographs that her eyes were glued to.

As a way to get her attention from the photographs, she thought of what had been going on in camp for the last near-two weeks. She latched onto the phone situation first—the phones in the ship, for the last week and a half, had been going off the hook almost constantly; reporters from just about everywhere imaginable had been calling to ask their questions on how everyone in camp was and on if anything, or anyone, was being found or seen. Her father, without fail, would say no comment on the latter question; he'd be vague on the former question that the reporters asked.

As far as she knew, her father had asked the others in their family to keep their mouths shut on what was going on in camp and on what was being seen; so far as she knew, his wishes were being honored. It had been a week and three days since the last article on her missing relatives had been written and published; the one that she had looked at before going to look at the memorically taken photographs of the new youngster in question had been written by one named Kronatuun Agoti. This man, who had had quite a lot of nerve, had asked her father a bunch of questions about Hazaar; after getting no answers to his many questions he went and called her grandfather, who had accidentally let it out on what had been seen on the twentieth of September. As expected, Mr. Agoti had taken all of what her grandfather had said, had added a bunch of already known material to it to give the written article a little more length, then had published it—Granddaddy Duru had been most apologetic after seeing that article in the paper, then in getting a call from her father, who hadn't been happy on his spilling the beans on what had been experienced on September 20.

"Dad saw Bile and Lhaklar on the twentieth of September while I haven't seen anything of them since the latter part of August." she thought. "With all the activity that's been going on in camp, and with their being seen in places that're a distance from here, I think they've been scared off from coming anywhere near here."

She had said this to her grandmother that morning, after breakfast was finished and everyone was getting ready to leave the table; the woman, who she regarded with so much respect, had said for her to not be ridiculous. Knowing their mother as well as I do, I think they've been forced to lie low until their injuries heal, was what her gramma had said when the subject was brought up. Grampa Cheshire had been fast in agreeing with this while her father had had something else to say on the subject—if they had been scared off, or if their mother truly thought of us as the enemy, they wouldn't be seen anywhere in this state, was what he had said. A sort of lecture had been spun about how protective women were of their children, and of how protective her mam was of her young, before the call for everyone to head off to do what they wish was done.

The adults were doing their best to keep the younger kids' spirits up, and they were doing their best in keeping busy so the stay here wouldn't seem so long—she secretly wondered what they'd do if the stay went on to be more than a one to two month one; she bet the adults would be up to their necks in home-wary kids, and with their own stresses in missing their homes, then. Really, all they were doing was sitting and waiting for another sighting to happen; she wanted the wait to be over with—not only did she want to see her mam, and brothers, but she also wanted them to be returned home, where they should of been in the first place.

With there being nothing found from when her father had sent the Goblins into Park, Sheridan, Hot Springs/Washakie, and Johnson counties, she had begun to wonder if her mother and brothers even lived in the state of Wyoming—surely something would of been seen of them during all them searches; mam had obviously spun a lie to throw them off course, which it had temporarily done. The wonder on whether her mam and brothers lived the nomadic lifestyle, where one lived in one place for a short amount of time before moving on to the next and then the next and so forth, had also been thought of before being cast to the side—no campsites, where one had lived for a few days to a week or two, had been found anywhere, and the human that Homsi and Eldass had "interrogated" nearly two weeks ago had said that her mam had a job, so that couldn't be it on why they weren't being found or seen.

Eshal sighed, then turned away from the bookcase that had the newly placed photographs on it; she was on her way to exiting the room when her father came in. Since her head was down, and since he came in so quietly, she neither noticed or heard him after he came in—it was very non-surprising to her that she walked right into him.

"Being your father, I'm a bit suspicious of your depression-laced exit." her father said after pushing her back from him. "What's up, Eshie?"

"Nothing," Eshal was quick to answer.

"What're you doing in here?" her father asked.

"Other than looking at them new pictures that you put on the bookcase, nothing."

"Interesting fellow, isn't he?" her father asked. At the moment, she wasn't aware of the "carefully" laid trap that he had set before her.

"Yes, looks similar to Hazaar." she said as she unknowingly stepped into the trap. "Been wondering if he's someone other than Hazaar for the last few days."

"While I'm not one hundred percent sure that he's your brother I do have a feeling that he is—you're mother's a marvelous woman... I believe that she was able to keep Bile, Lhaklar, and Hazaar alive." her father said as he went to the photographs that she had just spoken of.

"How can you speak so sure of this?" Eshal asked. She gave the back of the man who had sired her a good, inquiring look before stepping towards him; a sort of concern had fallen over her that, she feared, was about to be exposed. Before she could stop this concern from bubbling to the surface, her mouth opened and it was blurted. "I don't want you to look like a fool, daddy—what if that guy in them pictures isn't Hazaar. What if he's someone else... a son from—"

"Me thinks you've been overhearing conversation between me and Cyla," her father said as he turned to look at her. "That or you've been hanging around her too much—that woman hasn't been looking at things in my perspective, Eshal. She looks at this photograph here—" he gestured at the facial photograph of the youth who had been seen nearly two weeks ago. "—and she says that he isn't who I think he is without connecting the dots on the similarities. Look at your grandmother... your aunt Qeeta... and good, ol', granddaddy Cheshire—all of them are sticking firm to this fellow being Hazaar, and I'm very near to believing that he is. What does all of that say to you, Eshal? Does that say that this is Hazaar or still an unknown?"

"Dad, I've looked at this photograph, and at the one of Hazaar from when he was a baby, numerous times. Yes, they look alike, but what if that—" Eshal pointed at the memorically taken photograph that her father had just gestured at. "—isn't Hazaar? I don't want you to be hurt anymore... I don't want to see you hurting anymore. If that—"

"If the one in that photograph is who I think he is, there will be pain—a happy pain, sweetheart. One that's based off finding that there's more than just two of your brothers being alive and well." her father said.

"Again, daddy, what if he isn't?"

"When was the last time you went out on the town?"

And, like that, all conversation on the issue of who the Hazaar-like youth could or could not be was dropped; once her father said that sentence, then reached into his green striped tuxedo jacket, that had a single tail on the back that went down to just below his knees, all she could think about was shopping. She knew that he was about to give her some money to shop with, and she knew that this was a way to get her to not think of the issue that revolved around the second unknown youth, but... but when the issue of spending money on only interests that she cared for in a mall of some sort came about she was blank to just about anything else that happened around her.

She was a typical, mid-teenage girl; one who loved her daddy like crazy, and who gave him more than enough respect and love that a daughter should give to the man who was half-responsible for her creation, and one who loved to shop, and listen to music, and do the gossiping that the boys just rolled their eyes at, and, especially, dream about the newest dream-boat who came out on the music or movie scene.

Whenever she was given the opportunity to "go out on the town", she was usually given two, one hundred dollar bills; while she was told to have her friends' parents with her whenever she shopped, or accept the escorts that he asked to accompany her while she was out shopping, she was happy to know that she had a father who trusted her enough to not throw the money that he gave to her on just plain junk. Daddy never asked her what she bought, or about how much was left over of what he had given her, and he never got on her for what she brought home from her shopping trips; he was as respectful as could be towards her and she loved him dearly for that.

The brown leather checkbook was taken out from her father's jacket; this book, which contained anywhere between two to five twenty, fifty, and one hundred dollar bills, was opened. When was the last time that she had gone out on the town? When was the last time where she had been allowed to spend the money that she had been trusted to have on things that'd make her stresses go away? When was the last time that she had gone out to get away from things? The answer to them questions was two months ago—her father had given her $125 just before giving her the gentle boot in the rear. A little joke of don't you return unless you've got bags and are penny-broke had been said right after he had given her that gentle boot in the behind. Instead of being given the usual $200, or the $125 that she had been given to use on her last-done shopping excursion, she was surprised in finding twice that being placed in the palm of her hand, which she had blindly stuck out after hearing the words when was the last time you went out on the town.

She slowly counted what she was given right after it was placed in her hand; along with the usual $200, which consisted of fifty and twenty dollar bills, she had also been given an addition $50. Her father was in the process of closing his checkbook when he suddenly jerked—the book was re-opened, the contents that were in it were swiftly sifted, then another $50 was removed. That was also placed to her palm.

A whopping $300—all hers to spend on herself... on no one else but herself. Eshal, who couldn't contain her excitement any longer, jumped then wrapped her arms around her father. She hugged him for all of ten seconds before charging from the room; her father, soon after she left him all by his lonesome, shook his head. He gave two chuckles before turning to look at the room's contents.

"Ah, the happiness that comes from a teenage girl after you've given her shopping money." he jumped ten seconds later; upon turning around, he saw that his stepfather, Cheshire, was standing in the room's doorway.

"I can imagine it being less exciting when a father gives shopping money to a son." TazirVile said.

"Any child acts excited when it comes to a little monetary spoiling," Cheshire, who had just gotten through doing as his stepson had done in giving Blaiga some money to blow, said. "But, yes, male teenagers don't act as excited as female teenagers do after being given some money to spend on stuff that they and only they have an interest in." there was a pause before he said more. "Grown women seem to retain the excitement that they exhibited as teenagers after receiving money to shop with."

"I do miss seeing the light that came to Angel's eyes whenever I gave her some money to spend." TazirVile sighed. "Can't wait to see it again."

"As you've said so many times, it's only a matter of time." Cheshire said.

TazirVile smiled, then slapped his stepfather on the shoulder, then took in the room's contents for a few minutes before leaving; while his stepfather left the room at the same time as he, they went their separate ways after moving past the door. Cheshire didn't go far from the room before stopping; after getting a text from his wife, who had taken it upon herself to be Eshal's, and Blaiga's, shopping escort, he decided to go on in seeing what that day's output on the mines were. TazirVile went towards the ship's Meeting Room; he had just gotten to the hallway that the room was on, and was about to hurry his progress along, when the drive to get some fresh air took a-hold of him—instead of going into the room where business-type things were done in, then doing nothing more than staring at its various screens and instruments, and at the board-map that was on one of the walls, he went towards his bedroom chamber. The black wool overcoat was removed from the chamber's closet, then placed around him; though not wanting to pay but so much attention to it, he did the buttons that were on the coat well then he drew the belt in tight—it was cold out, and the women would scream if they saw him step out from his ship "in-appropriately" attired for the temperature.

"Cyla would about pop a tit after seeing me step out without my coat being fully buttoned, or without the belt being drawn in so tight that I couldn't breathe." he thought after putting his coat on.

Most of the women in camp, Cyla and Irka especially, thought of him as weak when, in reality, he wasn't. He could take temperatures that were far under what it currently was outside, and he could take temperatures that were far over eighty-eighty degrees—during his conquests, he ran around shirtless; it didn't matter if the area where the battle was taking place in was covered in snow or was as bleak as a desert, when he conquered, he preferred to do so while lacking the items that'd usually cover his top half.

As he walked across camp, going towards his grandfather's ship, where it looked like most of the area's men were congregating, he thought about all of the degrading remarks that his family had issued to him after Angel and the boys had disappeared. His father, and Kuruk, had been among the ones who had done a minor session on trying to knock his confidence, and pride, down while Cyla and Irka had been among the ones who were trying to knock him down to what he was before Angel had been discovered as being his wife. He had come close to slapping both on more than one occasion; if not for his father, and brother, being around, and if he hadn't been holding himself back from doing so, he would of done it—with all that had come from their mouths, they really should of been given a slap or two. His grandfather and sisters didn't degrade him and neither did his stepfather and mother; he didn't know if Trobrencus and his family talked bad of him or not and, really, he didn't care. With his gaining Angel as a wife, and then having his secret in being able to do Elemental powers be exposed, he had gotten a confidence that he hadn't had before. Sure, he had been confident before them two things had come into his life but, with everyone talking him down, degrading and insulting him, his self-esteem had really been low. He had gone to the Universal Gods three times in his life—one time after the depression from his family's ill-talk of him had caused him to nearly plunge his sword into his chest; another time after the depression from their ill-talk had caused him to drink himself nearly to death; and the final time to find out who his wife was truly meant to be with—and they had helped him in keeping his head on straight and on walking that straight line. With Angel, and some of their children, now being known to be alive, and with their location being somewhat known, he believed that they were still helping him.

TazirVile looked at the sky; thanks to his goggled glasses, his sensitive eyes were shielded from the hazy, milky-yellow ball that was raining its rays of light down on the side of the planet that he was on. As he looked at the sky he thanked the Universal Gods for all that they had done for him and for all that had yet to happen in his life; after doing this, he went to join the men who were milling around his grandfather's ship.

"Ewww! Gross—the last thing I wanted to see was your naked ass!" Hazaar exclaimed right when his father joined around half of the men that were stationed in the area where his camp was in.

"Hazaar! What are you doing here?" Lhaklar demanded. He had finished his soak in the hot spring; his brother had just teleported in when he was getting out of the water.

He had spent all of an hour just sitting in the naturally warm water of the spring; thoughts of what all he had done that year, and then thoughts of what he wanted to do later on that year, had come to him all while he had been smoking and relaxing in the water. Only after seeing the state of the bandaging that was on his arm, and the fact that his hands had taken on the appearance of raisins, had he decided to get up and then start the task of collecting his clothes and then heading home.

He had smoked four cigarettes—a rarity for him—, and he had hummed for around fifteen or twenty minutes of his stay; after them fifteen to twenty minutes of humming had ended he had simply sat in silence. The spring's naturally warm water had done its trick in helping his sore body, and it had done its job in taking his stresses away, during his time in it; now that he was out of the water, his aches and pains were returning—and some with a nasty vengeance! If not for his brother's surprise appearance, he would of let the pain have him; he would of jumped back into the spring and then spent another twenty minutes to half an hour of soaking before trying to leave again. Since Hazaar was here, and since he had no desire of being picked on for being "weak", he swallowed his pains; he went to his clothes, then slowly put them on, then got his mind centered on the trek home.

As if his younger brother appearing without warning, and his body's aches and pains returning, wasn't bad enough, the wind had suddenly picked up; he shivered almost violently after the first breeze caught against him. The cold, and his shivering, only made his pains feel worse.

"You need to come home now!" Hazaar said frantically. "Momma called, she asked to talk to you and—"

"You didn't!" the belt that he was fastening around himself, and the shoes that he was trying to tie, stopped being worked on; he was gripped in something else right then and there—fear!

"Lazeer was on the phone—he was stuttering and stammering... it just popped out." Hazaar said. "Mom's livid! She said that she's coming home now—she'll be home in fifteen minutes!"

"Shit! Shitshitshit!" Lhaklar exclaimed. He forced himself to forget his pains; his shoes were quickly tied, the buckle of his belt was snapped in place, and his shirt was hastily buttoned. He was just reaching for the items that had fallen from his pant pockets when his brother started laughing.

"You are so gullible!" Hazaar screamed. "Momma called—we said that you was sleeping."

"You wet end!" Lhaklar lunged, then grabbed his brother; though pained, he was sure in giving his brother the noogie that he thought he deserved.

"Mine's dry—you're the one with the wet butt." Hazaar said after shoving his brother away from him.

Hazaar limped off to about five feet from his brother before stopping; with himself at a more safer distance, he threw his head up then shook it. Lhaklar was fast in scowling at his brother; the twerp had gotten him all worked up—had given him a bloody damn heart attack—and yet here he was, more concerned about his hair, which hadn't been touched by his hands, than in offering an apology for making him use the body that he possessed that was oh so tired and and sore. After scowling, he bent down to retrieve the items that had fallen from his pants pockets; his wallet was picked up, then checked as a precaution—for all he knew, the wind might of gotten into the thing and then blown the contents to some unknown location. After taking his wallet up, then checking it, then putting it in its appointed pocket, he took his house keys up. He was in the process of going towards his cigarette case, which was near the edge of the spring, when Hazaar limp-rushed forward.

Every movement of his hurt, and he was in double-pain now thanks to the bandaging on his burned arm not being as sturdy as it use to be—the water had soaked all the way through; his arm was now, basically, exposed to the elements. With himself being back to being in that slower than a snail pace again, he had no option of grabbing the silver-aluminum case before his brother did.

"Give me my cigarette case, Hazaar." Lhaklar said after his brother walked off with his case.

"Say that I'm the best little brother that you have, and that you will ever have, and I might just give it to you." Hazaar said. After saying this, he opened the case that he had taken up; one of the two cigarettes was removed, then put in his mouth, then lit. "Sans one cigarette, that is."

"Hazaar, that cost me eighty-five dollars. That is my property—give it over." Lhaklar did the best that he could in ignoring the pain that was shooting all throughout his arm and body as he walked forward; Hazaar was fast in stepping out of his way.

"Say it." Hazaar snapped the cigarette case shut; he continued to smoke the cigarette. "Say that I'm the most best little brother that—"

"Give me my damn cigarette case!" Lhaklar lunged; he managed to grab his brother by his arm, but, before he could grab his cigarette case, Hazaar tossed it to his other hand. "I'm serious, Hazaar! Give me my case. I'd like to go home and rest."

"I'll give it to you after you say what I want you to say." Hazaar said. The cigarette did as any other lit cigarette would do—it went up and down as its smoker spoke.

"I'll never say it—you're the worst little brother one could have!" Lhaklar shot as he reached for his cigarette case; Hazaar reacted by swinging his hand at him. Though not meaning to, he hit his brother on the arm that was burned.

"Dammit, Hazaar!" Lhaklar exclaimed as he turned around. He cradled his burned arm, which was throbbing in new pain, to his chest. While holding his injured limb to himself, he said, "You really are the worst brother in the Universe! That hurt—look at my arm!"

"Sorry, I forgot." Hazaar said. He gave Lhaklar his cigarette case then stepped back; Lhaklar was fast in both snatching the case from him and in walking away. "Lhaklar... I'm sorry."

"Whatever."

Homsi looked at what was going on before him in shock; he and his co-workers had just reached the spring... they had taken the long way, had done some talking, and had taken the lack of scenery in, before finally reaching the spot that they were earning to go to. None of them had any words to describe what they were seeing—to literally get here, then notice that two of their employer's sons were in the area... it seemed like they had won more than the big-time lottery that the humans went crazy over after it reached over a hundred million dollars. None of them had expected to come upon the two kids and none of them had expected for one of the two of them to call the other the name that had been given to their employer's secondborn son.

His mother had always told him that cold air, and weather, did one wonders; he believed her. The walk had given him some clean, clear air to breathe; his lungs had always been in good shape but, at the moment, they felt as if they were in better shape. He wasn't sure but he thought that Eldass and Zshon felt the same way—Eldass had sure gotten a kick in his step and Zshon was acting as if he was in his young, early thousands. There was no way to describe how Losal was acting. He and his co-workers had shown up just after the one kid, who they had heard Lhaklar call Hazaar four times, had taken something shiny up from the ground; Lhaklar had been all excited after that had happened, so they figured that the thing that the second kid had taken up had belonged to him.

Eldass had his cellular out; Homsi was worried that the noise from it being used would alarm the two that they were watching but, after noticing that his co-worker had set his cellular settings to vibrate instead of ring, he let that worry dissipate. As Eldass typed a message on his phone, he looked over his shoulder; he couldn't be more agreeing to who was about to be texted and he couldn't be more agreeing to what was about to be sent to him.

"Several of us are at the area's hot spring—Lhaklar and HAZAAR are here. Lhaklar looks injured; HAZAAR is limping. Waiting on instructions on what to do."

Zshon looked at the two kids that were walking about the grounds of the hot spring; he was quick in making some observations and he was also quick in determining that the two of them had more than minor injuries to them. Both were in pain, that was quite obvious by their actions—the older of the two, Lhaklar, looked to be in the most pain while the younger boy looked to experiencing a little less pain that he.

Lhaklar was holding his left arm against his chest; it looked to be heavily bandaged and it also looked like that bandaging was wet and was coming undone in more than four places. He was able to see that there were parts on the youngster's arm that were discolored thanks to his notation of the areas where the bandaging was coming undone on. The one that Lhaklar had unknowingly confirmed as their employer's secondborn son, HazaarVile Tlair Surfeit, was walking around with a very pronounced limp; it looked like there was something up with his right leg and it also looked like he was grimacing with each step that he took.

Zshon felt for the two; he had gotten plenty of bad injuries in his life—some which had hindered him from the normal range of movements, such as lifting his arms and legs or turning his head. One time, when he had been a student at Staffer's Academy, he had been forced to rely on his father to carry him from the field where the school's cricket games were frequently played on; he had sustained a compound fracture to both of his legs, which had hindered him from leaving the field on his own. His playmates had refused to help him—the sight of his blood had caused them to grow queasy—and the two coaches from both teams had been too far away to help him. It had either been he lie there, screaming in agony over his legs being broken, and over his femur and fibula being outside of his body, or allow his father to take on the chore in taking him from the field. It had taken him nearly six months before being able to walk on his own, and without crutches, or braces; he had never played cricket again after that accident happened. The event of his losing his arm, and nearly losing his ear and the parts that allowed him to propagate, was another one where his movements had been very restricted—he put a stop to thinking of this event; it was a horrible one and he didn't want to remember it.

A slight buzzing sound made him turn towards his father; his father had just gotten a reply from their employer. Zshon looked at Lhaklar and Hazaar; he sighed after seeing that they hadn't heard the buzzing sound that had come from his father's cellular—his heart had come close to stopping after that sound had happened... thoughts of the two kids hearing it, then running off after noticing that they weren't alone, had been thought for only a second before being discarded. Luckily, for both him, his co-workers, and their employer, the kids hadn't heard the buzzing sound. They were still in the area.

"Lhaklar, I'm really, really sorry." Hazaar said again. His brother was walking around in circles; he was doing his best in following him. "I didn't mean it... I forgot—"

"Your forgetting is going to hurt you one day!" Lhaklar said sharply. "Get away from me."

"Brother, if it'll make you feel any better, give me a kick in the leg. Do that karma thing on me—I hurt you, you hurt me." Hazaar started to plead. He stopped, then stretched his hand towards his brother, who had since stopped in going around the area. He placed his hand on his shoulder gently before speaking again. "Lhaklar..."

It was tempting; even though he was in extreme pain, he could well do as his brother had said for him to do. His leg could be kicked up, and his little brother could receive a good kick to the leg that was bothering him.

Hazaar still had the cigarette that he had taken from his cigarette case; it was held between the index and middle fingers of his right hand. It was burning out because he wasn't smoking it—he had taken just two puffs from it before going on to chasing after him. He felt anger over that as well; he much preferred for his brothers to keep their fingers from his stuff and he also preferred for his brothers to ask before taking a cigarette from him.

Lhaklar did one more circle around the area before stopping and then turning around; Hazaar stood before him—he stood, looking just as ready as could be to accept the pain that'd happen after he delivered the asked-for kick to the limb that he had that was injured. Though halfway willing to give out a little payback pain, he decided to not do it; he sighed, then shook his head, then dropped to his butt. Just the act of sitting down hurt—he groaned, shivered a few dozen times, then went still and quiet. Hazaar looked at him for a few seconds before sitting down beside him. He held the cigarette out for him to take; he responded by shaking his head.

"Smoke it—it's yours." Lhaklar said. "There's another in the case, and I have another pack in my stash, so you're fine. Just ask me next time."

"Sure, thanks." Hazaar said. He went back to smoking the cigarette; after taking a puff, then blowing the smoke out, he said, "I ever tell you that you have good tastes in cigarettes? This has a very rich, sweet flavor to it."

"Indonesian tobacco—better than the stuff that's put in Winston and the Basics." Lhaklar replied.

"You ever try Newport?" Hazaar asked.

"No,"

"Good, stay away from it. One of the nastiest tasting cigarettes I've ever smoked." Hazaar said, then emphasized, "Near turned my mouth inside out on one smoke."

"Didn't know you've smoked other brands." Lhaklar said.

"Smoked four—yours is the best." Hazaar said.

"How was you able to get the smokes?" Lhaklar asked, he was curious.

"I don't just use the allowance that momma gives me each month on candy and games—I have a guy who buys me a pack of whatever he says is good. Pay him $15 on the day that our allowances are given over—he buys me enough to last two weeks." Hazaar explained. "I do the purchasing of my magazines."
"Magazines? What kind?" Lhaklar asked.

Homsi watched as the younger of the two kids got to his feet; even from his distance, he could see what he was wearing very well. The pair of dark brown pants had faded knees, and a few splotches of red and white paint on their sides; the red shirt looked very normal, there were no pockets or anything on it; the jean jacket that was worn over the shirt wasn't buttoned, it looked like there were a few areas that needed patching on the arms and hems. The shoes that were on the kid's feet were brown; it looked like there were light brown ties on them.

When the kid finished getting to his feet, he reached down; he untucked his shirt, then bent down to retrieve the item that had fallen out. He didn't need to be told what it was that had fallen from the just-untucked shirt—instinct alone told him that it was a magazine of some sort. He watched the happenings that were going on in the area where the hot spring was for a few more seconds before deciding to go for the pair of binoculars that were on his person; the small, fold-in type of binoculars, that were a light gray color, were taken from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket then placed to his face. He adjusted the focus only once then went to work in getting a little better view of the youngster that was with his employer's oldest-born son.

He focused on the youth's hair first; to him, it looked like the kid was either not very savvy in keeping himself very clean and organized or, judging by how sore Lhaklar was, and by his knowing that the kid had been involved in the altercation that had happened in Sweeney Ranch nearly two weeks ago, he hadn't been able to tend his hair because of some cause which had hindered him from doing so. The tail of deep purple hair, which stuck out from the nape of the back of the kid's head, was a knotted up mess—he wasn't able to note if it was clean or not. After looking at the kid's hair, which proved to be more than a good convincing aid to him on who he was looking at, he turned his attention to what the kid had in his hand.

"With his being seventeen hundred years old, it's not surprising that he has an interest in reading pornographic material." he thought after taking in the magazine, which had a red cover, that had a woman, who was half-clad in a towel, and who looked to have Asiatic features, on it. Before lowering his binoculars, he saw the magazine's name—the name Playboy was printed in loud, italic, dark red letters.

He was able to see that the youngster had a cigarette clamped between his lips just before the pair of binoculars were lowered—that made for three of his employer's sons being smokers, he thought. Just seeing this caused him to feel both pity, concern, and frustration; like with Bile and Lhaklar, this youngster's lungs weren't fully developed to handle cigarette smoke. At his age, he should not be smoking.

"There..." Eldass said in a low voice. He pointed to the north; a few trees, and a bunch of skeletal, or near-skeletal, bushes was what he was pointing at. "Master Tazir's in position."

"Do you see anyone else?" Homsi asked.

"Uuuuhhh..."

"Trobrencus and Kuruk," Zshon said. "Think I see Triskull and Cheshire with him as well."

"Coming at them from all sides," Eldass said. "Think they can teleport?"

Lhaklar was fast in detecting the change that had come to the area's atmosphere—it had gotten stale... and heavy. The message, for him, was quite clear—someone, or something, had come into the area; something was about to happen and neither he nor his little brother wanted any involvement in it. With the change in atmosphere being noted, and with the hidden message being received and then read, he got to his feet; he tapped Hazaar on the shoulder then told him that it was time to go. Hazaar was quick in getting to his feet; the magazine that the two of them had been looking at was swiftly returned to his shirt, which was then half-tucked into his pants.

The magazine that they had been looking at was one of the oldest pornographic magazines on the planet; Hugh Hefner was the one behind its publication—the magazine, which had started being run on October 1, 1953, had been retained by Hefner right up into his late-nineties before being given over to his youngest son, Cooper. The magazine was still being run, and it was still popular; it was still owned by the Hefner family to that day.

Hazaar had just gotten through tucking the left side of his shirt in when his brother tried to teleport; he disappeared for only a second before reappearing. Teleportation, they had been taught at Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic, worked only when the physical body was in full health—with his still being very sore, and with his body still having injuries on it, he couldn't teleport. Hazaar limped forward heavily, then placed his hand on his brothers arm, then tried to teleport; he and his brother slowly dissipated, they stayed invisible for only four seconds before reappearing.

Lhaklar was fast in turning on his brother; he shoved him hard then started shouting at him.

"You idiot! You used up the only time that you could teleport on just play!" Lhaklar exclaimed.

"I came here to give you another face to look at other than your own." Hazaar returned as he struggled to his feet. Soon after getting to his feet, he rushed at, and then pushed, his brother; Lhaklar fell back at once. His head just barely missed the rocky edge of the hot spring. "I was bored—there was nothing to do at the apartment, so I decided to come here and see if you and I could hang out. Bile went upstairs to his and your room and L—"

"You was bored and decided to come here and bust my loins." Lhaklar snapped. "Thanks for the shove—I'll be a few minutes in getting up so that'll give you a few minute head-start in running to get away from me."

"Why the hell would I want to run away from you? One of them girls you hang out with give you a bad case of STDs that can be passed onto—"

"Dude I have contracted no sexually transmitted diseases and am not contagious." Lhaklar said. It took him a near full minute to get to his feet; when he was on his feet, he lunged for Hazaar. He gave him another noogie after grabbing him. "You do though."

"Man lemme go!" Hazaar wrestled free of his brother; he took two steps from him before turning around. "You're pathetic sometimes, you know that?"

"So is your face."

"The babes dig my face, they run at yours."

"Really, then why do I have them flocking to my corner every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday?" Lhaklar winked his left eye.

"Thanks for admitting what you really do at your job." Hazaar said. "Man-whore."

"Shut up." Lhaklar said. Despite saying this strongly, he was laughing.

"Never—I don't shut up, I grow up then, when I look at you, I throw up." Hazaar said.

"And then Bile comes around the corner and licks it up." Lhaklar said before the burst of laughter left him.

Homsi watched as his employer stepped out from his hiding place; Kuruk, Trobrencus, and Cheshire made their presence known just before he, Eldass, Losal, and Zshon stepped out from the bushes that were keeping them hidden. Triskull was the last one to make himself known to the two boys; Homsi saw that he was carrying a type of gun on his person—Kuruk, the man's father, looked to have a sort of restraining pole or tool on him. The two boys, the Goblin was quick in noting, had gone sober right after seeing everyone stepping out from their hiding places; the two of them looked at each other for only a second before taking on a fighting stance.

Lhaklar used the remainder of his transformative powers soon after he saw his father walking towards him and his brother; Homsi issued a verbal threat for everyone to watch it after seeing the green glow that wrapped around the youngster. The energized breeze caused Hazaar to take two steps from him; the boy looked at his brother for the entire duration of his form's change before turning to look at the ones who were advancing towards him.

In the ten seconds that Lhaklar had taken to change forms, he had latched onto the idea of becoming a lion—after his transformation was complete, he stepped forward as an immature, mint-green lion. The mane that he had was sparse, and pine-green in color; the claws that came out from each of his paws were also a pine-green color, and so was the small tuft of hair that was on the end of his tail.

Hazaar directed a green energy sphere at Homsi, who was fast in ducking to avoid the attack, then he sent a weak lightning bolt towards Eldass. The lightning bolt had only just missed its target when he started making the ground under the four Goblins rolls; three of the four Goblins had just lost their balance when he felt something prick him on the neck.

"Hazaar!" Lhaklar exclaimed after his brother took one, stiff, and quite awkward, step to the side.

Even though his vision was blurry, and his coordination bad, he continued with sending attacks at the men who were surrounding him and his brother. He threw out five, purple-colored energy spheres then he swung his fist down; the ground around him erupted up then was swept to the sides right after his fist collided with it. Pebbles, and medium-sized rocks, and lots of dirt, rose into the air for only a second before raining down on the ones that were in his near-immediate vicinity.

Homsi heard a ringing sound coming from his right ear after a medium-sized rock hit him; a slew of pebbles fell on Zshon's head and shoulders—Mr. Zultoa, the oldest son of Eldass J. Zultoa, made a horrible mistake by tilting his head up to look at what was falling on him. When a decently sized rock slammed home into his left eye, he yelled then fell back—the sensation of having his eye assaulted by something other than a fist was bad while the burning sensation, that had only come from the dirt and pebble pieces finding their way into his eye, was worse; he let the others take care of the capture after his eye was rock-assaulted.

With one of the four Goblins backing down, and with the other three looking to be only half-there, he concentrated his strengths on the big, burly man who was to his immediate left; he sent a weak, red lightning bolt at him, then a few red, orange, green, and black energy discs, before feeling his legs give out from under him. When he fell to the ground, he did so hard; he bounced once after falling then, with the last of his fastly dwindling energy reserves, lifted his head up—for fifteen seconds now, he, the thirdborn son of Angel Irene, who was so revered by the planet's people, had been fighting the fatigue that seemed to want to take him down. After shaking his head, then getting halfway to his knees, he sent another attack out to the big, burly man—who, thanks to his mood, he wasn't able to the remember the name of. He had only just sent this attack out when the last of his energy reserves were zapped of their low-fuel; he dropped to his side then fell into a troubled sleep right when his brother's lion-formed body was positioned over him.

"Alright bastards! I'm slow but I'm game to what all you have ready for me." Lhaklar thought after positioning himself over his brother, who was sleeping soundly on his side.

The roar that came out of him was immature, yes, but its point was received very well by the ones around him; he dared the men around him to come forward and he dared them to try to lay hand on his brother's defenseless body and, furthermore, he dared them to tangle with him. One of the eight remaining men took that dare; his father walked forward, then drew his arm back, then threw a punch in his direction. The glob of green acid landed on his shoulder; it was there for only a second before exploding. Lhaklar was met with not only the pain that he had been feeling before but also the pain from the new injury that he had just received for only a second before turning his attention back to his father, who looked to be gearing up to do a repeat of his previous action.

He gathered himself up as best he could then leaped forward; he barely missed the next green acid glob that his father had sent his way. When he was within a foot of his father, he rose up on his hind legs; the swipe that he delivered with his left foreleg caused a long, deep cut to appear on his father's right arm while the swipe that he dished with his right foreleg very barely missed striking his father's chest. His father had just taken a step back, and had just swung his fist as him, when his jaws settled around his wrist; he bit down hard enough to break bone—his father's green-colored blood oozed from between his jaws for only a second before he was forced to relinquish his hold.

The only reason behind his releasing his hold on his father's wrist was because of his uncle; Uncle Kuruk was going for Hazaar, who he had foolishly left behind. He turned back towards the body of his brother, then ran as fast as he could towards him, then gathered himself to leap; even though his right shoulder was causing him considerable agony, and his ravaged left arm was causing him to want to stop the defense of both himself and his brother, he pushed on—he could moan and groan about the pain later. Right now, he needed to look after both himself and his brother.

When he was within three feet of his uncle he roared; the leap, which was a small one by any standards, caused him to still land on the target that he wanted to be on. Once he was on his uncle's back, he began to tear into him with both his claws and his teeth—he had just opened a few, deep cuts to the man's backside when the man, with one, clear, upthrust of his body, threw him from him.

"Dad!" Triskull yelled.

After gaining to his feet again, Lhaklar turned on the man who was running towards him; the man, who he knew was his mother's uncle, had very dark blue skin. He stood about six foot, two and a half inches tall; he had a lean body, that looked to have decent muscle on the chest, arms, shoulders, and back; and he had the same colored eyes that Master Vile possessed—a glowing yellow color. The pupils that were in their centers were even the same as Master Vile's—tiny and black. Judging by the man's eyes, which looked of the non-experienced and intelligenced type, he guessed that he hadn't done or seen much in his life. The man had a triangular-shaped head from which two, elongated ears were on; these ears ran the full length of his shoulders, they were the same color as the rest of the man but they possessed a single, dingy white skull on their ends. When the man's mouth opened after twitching, he saw that he had sharp, white teeth. The two, ringed horns that were on the man's head were gray in color; they swept back gracefully—which seemed funny, seeing as the one who owned them didn't look to have a single bit of gracefulness to himself.

The man was wearing a blue jean jacket, that had spikes on its shoulders and wrists; there was a collar around his neck from which a chain ran down from—this chain attached to the dark brown belt that was worn around the waist of the man's pants, which were a medium-blue color, and which were ripped in several places.

There was a pair of wings on the man's back; the inside of the wings was red and was torn in more than two places—either they were a dress-like adornment of some kind or, if the man had been born with them, they had been rendered from being able to be used. He got the personal, silent perception on their being both of the latter and not of the latter—for all he knew, they might of looked like this from the moment their wearer was born. The spikes that were on the man's ankle and wrist guards were long, silver in color, and sharp looking; he made a mental note to stay far from them.

The man had a gun with him; along with having a triangular-shaped muzzle it was also big and wide on the back-end. Lhaklar, who felt no desire in having that gun being used on him, slashed at it the second he was able to; the gun went one way while a spurt of blood went in another. With the gun out of the way, he lunged at the man; once near the man, he rose on his back legs then started swinging his forelegs. He intended to give the man a few more scars to go with the ones that he already had—along with the scar that was going across his left eye, the man also had a scar going around his neck and a series of scars that crisscrossed over his chest; whether these came from battle, or the man had been born with them, he didn't know and, really, he didn't care to know their origins either.

He had just landed on the man, and had just snapped his jaws on his shoulder, when something pricked him on the neck; he looked at the man, and the man looked at him, for a few seconds before the urge to drop to all fours came to him.

"Let him be now—let the sleeper dart take hold of him before you head in!" he heard his father say.

He stumbled around for two, complete circles before dropping to his side; he was no longer on his side before getting up again—no sooner had this feat of his been done before he found himself collapsing again.

He saw the zombie-man, TrobrencusVile Bloym Surfeit was his name, take one step forward; the man put a stop to his advance after taking that single step then crossed his arms. He, again, struggled to his feet; two more collapsings were done before his lion-form was dropped. He walked around in a semi-circle for a few more seconds before going towards his younger brother, who he was only barely able to see—his vision, for some reason, was very blurry. He was very sleepy and he didn't know the reason for why either—at a time like this, he should be awake and energized, not clogged with fatigue.

He fell at his younger brother's side, then wrapped his arm around him, then felt his eyelids slide down. He went into a troubled sleep just as his father gave the word for Homsi, Eldass, and Losal to step forward.

"Thank the Gods!"

After thinking this, Cheshire walked over to TazirVile's side; Triskull gave his head and shoulders a good shaking before heading over to where his father was—the wave of unease that had settled over him after Lhaklar had jumped on him had nearly suffocated him; he was glad to be rid of it. KurukVile took a deep breath in, then flexed his muscles, then looked at the three Goblins, who had since rolled Lhaklar over to his back. KurukVile was about to go over to get a look at the youth that Lhaklar had fallen beside when his brother walked over; Tazir was fast in both kneeling down and in rolling him over.

"Eshal will be thrilled when she comes back from her shopping trip!" his brother near-exclaimed. "Alright boys, lets get my sons to the ship. Put them in a room—make sure that it's locked. I want two of my staff to guard the door to ensure that my boys won't get out and escape."

"Who is that one, Tazir?" KurukVile asked. "Is he Hazaar or—"

"He is most definitely Hazaar—didn't you hear Lhaklar call him that?" TazirVile looked at his older brother; the corners of his O-shaped mouth were so drawn up that he looked almost hideous to look at.

"No, the wind was making a lot of unnecessary noise where I was—I wasn't able to hear much of anything that was said between them, sadly." KurukVile replied. After feeling his coat being pulled back, and then the ends of a set of fingers pressing down on the gashes that he had on his back, he turned his head. "Triskull," he said after seeing that it was his son who was fussing and fretting over him. "tone it down back there. Flesh wounds—they're not deep. Nothing to worry over."

"You sure, Father?" Triskull asked. He was concerned; although his father's long, brown leather coat, that had a brown fur ring around the neck, shoulders, and down the front, near to where the buttons were, had taken most of Lhaklar's lion-formed assault there were three, deep scratches on his back.

"Perfectly sure." KurukVile said, he then turned his attention back towards the two, sleeping boys. "These two should be treated for whatever injuries they have." he knelt down, then started looking at Lhaklar's left arm; after peeling two of the bandages back, he grimaced. "Especially this one. The younger one... Hazaar, excuse me, had a limp on him so I'd get him treated as well."

"I'll have that done the soonest they wake up." TazirVile said. He nodded at Homsi, Eldass, and Losal then backed away. "That way they'll see that I meant them no harm—and which'll cause them to calm down some towards me."