Unlike some, who would take in a situation, or a potentially dangerous person, in from afar, he went straight up to the shield then started following the man that his father continued to call his son. As he saw it, this was a possible once in a million type of opportunity; he could compare himself to the guy, he could think about the guy, and he could be safe while doing so.
His heart came close to leaping into his throat after his eyes were attracted to the bright shine that was coming from the guy's jacket; after his eyes focused, and the guy came into full focus, he gasped then started the process of leaving the bushes that he was walking behind. He hadn't expected for him to show up and he had definitely not expected for him to come within or stop so close in proximity to the shield; after seeing where the man was going, he intercepted him then started following him. He didn't want an obscured or blurry or distant viewing of the guy that was the cause of his simple, normal life being turned upside down. He wanted a good, close-up view of the guy. He was getting just that now.
As he walked along, getting a good look at the guy that his father continuously called "Numbskull", he was reminded of the events that took place last night.
He, his parents, and siblings were all seated in the dining room of his father's ship; except for Baruk, everyone was eating and wasn't doing anything disturbing, disgusting, or bewildering. Not long after sitting at the table, and then filling their plates, his brother inched one of his fingers up, towards his face. Baruk had pocked, prodded, and then pulled at the false took that was his top left canine for all of twenty seconds before moving on to the implanted teeth that were also in his mouth. About twenty more seconds of pocking, prodding, and pulling happened before their parents spoke.
"Son, quick picking your teeth." his father said.
"Very rude dear, not to mention it's not very flattering to the rest of us who are trying to eat." his mother said.
His brother did as he was told to do for only five minutes before resuming the pocking, prodding, and pulling of his mouth's false tooth and implanted teeth. He and his siblings had watched in disgust and bewilderment the entire time; they watched their brother for all of thirty seconds before a loud, snapping sound was heard. All of their heads jerked up, then they looked towards the table's head, where their father was seated. Their father had obviously taken his hand from the table then snapped his fingers to gain their attention.
"Do I need to say it again? Show some respect—quit picking your teeth!" his father barked.
"Do they hurt? Is that why you're picking at them?" Kaasa asked their brother.
"What do they feel like?" Sudir asked their brother. "Do they feel like normal teeth or—"
"No, they don't hurt him—the time-period for feeling pain after tooth replacement or implantation is long past. He's just experiencing that period where he's noticing the work that's been done in his mouth." their father answered for Baruk.
"That's right, dear." their mother said. "Your daddy's had several of his teeth knocked out and then put back in or replaced. He knows what your brother's going through—he's doing all that he can to help him get through this."
"With plenty of chiding added into the mix—if he didn't go and get into a fight with that guy, he'd not have any false or implanted teeth in his mouth." his father said. He said nothing more for a few seconds before looking at him. "Of course, such a thing wouldn't of happened if one of my older sons wouldn't of gone out gallivanting with the ladies."
The subject of his possibly being the source for "Numbskull's" existence was brought up at either every meal or at every opportunity that his elders—meaning his mother and father—found available. Sometimes, after he entered a room that they were in, they dropped what they were previously conversing about to converse about the child that he "could of created"; it was getting quite annoying now. Even though he was insistent on his not being the sire of the child, they continued to think of him as being so and they also continued to chide him on how he lived his life—meaning; how he liked to party with the ladies.
Thanks to his parents, it hadn't taken him long to dread waking each morning; if what he had to look forward to each day was his parents getting on him about his life choices, and about his possibly siring a child through an illicit affair, then why bother getting up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? Whether the two knew it or not, they were stressing him out. His simple life had gone down the toilet. The existence of this one being, that they continued to claim as an offspring of his, had made his normal, simple life go from being normal and simple to plain stressful and irritating. With all the stress that he was feeling, he wasn't surprised about his becoming a smoker; due to his high stress levels, and his current, irritating life, he took on a habit that he normally wouldn't do. Even though the stress was making him want to become a full-blown alcoholic, his drinking was still the same—he thanked the Gods on that one! While smoking was bad, and while he had ideas of quitting this new habit of his, he was content with having that and only that to contend with. He didn't think he'd be able to cope with being both a smoker and a deep alcoholic at the same time. Just quitting the sticks was going to be hard enough; he didn't want deep alcoholism added onto that plate.
His father was as good as his word on finding and then taking the pack of smokes that he got on the thirtieth of October; those were found and then disposed of a few hours after Baruk was retrieved from the nature reserve that neighbored the one that their camps were in. The second and third packs of smokes that he had gotten were smoked in-full by him, while his fourth and fifth packs were only half-smoked before being found and then confiscated. Even though he knew that the habit was a bad one, it was helping him in his stress moments.
He had gotten so sick of his parents' constant nagging, and their constant attempts to make him feel guilty over Baruk needing a false tooth and tooth implants, that he made the decision to leave their ship and camp yesterday. As luck would have it, Trobrencus and his two sons were getting ready to scout the towns that were nearby; he asked if he could join them and they said yes. A pleasant, twenty-four hours had followed; with the exception of the small talk that he and Trob had on the guy that he could of sired, he was left alone on the subject. The camp that he, Trobrencus, Trivit, and Bohir had slept in last night was near the small nature reserve that was called the Auenwälder und Feuchtwiesen westlich von Ötigheim; the reserve was right, smack, in-between the towns of Steinmauern and Rastatt, so it was the ideal place to rig up a temporary camp in.
Up to now, none of them had seen a thing of his niece's four sons and, up to now, none of them had seen hide nor hair of the man that his parents continued to call his son.
"Body's built stronger than mine," he noted of the man, who he was walking in-sync with. "Shoulders are broader—much more thicker than mine. Waist is a degree wider than mine. Arms also look bigger than mine. Can't see his facial features because of that damn hoodie he's wearing—it doesn't look like he has any horns, or ears, on his head."
The guy was the complete opposite of him. Big, sturdily built, and he also seemed to be rather intelligent. Even the eyes were different—a solid yellow color, that glowed brilliantly. There were no pupils in the fellow's eyes and, now that he was up close to the guy, he could see that they really weren't of the slightly slanted sort. They looked more like the scalene triangular shaped type to him; the glow from the eyes would make anyone assume the shape was slanted, when they really weren't. The guy did look young—either he was a young adult, or he was nearing the age of being a young adult. The fellow knew that he was nearby—he had made his presence known very quick. It wasn't like he was hiding in the shadows or trying to keep a low-down or anything. He and the guy were walking side by side; the shield was the only thing keeping them separate.
"So, you're the guy who put my grandfather in the hospital." he said, more to himself than to the guy that he was still walking in-sync with.
As far as he was concerned, he was free. Free of being called this fool's father. Free of being ridiculed. Free of the guilt-trips and his current, stressful life. A weight was lifted from his shoulders—it would remain off his shoulders for a few hours, before being placed back on by his sire. He, who had never really excelled in science while in school, never considered the facts or the science that concerned the facts about his family or about the being that was on the other side of the shield.
His father, KurukVile Shonsinu Surfeit, wasn't born with horns, yet he sired a son who had horns—the reason behind this lay in genetics. KurukVile Shonsinu Surfeit carried within his genome a trait for horns, which he inherited from his great-grandfather, RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit, who, in turn, inherited the trait for horns from his father, IackVile Uovo Surfeit. KurukVile Shonsinu Surfeit had also inherited his powers—his Energy and Elemental powers—from that same genetic link and he, in turn, had passed some of them powers to his eight children. While his older brother, Vile Skujik Vile, hadn't inherited the gene that unlocked the ability to use Elemental powers he did have it in his genes. The recessive gene that Vile had became unlocked after he created his two, younger children—Angel Irene and Bile Vile. Vile, like he and Dara Dara, could create offspring who had horns and they could also create children who could do Elemental powers. His father would relay all of this information in just a few hours time; he'd find himself just as stressed, pissed off, and with a major headache afterwards.
Most of the well-known Surfeit men had broad shoulders; his father had broad shoulders and, thanks to that, he had the gene to pass broad shoulders to his offspring. Most of the well-known Surfeit men were thick or very strong-bodied; his father was both and, thanks to that, he had the gene to pass thick or strong-bodiedness to his offspring. Most of the well-known Surfeit men were tall; his father was tall—he stood six foot, four inches—and, thanks to that, he had the gene to pass tallness to his offspring. This and more would be told to him in a few hours time; he'd grow so headache-y over the information that he'd need a few hours to recover.
He also felt no connection to the guy that was on the other side of the shield. In all the useless tube shows that he watched over the years, he heard countless times about how a man would feel some sort of connection to a child that was either said to be his or that was shown to or "plopped" in his arms by an "extraterrestrial" that was abducting him throughout his life. He'd say this to his father in a few hours, before the headache set in; his father would say for him to shut up and to not be silly. He wasn't sure if such a come-by connection was possible—he had never felt a paternal connection before and the few familial connections that he had had formed some time after a certain someone in his family was born or after he came in contact with someone that he formerly didn't know ab—
"Wha-k-t!"
At first, he thought that his great-grandfather's uncle had come up behind him; the voice that he heard was low-sounding, like Trobrencus's, but, unlike Trob's, it hadn't had a weasel-like back-sound to it. It sounded nasally and youthful—the crack of one who was about to experience or who was experiencing or who was in the last stage of puberty was unmistakable. It took him a little while to notice that it was "Numbskull" who had spoken; the guy was facing him now. While he still couldn't make out any of his facial features, he couldn't mistake the annoyed look that was in the fellow's eyes.
The fellow's coat wasn't zipped or buttoned up—now that he was facing him, he could see more of his physical features. The drawing that he was shown in late-October had only been half-correct on the fellow's appearance; now that he could see him in person, he was blown away.
The muscle, that was on the chest, was thick; the fellow had either inherited the muscle-building gene or he was lifting a lot of heavy things to achieve all the muscle that he had on him. The lines—veins—that were on the fellow's chest were barely noticeable, thanks to the coat and the chains that he was wearing. The six-pack, that was on the fellow's abdomen, was more than just impressive; it was deep and very well formed. The hands looked very youthful, which he found very surprising; each finger possessed a cracked, dark gray fingernail on their ends.
"I couldn't of sired this thing!" Triskull thought as the man turned then started back up the street from wince he came down. "Everything's wrong—the body-size, the muscle, the eyes..."
While he was oblivious to the inner struggle that his unwanted walking companion was having, he wasn't oblivious to the fact that the man was making him feel uncomfortable. He had never liked being stared at or watched. It made him feel funny. It made him feel like he did something that he shouldn't have; it also made him feel like he was being evaluated by someone that wasn't right in the head. He didn't do a thing to be stared at like he was and he didn't do a thing to warrant being followed either—running down the street, showing off to the females that were in town, and showing off his new duds, shouldn't warrant this type of attention.
Except for that one time, where he turned to ask to guy what he wanted, he hadn't said a thing to him; he didn't know who the guy was and he didn't know what his intentions were. For all he knew, the guy could be trying to lure him out of the shield, so he could beat him up or something. While the guy was a stranger he was quite sure that he resided in the Rastatter Rheinue camp, where all them other freaks were—the guy sure looked like belonged with all them other freaks; he had horns on his head that swept back gracefully and he also had a pair of wings on his back that were torn in several places.
For some strange reason, he started thinking about the Mothman—that odd, North American cryptid that he only knew the existence of thanks to his nerdy little bruder, Hazaar. The Mothman was said to be some weird half-human, half-moth creature that was routinely seen before disasters happened—like when the Silver Bridge collapsed on December 15, 1967, and then again on June 2, 2045, when a major vehicle pile-up happened on the old Bartow Jones Bridge.
Hazaar had driven the family crazy after finding the boxset of his current favorite tv show, Screamers, under the Christmas tree; he was so ecstatic over the find that he insisted on their all sitting and then watching the set's first disc with him. They were bored off their asses for all of an hour; the Mothman was the first cryptid that they learned about, while the Jersey Devil—some wild flying creature, that was said to have a goat-like head, cloven hind feet, small arms that had clawed hands on their ends, horns, and leather-like wings—was the next cryptid that they learned about. He already knew about the cryptid that was called the Owlman—another weird creature, that was said to be seen in the Cornwall, England village of Mawnan—so he didn't pay much mind to the segment on that beast. The same went with the segments that were on the Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Abdominal Snowman—pretty much everyone knew the specifics on those three elusive beasts. After an hour of being bored off their asses, their mutter said for Hazaar to give their eyes a rest. They went their separate ways, after being freed from their hour-long boredom.
"Don't even think about it." he thought as he went back up the street. "He's not the Mothman or the Jersey Devil or any of the other weird creatures that Hazaar's "freak" show depicts. He's just an alien with freakish features—that's all."
To get his mind off the Mothman, and his unwanted companion, he started thinking about what he was going to do after returning home.
Besides putting his old hoodie and his new coat in his closet he had a mind to get in on working on one of the models that he yet to get around to building. The Motorbike motorcross motorcycle model, that Lhaklar got him for Christmas, was one of his not-yet-done models, so was the Honda NSR500 '84 model that Hazaar had gotten for him. The Garthok monster from the movie Coneheads—another model that came from Hazaar—, and the resin model kits of the Ghost Rider, and his awesomely cool motorcycle, of the sexy Vampirella, and of the dragon hatchling—all of which had come from Lazeer—had also not been done yet.
The resin model of the Norris monster from the 1982 version of The Thing had taken him a little while to do—his mutter had gotten the model for him for Christmas; it took him nearly four days to finish it. The resin model of The Monster That Challenged The World had taken nearly as long to complete. Lhaklar had gotten him two awesome monster models for Christmas; while the model of The Monster That Challenged the World took him three and a half days to do, the model of the Creature from the Black Lagoon mourning its mate had taken him a little under two days to do. His model paints were a little over half full when he started building them three models—in order to finish the Creature from the Black Lagoon model, he had to borrow some paint from Bile. Now that he had some paint and glue, he could continue with his model building.
If he didn't want to work on any of his unopened or completed models he could whittle a little on the blocks of wood that were in his closet. Hazaar had gotten him two new knives for Christmas; a torched stag pocketknife, that had a Damascus blade in it—which he thought was just too nice to use on anything—and a fan knife, that he had yet to get use to. He could get use to the fan knife while whittling on the blocks of wood that were in his closet—he started collecting the four to five inch long blocks of wood a few days after Christmas; the idea of carving something out of them, and of using them to get use to his new knives, was a good one. He had just not been able to ignore that idea.
And, if he didn't want to whittle on the blocks of wood, he could always listen to the three new CDs that Bile had gotten him for Christmas. There were just endless possibilities of what he could do after returning home; do one of the models that he hadn't yet gotten around to doing, get use to his fan knife by whittling, listen to one—or all three—of the new CDs that Bile had given him... or just watch some tv, or play a video game, or stare at the odd lamp that Hazaar had gotten him for Christmas. The Abyss LED table lamp, that was designed to look like someone's lower intestine, was a strange one; he didn't know how to react to the thing after unwrapping it. The lamp was on one of the stone mantle shelves that were in his room; it was a tall lamp and it was quite bright when it was on.
"You've got thirty euros left over from your allowance—if you don't want to do any of them things, you can always sit down and make a list of things you want to get this month." he thought as he started up the street that was flanked on one side by the field that had the tall, yellow grass in it.
While he had a good mind to just get in on building one of his unopened models, that was a good idea. Naturally, his monthly magazine issues would be put on that list first, followed by his smokes—which he was getting rather low on. His pack of HB cigarettes had only two cigarettes in it; he was completely out of his Gold Flake cigarettes. He might add a CD or two to that list and he might also add another thing of model paints to it too.
He nodded his head with each passing thought of the things that he could do after returning home then, without putting much thought into it, he turned his head slightly. He was on an incline now, going towards main-town Elchesheim-Illingen, so he had a good view of what was going on around him. The field that had the tall, yellow grass in it was oddly still and quiet; the town in front of him was also quiet and still, which he found odd. While he didn't mean to do it, he searched for the horned one that followed him; he found him after a minute of searching. His unwanted, former walking companion had a companion of his own that, from his current distance, looked human.
It was really no business of his on who his former walking companion spoke to or associated with—he was a firm believer of leaving others be and of leaving the dealings of others alone. He turned to walk away and was instantly surprised when he found himself going in the opposite direction of the one that he wanted to go in. His legs moved as if on their own. He had no idea that he was going towards the field of tall, yellow grass until he went into the front-lying grass shoots. After finding himself surrounded by the field's tall grass he decided to just go with the thrill—he let his legs take him forward, towards the shield that kept his family's resident town safe.
"Serious? He didn't act in any way aggressive with or towards you?" TrivitVile was asking him.
"No. Other than his turning and then saying 'what' he mostly ignored me." Triskull replied.
"Can I say odd? With his injuring Baruk like he did in October, and with it being known that he's the one behind Angel's sons' injuries, and with his fighting and then sending Duru to the hospital—twice—, I'd of expected a little more violent reaction from him." TrivitVile mused.
"Was expecting a little more aggression from him myself." Triskull admitted.
The field that obscured his view was thickly and grotesquely overgrown with the thickest and tallest grass that he had ever seen. The grass had to be over six feet tall; despite its yellow color, it looked healthy and strong. The guy that his father continued to call his son had disappeared behind it a little under five minutes ago; he had no more heaved a collective sigh of relief to finally be rid of him before TrivitVile, his great-grandfather's uncle's oldest son, came up behind him.
Trivit, as he and the rest of the family called the guy, had a weird way of acknowledging his presence—instead of speaking to let one know that he was near, he silently strode up from behind. A tap or a slap on the shoulder was usually done afterwards. The action was an unpleasant and rude one; despite his constant reminders and warnings, the guy continued to do it with him. The thought of giving the guy a little lesson on why one didn't do that had passed his mind once or twice; he had even come close to slugging a fist at the guy a few times over the years, after he did his unpleasant acknowledging. Since he was a grown man, he couldn't do that. Grown men didn't go around, slugging their fists without a good, justifiable reason. While Trivit's action was annoying, it wasn't a good enough reason to get physical.
Trivit was much older than he; he was a hundred and eighty-nine years younger than his grandfather so, in a sense, he was from his grandfather's generation. The guy looked like a perfect blend of both parents; while his face was heart-shaped, like his mother's, it didn't look like Bahne's. Instead, it looked like his father's—Trobrencus's. There were puke-yellow trails under the guy's eyes—which were the same color as his father's—and there were red, flake-like patches on both of his cheeks, on his neck, and on both of his arms. The guy's cream-colored hair was long; it went down past his shoulders. 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. The sleeves of Trivit's blue, long sleeve, button down shirt were rolled up; the pair of brown pants that he was wearing were mud-stained in several places. The pair of brown shoes, that were on Trivit's feet, were old; there was a nice coat of dust and mud on both of them. The coat that Trivit was wearing before leaving their short-time camp was dangling from the index finger of his left hand, which was currently hooked over his left shoulder.
Trivit was introduced to the family nearly two thousand, two hundred, and two years ago; even though he knew of the guy's existence, and even though he and the guy hung around one another when their families got together for the holidays, or for specific special occasions, he didn't know much about him. He knew that he was a lady-lover and he also knew that he liked to flirt around with the ladies. He knew about the on-again, off-again relationship that the guy had with his girlfriend—of whom he hadn't yet seen or gotten to know; all he knew was that the girl's first name was Alaah—and he also knew the basic history on the guy—that he was the second-born of Trobrencus and Bahne's first set of twins, that he was the only one out of Trobrencus and Bahne's first set of twins to be born alive, that he and his deceased twin brother were born during the early part of Shlock's Plague, and that he worked at a history museum. That was really it on what he knew on the guy and, to be both fair and honest, Trivit also knew the bare basics on him too.
"Looks like today's going to be a repeat of yesterday." TrivitVile said, jarring him out of his thoughts. "The popster and I split up after you ran off—he said something on our covering more ground if we went separate ways."
"And?"
"As far as I know, my father's not seen anything and I surely haven't seen anything." TrivitVile replied.
"While my father's concerned about all of them he's really worried about Bile." Triskull said, distantly. "As far as I know, he hasn't been seen in a while now and, as you know, he was badly injured the last time he was seen."
"Please—I've seen the photographs; reframe from speaking on the injuries that he was seen with in October." TrivitVile said quickly.
"Done—just bringing Bile's injuries up makes me hurt down there anyways." Triskull replied.
"Just thinking about the younger of the four having an injury to his face makes my face hurt." TrivitVile said back.
It was an innocent, simple gesture. The fist-bump was usually done between two that trusted or respected one another or when two persons were in full agreement with one another. It usually substituted a handshake or a high five. While Guyunis knew this he didn't really see the fist-bumping between Triskull and Trivit as benign; one look at Trivit was all it took for his heart to start slamming in his chest.
There were only two things that he was really, truly afraid of. The fear of his losing his loved ones, his new family, was both normal and at the top of his two-item list. The second item that was on his short fear list wasn't normal; it was forged into his life by one of his former adoptive bruders.
Aayden Meyer, the little bruder of his former adoptive fader, Arthur Meyer, was an avid Zombie fanatic during his early, mid, and late teenage years. He watched all sorts of television programs and films on Zombies, he collected all sorts of Zombie merchandise, and he was also one for pranking or trying to prank certain people in the household—mainly his siblings—and his friends during the weekends by dressing up and then acting like a Zombie. He got his fair—or unfair, since Aayden was particularly nasty with him during his pranks—share of Zombie pranks while under the Dieter and Elke Meyer roof. One time, when Aayden was fourteen or fifteen years old, he came up behind him; Aayden did his best to tear the flesh of his right arm off with his teeth in his prank and he also did his best to rip a lock of his hair out too. Aayden went around afterwards, saying how he transferred the "Zombie Curse" to the "Demon"—as he was called back then. Aayden's parents didn't do a thing to correct this behavior and, as far as he knew, they didn't get on their son for biting him.
Aayden was also one for making crude representations of Zombies out of scarecrows; he'd make a Zombie scarecrow, then either hide it someplace in the house for someone to find or throw it at someone who was sleeping. He couldn't watch or read or even listen to anyone talk about Zombies without breaking out in a sweat or freaking out thanks to Aayden and his damn pranks.
Ironically, he learned the specifics on the undead creatures from the one who caused his fear. It was this knowledge that was clicking away in his mind.
"They are usually depicted as mindless, re-animated human corpses that have a hunger for human flesh; modern film and program Zombies were invented by a man named George A. Romero, who's descendants have kept their ancestor's Zombies on the big screen to the current-day."
That was the first fact that clicked away in his mind.
"Most of the films and programs that depict Zombies show no plausible cause for Zombieism; there are a small handful of Zombie films and shows that have plots that revolve around some airborne virus that causes Zombieism. There's an even smaller section of Zombie films and shows that revolve around the Zombies being escaped lab creations."
That was the second fact that clicked away in his mind.
"Most of the time, the Zombie-curse is transferred through physical contact—by a Zombie biting or scratching an uninfected civilian. The response to Zombieism is depicted in films and tv shows as slow, which allows for a whole town, a city, or a whole country to be infected. Normally, only a small handful of survivors survive the Zombie infestation."
That was the third fact that clicked away in his mind; the fourth one followed quickly on its heels.
"Zombies are usually depicted as either slow or fast creatures with limited mental facilities; they are capable of achieving in-human strength during feeding frenzies."
His fear had caused him to forget all of what he did in the last five minutes. The walk through the field of tall, yellow grass; his stopping halfway through the field to remove his chained coat and wrist guards; his sending his chained coat and wrist guards home via a spell, then his continuing on towards the shield that was at the field's far end; and, lastly, his humming during the last few minutes of his walk.
Everything was quieter and stiller now; no birds flew in the sky, no bird calls were being made, no car horns were being blared, there was no sound of car tires squealing on asphalt... even the sound of gravel being stepped on was muted. At the moment, all he could focus on were the two people that were on the other side of the shield. His unwanted, former walking companion was one of the two people; the one that was with him was at least an inch shorter than he—his former assumption of the person looking like a human was quickly thrown out the window. Sweat automatically poured from him when he saw that he looked like a mild-form Zombie, complete with what looked like flake-like patches of skin, torn lips, and a nose that looked half-rotten.
"Stay inside the shield and don't wander far."
Such a short, simple command... The mild remembrance came and went very quickly; he wasn't allowed to think about who it was that told him that.
A bunch of dark gray clouds drifted over the sun; the landscape was plunged into "darkness" for all of a minute before the sun peaked out to light it back up. The temperature, which was fifty-one degrees prior to the sun's disappearance, dropped to a frosty forty-eight degrees; the former temperature was never regained. Guyunis shivered for a few seconds before heaving a breath in; his dark body changed, became a dark red color, as he kept the breath in. He only released the breath when he felt a need to breathe normally again; his body was warm when he released the breath. He moved his shoulders back and forth a few times before stepping forward. There was a little bit of resistance from the shield as he stepped through it; he felt himself being pulled back as he went forward for only a second. After exiting the protection of the shield, he went towards the Zombie-man and the man that was his former, unwanted walking companion. There were a few bushes and trees dotting the area where they were; he used them to keep himself hidden as he went forward.
Neither he nor the two men knew of his approach until it was too late.
"And lo; the beast cometh out from the dark, shrouded by fog and smoke. He scareth the women, make the men cringe, and causes tears to fall down the cheeks of children. Cold shall follow this beast wherever he goes so beware of he who stalks the night and the dark spaces for he shall bring pity, despair, and pain to those that he cometh upon."
That was written in the Great Holy Book; the book that his father read before going to bed, the book that he and his siblings read after every mealtime, the book that he and his family toted to church every Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday. He and his family knew that passage by heart, so it was no surprise to him that it popped into his head after he saw the man that his cousin called Numbskull rushing towards him.
"I'd of expected a little more violent reaction from him." TrivitVile recalled saying earlier. He remembered no more of what he did or said earlier; he just braced himself for the hit that was about to happen.
Triskull was unsure of what was going on at first; Trivit's action of bracing himself for Guyunis's impact was seen in a different light and Guyunis charging past him was seen as nothing more than a shadow—the sun had just come out from behind the clouds, after all. Triskull's eyes came close to popping out of his face after he saw the backside of Guyunis; they became even more enlarged after Guyunis slammed into Trivit. His pupils came close to becoming non-existent after hearing Trivit yell; Trivit flew through air for a second before crashing through a bunch of bushes that crested a steep, and until now unknown, hill. Triskull winced with each sound that he heard of Trivit's descent down the hill then, after noticing that Guyunis was turning towards him, got himself ready for battle. He used just about all of the strength that he had in his legs to propel him forward as he rushed towards Guyunis; when he was a comfortable distance of two feet from the youngster, he held his hand out. His intention of trying to grab and then tear the hoodie that Guyunis was wearing off was never made; Guyunis leaped back in time to avoid being de-hoodied, then found himself falling backwards. Triskull yelled in surprise as he and Guyunis fell head-over-heels over one another as they went down the steep hill that Trivit was at the bottom of.
"Trivit!" Triskull yelled after getting to his feet.
"Forget me, worry about him!" TrivitVile yelled back.
At first glance, Trivit looked fine. He had a scrape or two on his forehead and he also had a bleeding cut to his left eyebrow; that was really all he saw on the first glance. Nothing but minor or superficial injuries that could be treated in nothing flat. When he chanced a second glance, he saw that Trivit wasn't fine and that he had more than just superficial or minor injuries. Trivit was lacking some skin on his right arm and the elbow of his left arm was jutting out from under the skin; Trivit was also standing funny, like he suffered a twisted or sprained or broken ankle during his fall down the hill. Trivit tottered in place for a few seconds before dropping to his knees. Triskull took a step towards him before stopping; he watched as Trivit placed his hand on the buckle of the belt that was around his pants. Right before his eyes, Trivit pulled the buckle of his belt off then held it to his lips.
Triskull watched no more; he wasn't allowed to watch or even listen to Trivit as he called his father through his belt-worn device. When the man that his father continued to call his son lunged in Trivit's direction he quickly got in the way; he and the man fought for two minutes before separating. The man took half a dozen steps back, shook his head, then tried to go around him. He barred him twice more; two more fist-fights and two more brief separations happened before a roar was heard that deterred their attentions.
Guyunis looked at the new arrival to the area while Triskull turned halfway around to look behind him—that action caused a major rift to happen in Trivit's father, TrobrencusVile. Triskull's action of turning halfway around caused his right ankle to become locked in place on the ground; the pain was enough to make Triskull pull back sharply. His falling to the side was simply caused by his body-weight and gravity; his ankle sang rather loudly all the while he fell to the ground and, really, so did he. Trobrencus looked at his oldest son first, then at the fallen Triskull, before turning his eyes towards Guyunis—who wasn't only backing slowly away but who also had a rather wide, comical smile on his face.
"Pop—situation! We need you!"
With Trivit and Triskull being the only ones separate from him and Bohir, he automatically knew who the "we" was in reference to and he also automatically knew that his son and Triskull had met with some sort of trouble so, instead of farting around, wasting precious time that could be used in getting to where his oldest son was, he grabbed Bohir then teleported to the location that the signal from his son's communicator had stemmed from. Trivit had no idea how much fear was placed on his shoulders; them five words that his son had used had caused many a scary scenario to happen in his mind.
His oldest son and Triskull being attacked by one of the critters that called the area home; his oldest son and Triskull having an encounter with someone that they couldn't handle; his oldest son and Triskull coming upon the dark-skinned man aka "Numbskull" beating up on one of Angel's sons; or worse, his oldest son and Triskull coming upon a certain man who dared to call himself Master Vile, who, quite possibly, hadn't had his "fill" of trying to kill his kin.
Bohir, his second oldest son, was very obedient in going to his brother after they arrived in the location where Trivit's message had stemmed from. Bohir took one gander at his surroundings then went to where he was needed to be. It was now his turn to go to where he was needed to be. He stripped himself of the green striped overcoat, the green vest, and the white, long sleeve, button down shirt that he was wearing as he walked forward; his eyes never left the dark being that was in front of him.
"You cheeky bastard..." he absently said in a different language as he advanced towards Guyunis. "You cause bad injuries on Angel's sons, you hurt Baruk, Gaajah, and Selik, then you break my nephew's son's back in two places—now you're trying to add my son and Triskull to that list? I don't think so—not by my watch!"
He looked at the man, who was still slowly backing away from him. The man was big. Strong. He'd put in a good fight, but he was confident in knowing that he'd give him a good run for his money. Should it have to be done, he was mad enough to put this fool in a coffin. Duru, his nephew's only son, was in the hospital again thanks to him. Poor Duru was battling a fracture of one of the vertebrae of his middle and lower back; he was in the hospital a long time now, lying face-down on a bed with his body supported by a sling that prevented any further damage from happening to his already delicate back. A vertebra in his neck had also sustained minor bruising, so his neck was currently in-cased in a brace to prevent further damage to that; the poor man was forced to miss out on so much.
The promise that he made to his young daughter was the biggie that he was forced to miss out on doing; Young Uevaa had spent most of the first four days of her father's stay in the hospital with her father. She refused to leave his side. Her father could speak, and he had limited mobility in his hands and feet, so he was able to interact with her—in the most basic of ways, of course. He was able to thumb away some of the tears that were falling down her face, he was able to pat her hand, he was able to give her a tissue, and he was also able to point and make gestures with his fingers as they spoke.
If not for the fool in front of him, his great-nephew never would of been taken to Zhiwanook Hospital. Duru wouldn't of been put in a body sling, he wouldn't have to have a urinary catheter in him, he wouldn't of missed his birthday... Shaam was Duru's constant visitor; his nephew was doing all that he could to keep his only son comfortable and he was also using his learned Healing abilities to shorten his son's tenure in the hospital. Cyla was doing her best to keep things in her husband's camp organized; she was keeping herself busy in looking after the kids, the staff, and she was also trying to look after her husband's ship. Cyla and her three young ones were Duru's second most-constant visitors, while he was Duru's third; Kuruk and his wife were currently in fourth place. Tazir was much too sore to do much of anything nowadays—due to the events that happened on the twenty-third of December, nearly all of the man's left side was bruised; Tazir had also lost nearly all of the skin on his left arm and thigh after being knocked out of the helicopter that his son, Hazaar, was in.
Tazir refused to go to Zhiwanook Hospital. Most of his time was spent in either taking medicated baths or in taking sessions in his medical chamber's medical table.
Cheshire Ubalki, the other victim of the "Berlin Chase"—as the humans and everyone in camp called it—, had healed well from being shot. He spent all of two days inside Tazir's ship before coming out; his movements were stiff and slow for all of a week before limbering up. He was back to his normal self now. Eldass Zultoa, one of Tazir's employees, who happened to be another victim of the "Berlin Chase", had also healed well from being shot.
"Wipe that grin from your face!" TrobrencusVile barked.
Before the fight even started, he knew he was in trouble. The man that was advancing towards him, in a threatening manner, was bigger than that Duru-guy; he was an inch taller, he looked very angry, and he had a lot more muscle on him than that Duru-guy had on him. The guy, who looked like a full-blown Zombie, had a square-shaped chest, that had visible veins crossing all over it. His six-pack was firm and nicely toned; he had rock-hard arms that were covered in thick muscle. His body matched the colors of his head perfectly, with the left side being a light blue color and the right being a puss-like creamy color. He had several patches of flesh that were either a dark blue or a dark purple color on his chest; there were several patches of dark red flesh that looked to be hanging down from his stomach, sides, and arms. There were more than a dozen scars criss-crossing his chest and stomach areas; his arms were also scarred up.
"He's a Zombie!" his mind screamed as he backed away. "Zombies can't talk! They can't walk as perfectly as he is and they're not as fit either!"
"Did you hear me? Knock the smile off—Now!" the Zombie said. Guyunis was automatically drawn to the man's lower lip. It flapped as the man spoke; the lip looked to of been grabbed, pulled back, and then shredded before being released.
He was only mildly aware of the fact that he had a big, toothy grin on his face. He was terrified; the grin was just a means of expressing that. A full-blown Zombie was coming towards him, a mild-form Zombie was nearby, and there looked to be a third Zombie, who looked strikingly similar to the one that was advancing towards him, at his side. The guy with the wings and the horns half-scooted, half-rolled to where the two Zombies, that were off to the side, were; it was like he was clearing the battle arena that was about to be used.
"Take the legs out—if he can't walk or run then he can't bite or scratch you." Guyunis thought as he started walking around Trobrencus. "A blow to the head will end the deal—Zombie's become the full dead after they've be de-headed."
"Kick his ass, dad!" the Zombie, who looked strikingly similar to the one that he was about to fight, said.
The first blow came as a complete surprise to Guyunis—he used that same, cat-like grace that he discovered in late-October after Trobrencus rushed at him. Trobrencus right-hooked him in the jaw; he saw stars and he also became slightly disoriented for a few seconds. His opponent took full advantage of his disorientation by throwing in half a dozen punches before finding himself reeling backwards.
A fist-fight that put all other fist-fights to shame happened between the two of them; even though he managed to get in four, good punches, the fight was quite one-sided. His new opponent caught his right eye twice, his jaw once, and his shoulder three times before finding his legs being swept out from under him. The man rolled away quickly, then leaped to his feet, then came at him again; when the man swung his fist, he was quick to get out of the way. Two more dodged blows happened before he found himself doubling over—he gasped, then started to wheeze, after the fist collided with his gut. His opponent, an obvious veteran of physical combat, wasted not a second in kicking his leg up after he doubled over. He was treated to a good view of the sole of the shoe that kicked him in the face; the sole of the shoe wasn't smooth—some of the jagged edges were worn down, so that saved him from a nasty cut to the face. Regardless of the shoe's worn-down, jagged edged, sole, he saw stars; he yelled as he fell back. He rolled away from the threat before he could think to do anything further to him. He slowly got to his feet, then shook his head, then looked at his opponent—who now looked to be getting ready to use his powers on him.
At first, he thought that the man was going to use a form of the known Energy powers on him. He struck a pose just before the cloud of red was released; he was quick to learn that he made a serious mistake in just plain standing there because, when the cloud of red struck him, he was automatically engulfed in pain. He roared right when the cloud struck him; an eruption happened all around him after it struck him, then a white ring formed around him that caused him to feel yet more pain. Red smoke rose from his body after he dropped to his knees; his blood came out of the twenty or so cuts that he had on his chest, stomach, and back. He took in several deep breaths before looking up; his opponent was gearing up another attack that looked similar to the one that he had just used—when he saw the mass of white zooming towards him he wasted no time in getting out of the way; one time of just standing in place, waiting for one of the man's attacks to reach him, was enough to teach him that that was the wrong move to do.
His opponent, he realized, as he dodged two more, cloud-like attacks, obviously had different powers than he and he was obviously planning on using them to gain an advantage in their fight.
"Mum—she was the one who told me to stay in the shield and to not wander far." he suddenly remembered. His aching body was racked in shivers after he realized that he had disobeyed her—not only had he left the safety of the shield but he was also engaged in battle with someone that he shouldn't be fighting.
A power that he had never seen before was used after he dodged the three, cloud-like attacks; his opponent threw his arms backs then, after holding them behind his back for twenty seconds, swung them forward. A series of yellow rings cruised towards him; he had time to hear their inner crackling noises before he was struck. Another roar of pain escaped him; he fought the urge to fall to his knees again then, when he achieved that feat, he shoved his arms forward. Blood seeped out of the many cuts that were on his body as he sent a volley of fireballs at his opponent. His opponent managed to elude most of his fireballs; two caught him on the leg and another caught his left shoulder, but neither caused much damage or deterred him from fighting him.
He made a portion of the ground rise then, after doing two, quick turns, kicked his leg out. Clods of soil and rocks flew towards his opponent—who, quite surprisingly, managed to dodge most of his sent attack. Only four clods of dirt struck his opponent; the man's cheeks and forehead started gushing blood at once after the four clods of dirt struck him. The man wiped the blood out of his eyes quickly before rushing in his direction. A series of crackling gray rings flanked his backside as he ran; he waited until the man was nearly on top of him before stepping out of the way. He stuck his foot out then took to his heels, after causing the man to trip and then go face-first to the ground.
"The shield! Get to the shield—he can't get in! You'll be safe if you—"
"Oh no you don't."
A pair of strong arms wrapped around his middle as he fell; his opponent, much like that Duru-guy, was a fast one. He had gotten to his feet after going face-first to the ground then he chased after him; after they collided with the ground, he was treated to being given a sort of pay-back for his prior action. His opponent grabbed the sides of his head then slammed him, face-first, to the hard ground twice before ripping him around to facing him. A barrage of fiery-filled fists rained upon him, after he was turned around; he tried to give as much as he was given to no avail... for a few seconds, that was. The first six punches did nothing to drive his opponent off then, at around the seventh or eighth punch, his opponent was driven off. The Zombie-man shook his head twice before coming at him again; as a way to tip the scales in his favor, he started using his legs and his learned powers. He used his legs to make an Energy Tornado, which caused his opponent to be thrown completely from his body. After being freed of the man's weight, he got up then got into position; four, raging fireballs—black-colored ones; the ones that burned like hell—were sent towards his opponent before he decided to create a wall of red energy in front of himself.
The Zombie-looking man wore a sneer as he rushed towards him; he waited until the man was ten feet from him before swinging his arms. He became like a pinwheel—his body stayed stationary as his arms swung back and then around. Small energy crystals flew at his opponent, who tried his best to veer away from them. When his opponent was two feet from him, he started sending out larger chunks of crystallized energy. His opponent stopped on a dime; he warded several shards of crystallized energy with one hand while he kept the other in front of his face. Two of the shards of crystallized energy opened two, good-sized cuts to the man's shoulder and upper right arm while another shard sliced a deep cut to his brow; he had just sent a volley of larger, crystallized energy at the man when he saw movement to his right. He turned quickly towards the horned one that was his former, unwanted walking companion; the guy's eyes went wide after he sent a large beam of purple-colored energy at him.
The intention for the horned one's sudden, brief involvement in the fight was quickly discovered after he drove him off; by turning around to face his former, unwanted walking companion, he lost track of his shield. The Zombie-man acted much like one of them fighting bulls that were used in Latin America. He charged forward, after his energy wall was dropped; he hadn't a chance to get out of the way or get back into position.
Knowing the situation that he was in, he wasted no time in taking a new stand against his opponent; he turned, then ran towards the shadowy area that was under a cluster of tall, branchey trees.
"You sure had a motor in them legs of yours back then." he remembered Hazaar saying one day a few months ago, after their mutter put some photographs of him and his bruders' track meets up on the wall. "You came close to matching several of Bile's track records, right?"
That was a yes. While Big Bro Bile's records were impressive, he came very close to matching them—he came close to "tapping" two of Bile's records while enrolled at Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic. The mile-run, which was still set at a sizzling 1:48:12, and the mile and a quarter-run, which was still set at a blazing 2:00:45, were the two records that he came close to "tapping" while being a student at the school; his track runs on them two meets had been five or so seconds under them counts.
A little bit of talk was generated from his track meets at Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic; if he remembered correctly, it took three or four days per track meet that he participated in for everyone and everything to quiet down. His track runs at Goboshu's Academy of Meanness had generated a lot more talk than his track runs at Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic and the reason for that was really very simple: every time he stepped foot on a track at the school, he shattered, or came close to shattering, either a previously made record or a record that was made some thousands or hundreds of thousands of years ago.
The tracks at Goboshu's Academy of Meanness hadn't only been longer. They were grueling; he raced on all of them. The two-mile and three-sixteenths was a long race and it was run over grass instead of synthetic dirt. The old record had stood at 3:03:54; he set it back to 2:53:53. A kid by the name of Bohir had set the record—which stood for a few hundred years before being broke by him. The two-mile and a quarter race had been another long, grueling run; it was held over plain synthetic dirt—that hadn't made for an easier race though. The old record of 3:20:04 was set by some guy named Crazan Duplaxen about four hundred years ago; he smashed it to bits. It was currently set at a nice 3:11:34. The three mile run over synthetic dirt, grass, and water was another grueling race; some guy named Trobrencus had set the record a long time ago. It was set at a 3:41:09. Another record smashing run was added to his list of track meets when he ran that race; the record currently sat at 3:26:56.
He had a total of six track records at Goboshu's Academy of Meanness. Like Bile's track records at Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic, they were all said to be untouchable.
"Think we need to match you up with Bile for a race one day." he remembered Hazaar saying on the day that the photographs of his and his bruders' track meets were put on the walls.
If he made it through the race that he was currently doing he might just take Hazaar up on that. Bile was pretty damn fast a few hundred years ago; he might just give him a run for his money. Both he and Bile were faster now; their bodies were figured out, and they had matured over the years. Had gotten taller and stronger.
He ran on, his legs pumping along, going from looking like legs to looking like black cloaks that seemed to be moving underneath him. He had his opponent by a good ten or so feet when he decided to stop; a barrage of thoughts ran through his mind like clockwork. He was allowed to go through all of them before his opponent slammed into him.
"Look at your pants—mum gave you those. They're ruined now; trash can time. Can't be worn anymore—won't mum be proud of you."
That was the first thought that ran through his mind.
"Look at your body—it looks like a broken glass bottle's been used on your face. Your bleeding all over, bet you'll be sore in the morning—won't mum be proud of you; she'll be as happy as a Lark when you walk in through the front door."
That was the second thought that ran through his mind.
"Going to take a while to clean them nice, expensive boots you're wearing. They're scuffed up now—they don't look new anymore. They look about ready for the trash heap. Won't mum be proud of that—she went out, spent all sorts of money on you for Christmas. Bought you new clothes and shoes and here you are... wearing clothes that are brand spankin' new that are now all messed up and in need of being thrown out."
That was the third thought that ran through his mind; the next two thoughts ran through his mind right when his opponent barreled into him.
"Stay inside the shield and don't wander far—that's what she said and, looky here, what's Guyunis doing now? Oh, he's disobeying his mum by not only being outside of the shield but by also being quite a distance from home and he's also fighting with someone that he shouldn't be fighting with."
The back of his head slammed against the ground right when the fifth thought popped into place. It was this thought that made him mad.
"You should be ashamed of yourself! All of this wouldn't of happened if you'd of just gone home after finishing your run. Did you? Oooooh no. You put little struggle in on stopping yourself from walking into that field of tall, yellow grass. Going through the shield and running up to them two freaks was done without a second thought. You only started thinking when the bastard that's beating you to a pulp came into the picture. Mum will be doing jumping jacks with her joy over all that you've done on your outing."
His opponent was slamming his fists into his face and chest now; he used all of his strength to push him off before getting to his feet. He gave the man a vicious glare before swinging his fist; while the man ducked, he didn't dodge his blow. The man had a right long ponytail growing out from the base of the back of his head; he unfurled his fingers after the man ducked to avoid his punch then swiped his hand at the item that was flying past. He was quite lucky on his swipe—not only did he catch the ponytail but he gave it a yank, which caused his opponent to yell out in surprise. Despite having his hair yanked, his opponent's balance wasn't deterred; the man lunged at him fiercely. He surprised him by not only laughing in his face but by also shoving him back. The man lunged at him twice more; he was pushed up against a tree on one of the lunges. He ducked after hitting the tree, then pulled himself to the right of his opponent, before turning to face him—his opponent, who was lunging at him, yet again, had come very close to hitting the trunk of the tree face-first but, at the very last second, he managed to stop the momentum of his lunge before tasting bark.
"Yukotpee mur diem carpe yum!" the man said after turning to face him.
He shook his head; the spell that the man had used was one taught at Goboshu's Academy of Meanness. The man must of been a pupil at the school, he realized as he mouthed the counter-spell to cancel the one that his opponent had used on him. Yukotpee mur diem carpe yum was a basic spell; it made one become partially blind and deaf. It was usually done during fights or, sometimes, during gambling. He mouthed the words to the counter-spell then ran at his opponent; he picked the man up then carried him a distance before slamming him down. The man coughed a wad of blood up as he stepped away from him.
"Wimblo blurey—"
"Contro diecees un borke loruy." Guyunis said, effectively cancelling and closing the door to any other spells being used on him.
The look of shock settled over the man's face for a brief second before disappearing. He closed his eyes then dropped to one of his knees while the man stood. He channeled all of his anger; he let it boil within him. He came down with a bad case of the flu the last time he used this power that only he knew he possessed; anger triggered this power and he was doing his best to gather all the anger that he currently felt so he could use it to trigger a response from the power that he was afraid of using. His anger made him feel hotter; his bloody, broken, and sweat-caked body went a degree darker as he channeled it. His eyes... the heat that he was feeling made it seem like they were about to explode from their sockets! His tired, achy muscles quivered. He twitched a few dozen times before going still.
His anger was released in one violent surge after his opponent placed his hand on him. A green and orange-colored fog shot out of his eyes after he opened them; the same fog came out of his mouth when he opened that.
The man was sent flying almost at once. A howl of surprise was heard; a shriek of pain came next. The great fog that was escaping him forced his opponent up, into the sky, then it sent him flying towards one of the trees that were in the nearby tree cluster. The tree shook after the man struck it; the man, who was now sporting a few nasty cuts to his chest, arms, and stomach, shook his head then pushed himself away from the tree. He got halfway to his feet before collapsing. Guyunis got to his feet slowly; he heard a low beeping sound that sounded so far off yet so close. He shook his head, then shuffled off, towards the shield. He tottered from one side to the next; he felt so weak, so drained of energy yet, for some reason, he also felt pleased with himself. He barely remembered entering the shield; when he found himself inside the shield, surrounded by tall shoots of yellow-colored grass, he quickly summoned the little strength that he had to teleport home. The act of teleporting to his family's house happened right when he collapsed; instead of his knees meeting against the hard ground they met against the soft carpet that was in his mother's bedroom. He blinked his eyes then crawled forward, towards his mother's bed, which seemed so very far away from him. He lost consciousness a few minutes later, after dragging himself onto the bed.