FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

He Who Would be Master: Chapter 4

Othello wandered away from the stunned crowd, slightly confused by the reactions; no one looked him in the face, or clapped him on the shoulder like he expected. He would have happily avoided it if it came, but the looks of wariness, shock, or in Angel's case, outright fear had utterly blind-sided him. He pushed the thought away as he circled to the front of the school.

All told, he didn't even think hurt the jock too badly, just surprised him more than anything else. He just wanted to humiliate the moron.

He smiled: Mission Accomplished!

Really, he was happy with how everything turned out. He knew that though he couldn't hit real, real hard like bigger guys, he can still knock some gas out of their egos! He flexed cramped fingers, wondering with a touch of worry if he'd broken or dislocated a finger, before opening his hand to blow cooling air over his still-stinging palm. The sting felt good. The effect of a pimp-slap had been confirmed. This was now a tool he could use. A card he could play.

He snorted, having missed the bus by minutes (though he expected the fight to last longer), and walked towards home. That first tinge of annoyance latched itself to a more profound discomfort and dragged it to the forefront of his thoughts: Angel wasn't behind him this time...

Loneliness crept up on him. But Othello gripped it tight and mangled it into something that resembled anger.

What's Angel's problem?! Othello fumed. I WON. He should be happy for me!... Or neutral... or something...

The anger was slipping away from him. Had the two bullies been closer than Othello thought? Would it have been better to take the first punch? Were there no written rules to this shit? Didn't duels have rules? If not, how did he fuck up?

"Why do you care?"

Othello looked around, but saw nothing. A cold blast of wind slammed into his face. He couldn't breathe through it. It stung his eyes. The roar drowned out sound. He gasped and threw his arms over his face, spinning away from the gale.

"Fuck!" He panted when it was over. He wiped tears from his eyes.

"Why do you care about the rage-one?" A voice whispered in his ear. Othello turned to the voice, but got another blast of sense-numbing wind. This time, something itched under his jaw, on the right side. He rubbed it, and the hand came up bloody.

Othello felt fear coil around his belly and start to squeeze. His heart sped up. He was under attack! By one of Them!!

He reached into his pocket and drew out the bell-charm. "Where are you!?"

"It's lost to you. The Rage has his soul. You must not touch it. You have no right to that soul..."

This time, Othello was ready for the wind. He held the bell close to his face. He felt the wind on either side, but this time it didn't blow directly into his face. He was able to see the creature harrying him.

It darted on the wind as a fish might, but its body was elongated like an eel so it flowed as it moved. Its body looped or kinked when it changed direction. It looked like a cross between a weasel and a wind-sock, or a tube-kite. It's serpentine form bore eight legs, two paws near its head, a set of mantis like scythes, then the rest were of the standard weasel-walking variety.

"But what's on YOUR soul? I MUST see it! Could it be the Lost Crown? THERE! Hidden THERE all this time!? I want it! I want it so I can be KING!" It cackled. It lunged, becoming a pale, translucent blur. Othello held out the charm in front of him, and the weasel reacted as if it had run headlong into an electric fence: It stopped dead and twitched, shrieking, before bouncing off, falling curiously skyward, limp.

Othello stood there, in shock, panting in shaky breaths. He looked around, brandishing the bell like a loaded weapon. Once he was sure he was alone, he ran. Hard and fast. He ran through traffic, he ran through pedestrians. He didn't stop running until he was home. He slammed the door shut and locked the door behind him.

Once it was shut, it took him a moment to realize he couldn't run anywhere, another to realize he didn't need to. He sunk to the floor and clasped hands over his mouth, trying to stifle his whimpers.

They came for me! They tried to rip me open again! Then he remembered: since They are real, then so is the fact that they want him dead. The shrinks convinced him that They couldn't hurt him, but this one had.

The door he was resting against started to rattle. Then the lock started to unbolt. Othello scrabbled for it. "NO!!" He clasped the lock and held it in place.

"Tell?" Lothario's voice called from the other side. Othello almost opened the door, but... but what if the weasel-thing was waiting for him to open the door? What if Lothario was possessed, like Angel? They don't want HIM! He's safe out there! Othello rationed. He screwed his eyes shut and kept the door locked. He prayed for his brother's safety, hoping he was right.

Othello realized it had gone quiet. He looked through the peephole: No Lothario.

They got him? Why'd they go for HIM!? They weren't SUPPOSED to go for him!!!

Othello backed away from the door, terrified. He backed into someone's chest.

He spun, throwing his elbow out and...

Was blocked, thrown, and pinned by his mother.

Othello didn't struggle, didn't fight. He had to make himself a non-threat. This was procedure for his freak-outs. His mother used her Police-training to fantastic effect on her children when she had to. Most times, there can be seen some humor in it all, but never so with Othello. Officer Gainan Montague hauled her boy to his feet and looked into his eyes. Othello looked back and watched something in her die: She'd lost him again... and there may be no getting him back.

"No. No, mom, listen to me--" She forced him through the house and cuffed him to a chair. Othello, seeing a precipice he was to be pushed over, bit back hysteria.

"Mom! Mom, no! Please! I have the answers this time!" Officer Montague left her son in the chair and Othello heard hers and Lothario's voices outside. Guilt closed his lips. He sat silently as his mother told Lothario to hang out with a friend for the next few hours. He's okay.... He's okay...

Then she returned, stone-faced. "Othello Marquee Montague!"

She was a well-trained interrogator. He new her ploys. He knows her look. He knows that telling her what she wants to hear won't work. He knows telling her the truth won't work either. So he sat silent.

"Did you get into a fight today?" His mother asked in carefully measured monotone.

Othello couldn't believe his ears! She's in crazy-response-mode over THAT!? Lothario gets into fights all the time! "Yes!" He spat angrily.

"Did he come at you with a knife?"

"What!? No!!" Where'd she get THAT from?

"You sure?" His mother searched her face. "Well there must be some reason to hyper-extend a boy's knee--"

"I WHAT! NO!!" Othello paled. "I kicked him a few times! In self-defense!" I didn't kick him that hard, did I?

"His mother called, saying she'll take you to court for assault. You're almost 18. I can't help you if you don't help me." She said softly. "Where did you get that cut under your ear?"

Othello clammed up, trying to think.

"Do not lie to me. ANSWER!" she said.

Othello gave her an agonized look. "A bogey attacked me after the fight--- but, no, mom! I'm not messed up! I know what the ARE now, mom! They're SPIRITS!--"

Othello fell silent, mouth agape at the mix of pity and rage the came upon his mother's dark features. "Ghosts?" she snarls, "someone has convinced you that GHOSTS are out to get you? I haven't heard of that sort of shit since we studied the Klan in school! Who is this little bastard? I'll cripple him myself!!"

Othello leaned forward, as far as his restraints would allow, and he started to laugh.

Ridiculous! Does she believe I'm stupid as well as crazy?! The thought made him laugh harder. A pain-filled, humorless laugh. He laughed harder and louder. It felt so much better than crying. But then he started gathering his shattered composure, piecing his cool back together.

"So that was it..." He lied. "Well... Now I know better, don't I? Can I get up now, or are you going to charge me?"

Officer Montague seemed to buy buy it: She smiled and uncuffed her son. He rubbed his wrists, and something in him chafed against being restrained at all.

His mother looked him over. "Othello... Most people wouldn't have been fooled, you know... Are you seeing Them again? Honestly?"

Othello looked away, but answered: "I can handle it. I swear..."

"If we have to, we can tell the judge--"

"No, mom!" He felt himself blanch. "I can HANDLE it!"

His mother's features softened. She hugged him. "Tell..."

Slowly, hesitantly, he hugged her back. He felt, however, that this display of affection had something false in it. Like it was being forced... but by which? He couldn't be sure. And that hurt.

The hug only lasted a few moments, and the two separated.

"Mom?" Othello started. "I need to go lie down..."

"Of course, baby!" His mother said, shedding her cop-self entirely. "You missed dinner last night, right? You have breakfast this morning?"

"Yes, Moogie..." Othello said, it was a word he used instead of "mommy" when he was little. He knew she was fond of it.

"And lunch?"

"Of course, mother..." she was far less fond of "mother"... made her feel old, apparently... Othello watched her. She was actually extremely youthful-looking for a woman of nearly 50, and a mother of seven. He guessed the Beat kept her in good shape. But perhaps not; youthful looks were passed on to each of her children as well... It's likely why Othello caught little flak over being old for a high school junior. The oddest thing Othello knew of his mother, however, was her lack of Bogies... Not everyone had a spirit attached to them, in fact, most folks didn't, but she was the only adult in his immediate family who didn't. His father does. His older brother, Mac, does. Even Rio was starting to be followed by something not yet fully formed. Othello used to wonder if there was something following him around, out of sight... but he never saw anything. Nothing specifically tied to him anyways.

"Go get some sleep. I'll make sure you eat this time." She gave him one last searching look before smiling and touching his cheek. "You scared me, sweetie... I thought..."

"... I almost was, mom... I almost... relapsed..." He almost choked on the lie. Mom! I HAVE relapsed!!! God, I'm in it deep!

The silent cry for help made his Moogie's eyes flash. He looked away, cursing mothers' intuition. He scrabbled for something else to focus his thoughts on, but when he couldn't land on one, his mother inadvertently grounded him in one for him.

"So... Angel, huh?"

Othello turned to her, blinking twice. He looked skyward, turning the unspoken thought in his head. It wasn't long before Othello was remembering the taste, feel, and sounds of the heated blonde ape. He felt a smile try to tug at the corners of his mouth, but resisted.

"Yeah... Maybe...." He finally answered, very proud of keeping his cool.... Except... He wasn't... he could feel his muscles tense. And Angel kept repeatedly muttering in his head: I think I love you... The words warmed him in his chest.

"My... You got it baaaad!" She looked at him with amazement.

Othello felt very suddenly trapped. He looked for anything else to look at but Moogie. "So, how 'bout dem bogies!?"

Then he turned on his heel and fled to his room. He looked into the mirror near his window and was appalled to see more auburn than there should be in his cheeks.

"BLACK MEN DON'T _ BLUSH!!!! _"

* * *

Othello did, after fuming, take a nap, but only for an hour. After that, however, he pulled out the books he borrowed from the library. Most roads of study led him to eastern religions and philosophies. Taoism, Shintoism, Buddhism, Lots a-other-isms! A few books on the basics were snagged, but then he looked through several books on Wicca and neopaganism. He wanted to know about Magic. Now, he'd done second-hand research before. He knew he was sifting for gold, where there may be none. But still, he poured himself into it with unrealistically high hopes. Hours upon hours of research included deep reading and note-taking. Wherever he found a word he couldn't understand, he looked it up in the dictionary. When the dictionary failed him (most often with non-English terms) he booted up his old... old... old laptop and waited the minute+ it took to load a web page to look it up online.

And found crap-Ola!

It was all the same, "imagine, visualize, and make it real" bullshit! Dirt! If it were that easy then any child would be working magic!

"Dirt!Dirt!Dirt!Dirt!" Othello growled under his breath, frustrated by the lack of gold in all this mud. "It's all dirt..." He scrubbed his face in his hands before reaching for his phone.

He looked up one last thing on the internet. A number, which he immediately saved in his phone and then dialed.

It was a sultry female voice that answered: "Be Tempted: Reservation hotline! This is--"

"No." Othello snapped, stirring something in himself. "This is Kaard. I need Norn."

There was silence, and Othello wondered if he was too blunt. But then the girl on the other end squeaked: "Here she is, Sir."

The next voice was Norn's, and she started speaking just as Othello did: "We need to talk. I need more! I can't find answers. And your immature mimicry isn't helping you bubble-headed psycho!"

Othello waited to see if she was done, but he spoke just as she started up again: "Norn likes donkey-punch!"

"Seriously...?" Norn said stunned. Then she laughed. "Kaard. Baby. It's only been a day. You can't think this sort of know-how will come that easily. Keep at it!" Then the line went dead.

He hung up just as Lothario cracked open the door. The two were close enough that, usually, one brother could enter the other's room unbidden. However, this time, Othello found it annoying. He couldn't place his finger on why, but the way Rio grinned wasn't helping.

"Time to eat?" Othello asked, not wanting to hang out or chat right now.

"Almost... Othello?" Rio's smile faded, but his eyes still twinkled. "Are you gay?"

Othello looked at Rio, then past him at his bogey: A shimmering ribbon of hot-pink smoke. It coiled around him without touching him. Othello followed its form with his eyes and saw that it streamed out of the room. He wondered what was at the other end, but then he remembered that Rio had just asked him a question.

"...Probably..." He said distractedly. Then he refocused on his brother. "Why?"

Rio shrugged, but smiled again. "It's nice."

Othello lifted an eyebrow. "What's nice...?"

"Nice to see you act like a normal human being," Rio said softly. "Nice to see that you are looking at someone, instead of through him. Nice to see that you're a horny teen after all, actually atracted to someone... He likes you a lot, you know..."

"Oh, I know..." Othello shrugged. Do I really look through people...? He asked, himself. What makes Angel so special..? Angel... with his thick body... That mess of blonde hair... That thick, meaty chest... How he clung just tightly enough when he kissed, like he didn't know how tight was too tight. "... I want him..." Othello wasn't aware he'd said anything aloud until Rio responded:

"I can see that!" He snickered, and Othello crossed his legs, knee-over-knee. "Look... It's not because he hit you, or anything is it? I know you're still a little messed up..." His voice grew soft as Othello let his resentment show. "... I'm sorry..."

Anyone could tell Othello he was crazy in the past, and he'd be unaffected by it. He learned that the others were trying to help him. There was no betrayal with the grown-folk.

But Rio...

Othello stood and pushed passed Rio, who immediately began to try stammering out apologies. Othello followed Rio's bogey into his room and saw that Its other end wrapped around the photo of Rio's best friend, Sonny. He picked it up, and the bogey followed. Othello began putting two and two, and two more together...

"You and Sonny...?"

Rio paled and snatched his photo back. Othello chuckled.

Rio held the picture to his chest, fidgeting. "Yeah..." He confessed. "...What is it about blondes and Montague men...?"

Then the two started chuckling, breaking the tension that had formed between them.

"Othello...?" Rio started, "How did you know? I mean, what brought you to this...?"

Othello stared at Rio's bogey, and suddenly it made sense what his kid brother had said earlier, about staring through folks. "Why is that picture so important...?"

"I asked you first." Rio scowled.

Othello didn't really feel bound to play fair with his kid-brother. "And I won't answer until you do... What are my answers worth to you; a penny, or an answer?"

Rio snorted. Then pouted. Then blushed (So I'm NOT the only one!) "It's a present... He has one of me, too..."

Othello swallowed a snide comment about mush, but tried to take in Rio's answer. "Do you have any others?"

"No."

"I see... That's why your bogey honed in on it..."

Rio's eyes darkened. "One of Them led you to it..."

"Not 'one', Rio. Yours."

"You see Them again...?"

Othello sat on Rio's bed and chewed a nail before answering: "I never stopped. Not really. I just ignored them. I told the doctors and the 'rents what they wanted to hear. Then I tried to fake it 'til I made it... But yours led me to that." He pointed at the picture. "And Angel's led me to him." He stood and wandered to the kitchen, wanting to leave Rio alone to his thoughts.

* * *

Othello returned to his room a little later that night, frustrated both sexually and mentally. He booted up his computer.

He was already pent up from missing a day of jerking off, but between Angel, Eli and stress, he was surprised he wasn't totally crippled by blue balls.

He fondled them under his jeans as he typed one-handed Queensguard.net, his favorite porn site. In it were Dommes who wore flattering silks and smart dresses as they were catered to by majorally silent, paragons of masculinity; warriors, soldiers, guard-elite, and work-slaves. The men were summarily humiliated, beaten, then used by the women. By the end of each scene, the men, no matter how roguish, or brutish, were the Ladies' loving slaves. Some, even wanting even more of the abuse.

Othello had been enamored with these displays since he stumbled on the site a little over a year ago. The Ladies could stay so poised and lovely... Never needing to shed their class or or even whatever it was that made them soft to strip these stallions of their machismo. In fact, it was their primary tool to doing just that!

Oh, but never once should "softness" be confused for "frailty"! These women were brutal and physically vicious! The look of near-mad jubilation from these Queens, was infectious; shared with the writhing servants with no reservation. The men would glow joyfully in their surrender.

Othello remembered the bear from Be Tempted, the way he reacted to being cropped. He gulped and let go of his raging dick to rewind and watch the video from the beginning:

A criminal, a furry-chested black guy, was arrested supposedly for brawling (not that that was important, but the set-up is always... charming), and brought to the female governor's office instead of to the prison. He was given the ultimatum of prison time, or servitude, with the expressed understanding that the former would far more comfortable, and a lot less degrading.

Well, for the thug, nothing is more degrading than getting raped in prison, so he chose the latter.

No less than 20 minutes later was stripped naked and bound to the top of her desk, where she thrashed his chest and belly with a belt. Othello watched him, as each lash made his muscles clench, define, and even start to glisten as he started to sweat.

Of course, even as she beat him, the Domme fondled and teased her plaything. She kept him at a high state of arousal... And that's when it happened... There, in the man's eyes... Yes! The two were connected! He was overloaded with sensation, and she rode the waves he put out. It was such a subtle thing... Othello had never consciously noticed it before... That was when she slipped her panties from under her tight, elegant skirt. She straddled her toy's face and demanded he eat her out.

And he obeyed, slavishly and hungrily feeding on her sex.

Now Othello had his pants off and his cock in hand. It was stiff and swollen and throbbing and tender... He stroked himself with a firm grip until he had totally coated his cock in precum. His breath had become deep and every exhalation was followed by a small moan, still, his breathing was growing sharp, quickening, steadily.

The Domme, after an orgasm from cunnilingus, used her lips, and an almost abusive steadying grip on the base of his dick to cover the man's impressively thick cock with a condom. Then she slid down his tortured, enraptured body to saddle herself on his hips, taking in his cock. She took him in deep and before she even started moving, he began crying out his orgasm. She only laughed and spoke: "I'm not done yet. Which means you're not either..." Then she rode him, torturing him as she worked him back up to a second climax. She only laughed when he came again and pleaded for mercy.

Othello didn't want her to comply. He would have just used him until he was satisfied... and the way he was mewling was too enticing to let up now. "Suffer more..." The Conquer-Beast snarled softly. Othello immediately felt envy. HE wanted that dominance! He wanted to inflict such delicious torture. He could feel that want as deeply as his own want for release. He had to hold out... As long as he could hold out, he could extend the other man's torment...

He pounded harder and faster on his own cock, double-fisted, and drinking in the imaginary pain and ecstasy of his porn-sub. Finally, stifling his voice, he let loose and shot his load. The first shot flew over his shoulder. The second on his throat. The rest coated his chest. Each spurt made him relax a little it more: As usual, cumming relieved so many ills...

He rubbed his forehead, then down his face. His habd reached his chin, and then came up sticky... Ugh!!! He'd shot in his beard. He stood and undid his braid. He stepped out of his fallen pants and shoes and headed for the shower. As the hot water washed off his cum, he shampooed his whiskers. He bathed not just in the water but in his own warm afterglow. He washed his face in the flow and was actually thankful to the water. He adjusted so that when he opened his eyes, it wasn't directly into the flow of hot water.

There was a tapping at the door just as he stepped out of the shower. He was used to having his showers interrupted. He was only one of seven people sharing two bathrooms. He wasn't in the mood to fight with whomever was out there, so he wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door.

He ducked just in time to dodge Lothario's fist.

"DAMN!" his younger brother growled.

From his crouched position, Othello sprung, slamming his shoulder into Lothario's belly. Rio was too old to lift and throw that way, but Othello hoped to force him stumbling back. Seriously! NOT in the mood for this!

Rio managed to keep his balance, and lifted his knee into Othello's gut. Othello recovered quickly enough to grasp Rio's leg in both arms, then spun, sending them both off-balance and tumbling. Othello, in a split-second, closed his eyes and entrusted himself to the universe. The universe rewarded his trust; the boys' momentum slammed Rio into a wall with a loud crunching sound. When they bounced off, Othello had enough control to twist again, and fall on top of Rio, pinning him.

"We done?" Othello demanded.

Rio's response was to stare in horror past him.

"Oh, yes..." A soft, angry voice said behind them. "You are both WELL-DONE!"

Officer Montague gripped her boys' arms and hauled them to their feet. Rio began pleading for his social-life, and Othello got a glimpse of the reason they were in trouble: Throwing Lothario into the wall had made a sizeable hole in it.

God.... Dammit... Othello felt a chill in his blood. The last time the boys had put a hole in the house rough-housing, they were grounded until their father returned from overseas... Just so he could beat their asses himself!

"You two must have lost your God DAMN MINDS!" His mother began, southern accent in full-swing. "Tearin' 'roound MY house like a twister? What, you think you're cabbages; all head with no ass to kick?! Boy, you gotta nasty surprise comin'!! No parties! No friends! No _boy_friends!-"

"Mom!!" Rio begged in full-panic mode. "No way! Sonny's supposed to-"

"NO boyfriends!" She said in that deathly soft way she used only when one should really NOT test her.

Rio clammed up and glance at Othello: She KNOWS about Sonny?!

Othello was just as mystified. How does she DO that?!

Officer Montague banished the two to their rooms, still screaming out the priveleges they had lost (which included all foods but dry ramen and barrel-water), as she shut the doors on her new inmates' cells. Othello wasn't sure how Rio was feeling, but he himself felt relieved. Finally, some normalcy...

Not bothering to dress, he braided up his beard again and sat down to knuckle in on his studies.

* * *

Othello woke up the next morning the way he usually did: cursing the shreiking device on his cluttered nightstand. It took him three tries (with increasing violence) to find and silence the wretched machine. Once he had, as usual, he found he couldn't find sleep again.

After about 15 minutes, as was routine, he dragged himself out of bed. He looked out the window and saw his neighborhood veiled in thick fog. Shrouded in this mask of white, it was hardly the place he knew. It was lovely and teasing. Coy.

He suited up for his chosen workout: Free-running. Baggy cargo pants and a thermal shirt. A pair of gloves and his sneakers. Dressed in such a way, he felt so light and agile. So free of most bonds. Invincible in a lot of ways.

He did his stretches, focusing on his back, then went to the backyard. There he started simple climbing and jumping exercises; ricochetting from the fence, leaping over the fire-pit, then he scrabbled up to the roof of his house.

It was so fluid, second-nature, that he could appreciate the mist's chill embrace. He sat on the roof to catch his breath.

He watched the mist brighten and glow, illuminated by the sun. Through the curtain, the other houses looked like angular, sleeping monoliths. He imagimed that maybe they were sleeping giants... And that these had no interest in seeing what the fog looked like from above. Along this line of thought, Othello found himself wanting to run downtown because the buildings were taller.

He was brought out of his musings by a shiver. He'd sat too long and cooled off. He stood and started warming up again. As he was just about ready to start his serious run, he heard the telltale huffing, grunting and thumping of a second runner. Othello only knew a few, and he was related to each and every one of them. He saw the slinky, red bogey before he saw Lothario.

"Rio." Othello smiled at his brother.

"Tell." Lothario grinned back.

"We waiting on anyone?" Othello flexed his fingers, cracking them in his gloves. He was ready to go, but it'd been awhile since he'd run with the pack.

"Vee and Amy." Rio said.

"Which means..." Othello started, grimacing a little. "... That this is a teaching-run."

"No." Rio planted his hands on his hips. "Just means we go a little slower so they can keep up. They know how run already! God... Why are you such a dick?"

"Amongst pussies, someone needs to have some balls." The retort had more weight than Othello had intended. The look of hurt in Rio's eyes was palpable.

"Tell... Look..." Rio said slowly. "We need to talk about this... About Them."

"Not really." Othello said, then spat.

"Yeah, we fuckin' do--!" He was cut off by more scrabbling up the side of the house.

Viola and Amiens Montague were 12 and 9 years old respectively. Amy bounced excitedly on his toes. He looked a lot like his father, as did all of the Montague males; Strong chin, awkwardly long limbs, and a penchant for trouble. Where Rio and Tell had their hair buzzed short, Amy wore cron-row braids.

Vee was blessed with their mother's poise and deceptively slim-looking physique. Her relaxed-straight hair was bound up in a bandana. She kept her shoulders squared. Othello found his sister's demeanor odd; being the only sister, she would usually jump on a chance to join the boys for nearly anything. But now.... Othello knew something was eating her.

He knew it, but cared very little about it, He never probed his siblings' issues because he had enough of his own.

"Ready, men?" Rio demanded, grinning.

Vee rolled her eyes, but Amy stood at attention and saluted. "Yes, sir!!"

"Then on your mark..." All four crouched into a starting position as Rio geared them up. "Get set...."

"GO!!!" Othello barked.

The other three took off like a shot towards their neighbors' house, and each deftly ran up the wall at its roof.

... But Amy lost momentum and, grinding down the wall, landed on his feet in the yard, swearing. Othello watched his brother climb back up to point A. The second time he tried, he managed to make the second roof. Once he was up, all three looked at Othello, who never started but instead simply stood up.

"Tell! 'Go' means GO!" Amy called.

"So go!" Othello waved them off. When no one moved, he sighed. "I'll catch up. Promise."

Amy hopped back onto the Montague roof and stood, a head shorter, in front of Othello before punching his older brother in the arm.

"You're it!" Amy grinned before hauling ass for the other roof again.

Othello can maintain a bad attitude in the face of one, maybe two sibs. Not three.

Damn it... Othello's funk was officalli broken, because a little shit needed tagging. He crouched and sprung, making the roof in one without breaking his stride. He ran at Amy and laughed out. "'Go' means GO!!!"

The four chased each other over, through and around peoples' yards for the next hour, working up a sweat and forgetting all troubles but for whom tags whom.

* * *

It was too tiring to run long.

Vee and Amy showered first since they had to be in school soon. Othello and Lothario undressed and, wrapped in towels to cool, wandered into the living room to wait.

Harcourd "Harc" Montague, age six, and Herald "Hero" Montague, age seven, were already dressed and eating in front of the television. Upon seeing the older two boys, the youngest Montague boys scurried out from under their scowls to retreat to the diningroom table, where they should have been eating the whole time.

"Brats..." Othello muttered, putting the little ones out of his mind. He went to change the channel, but stopped in terror. On the screen was the weasel-thing! There was a bogey in a childrens' cartoon!?

No... No, not quite... This one only had four legs... and instead of mantis claws, it only had really long nails... Different... and yet...

Othello watched, totally enthralled as the characters fought it. They used arrows and swords which seemed as if they would be effective if the slippery fiend could be hit... But then, a man stepped forward and used a slip of paper. At first, this weapon managed to merely ward off the beast. But then the hero wrote something on the talisman, and threw it. It darted, almost as if alive, at the weasel. When it hit, the weasel was engulfed in "purifying light" and vanished. Before it disappeared, the hero called it by name: kamaitachi.

"You're watching anime?" Rio asked. "I thought you didn't like T.V...." He was eating a bowl of cereal, and was followed by whining about hypocrisy from the kitchen.

"Anime..." Othello committed the word to memory. "Does shit like this happen a lot?" Gesturing to the near-wanton destruction from the battle.

"Nope." Rio grinned. "Usually there's tits!"

* * *

The rest of the morning continued without incident. Othello caught the bus, making it to school early enough to go to the library. He used the computers there and started looking up kamaitachi.

From that, he found Kami, Shintoism, Kaiju, and youkai. The fantastic beings were so familiar, at least as much so as the fairies, gods and monsters that he'd engross himself in day in and day out. But there was one, deathly important difference:

Gods can be appeased, but a youkai... youkai can be fought!

This was huge. He needed to know more. He began scouring the library for anything helpful. He had his books on eastern religions, but they made very few refferences to the actual creatures or lore. He needed more than they could provide, and found absolutely nothing in the school's mostly focused, rinky-dink collection.

He was wandering through the comics, when he glanced over and saw the same characters from the little ones' cartoon. He picked out the first in the installation and read the title: Karyuudo no Kami. He checked out the first three and started to read. The characters were bright, and vivid enough to be surreal! The graphics were beautiful, and the story was unlike anything he'd read before...

Over the course of the next two hours, Othello Montague was hooked.

He didn't actually look up until lunch. He read on, right through his classes. When he did look up, he saw a shadow behind him. It was Angel. Othello couldn't help smiling. He was surprised to feel relieved.

"Angel." Othello nodded.

"Othello..." Angel muttered softly, sitting with his own tray.

"Where's Eli...?" Othello asked, watching Angel's reactions closely.

Angel frowned, but then chuckled. "At home. He's fine. Really. He's real, real embarrassed about what happened, though." Angel went somber for a moment. "No one's going to mess with you for awhile..."

"I thought you might have been mad at me." Othello said, thoughtfully. "And since things have changed between us, well... Now that actually means something to me."

Angel gave a small gasp. "'Thello!"

Othello watched him, wondering if he had more to add.

"How... HAVE things changed between us?" Angel asked finally, whispering. He poked at his fried porkchop.

"Not sure." Othello said, holding his manga open, pretending to focus on its story. "I think you're looking for something in me... A way to better yourself, right?"

"... Well... Yes..." Angel said through a mouthful of applesauce. "You told me you could... In the locker room... Remember?"

"I remember..." Othello lied. Truthfully, he'd forgotten. More than that, he simply asked questions, then gave orders. How was that supposed to make Angel better? "... Angel, I--"

"I followed your rules..." Angel started, mistaking Othello's pause for non-response. "I'm sorry..."

"No. Go on, please." Othello closed his book and began eating.

Now that Angel knew he had Othello's full attention, he found words more elusive. "'Thello... I stopped going crazy. I think about you, and I just... stop... But then I don't know what to do. What do I do next, instead of being angry? I can't trust the bible, I can't see like you do... So then... what?"

"If you can't see, then get a guide." Neil said, sitting next to Othello. "What's this?" He asked, gesturing to the two before starting in on his own chop.

Black hair fell over his face, skewing an olive complexion and gray eyes. Neil and Othello weren't friends in the way most are; they didn't go out, visit each other or belong to any clubs, they would just enjoy sitting quietly together. Where Othello liked fantasy, Neil was all about sci-fi. During these readings, the two might randomly fall into discourse. Trading theory, history and background, but they might also discuss themes, philosophy, or "who would win" debates.

"Angel," Othello responded, "You know Neil?"

"Oh yeah, he knows me!" Neil spat. "How long has it been, Callihan? A week since you were sticking my head into some dark, smelly hole? Othello, what is he doing here?"

Othello glanced at Angel and Angel looked back anxiously. Oh, yeah... He does that sort of thing...

"He's mine. Down boy." Othello was proud at how good that sounded.

Neil blinked and chewed for a moment. "'Yours'?" He finally started up again. "'Your' what?"

"He mean he's his BITCH! Boom!" Jean crowed. Jean dressed like the delicate goth-doll, but the bitch had a mouth on her! Othello loved that about her most times. Most guys wouldn't touch her, and she could out fight/talk most other girls.

The eerie thing about her was that when she'd blurt out a random negative situation, it was usually something post-cognitively meaningful to at least one of the listeners. No one knew about that mysterious little tidbit but for Neil and Othello, not even Jean herself.

Presently, Neil gaped at Othello and Angel. Othello, thinking Neil might have something interesting to say or do about this (he usually did), just watched his friend. Angel tensed, watching the stare-down.

Neil leaned forward, the others, including angel, leaned in as well. "So. How far can you take him?" When all three looked at him blankly, Neil sighed and started again. "How 'into you' is he? What can you make him do?"

"And you wonder why I want to make him swallow his braces..." Angel growled.

"Boom." Jean said softly.

Othello smiled. "However 'into me' he is, is between me and him. Understood?"

Othello heard Angle whimper. "Angel? I forgot my chocolate milk..."

"On it!" Angel jumped from his seat and plowed in a straight line toward the milk.

Jean gave a harsh, berating, derisive laugh. Neil nodded approvingly. "So... Not real deep yet?"

"No, but sinking fast..." Othello smirked.

"So, glossing over that Othello's gay--" Neil started.

"--And that you owe 50 bucks--" Jean piped.

"-- Angel, Othello? Seriously?" Neil said, ignoring Jean. "You couldn't hook up with someone who shares your interests, passions, or, I dunno, GENUS?"

"Ha." Jean added. "Homo..." The other two smirked, but then she got serious. "I dunno, though... Did you see how wet his panties just got? Just because Othello stood up for him."

Neil shrugged, and Othello chuckled, just as Angel came back and sat.

"Thank you, Angel..." Othello tried handing Angel some change, but he shook his head.

"It's the least I can do... y'know..." His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. "... For m'man..." Then a big doofy grin spread over his face.

At least he managed not to giggle... Othello scoffed in his head, but something else in him liked seeing Angel smile and blush like that. "Yeah... For your man..." He raised the milk carton in toast before chugging it.

Angel looked up with a start suddenly. Othello and the others followed his gaze, to the gathered herd of jocks who had joined their usually sparsely occupied table. Angel hunched his shoulders and frowned deeply.

"Now, now..." Othello smiled gently. "Why does this not surprise me..."

"I figure you'd find me NOT feeding you through your nose VERY surprising..." Duke Melbourne; football captain, aloof prick, and evil-bully-overlord. He was smart, pretty, and strong. The school's wunderkind. But he looked down on everyone, and anyone who didn't put him on a high pedestal was usually beneath his direct notice. However, every so often, someone would draw his ire, seemingly at random, and he'd respond by sending goons to harry the offender. He never acted directly, till now.

"I can't imagine the great Arch Duke would do such a thing!" Neil gasped sarcastically.

"Can it, bear-trap..." Duke snorted, Neil pursed his lips. "Othello Montague..."

"Ooh, he even pronounced it right!" Jean giggled. "Mon-TAYG, instead of Mon-ta-GEW. Brava!" She clapped.

Duke ignored her entirely. "Othello... what is it you think you're doing?"

"Eating lunch with my friends...?" Othello answered, wondering why Duke was sudden;y interested in him. "Does this have something to do with Eli?"

"Oh, yes." Eli said, staring into him. "It does. And Angel."

Othello felt Angel bristle, like a cat just noticed by a big dog.

Duke smiled. "Othello, listen. These guys... Well, they have a lot of brawn, and little less. No brains, no class... No control."

Othello listened with growing amusement; he's talking like some super-villain!

"I keep them under control. If I didn't, we'd have a much larger bully-problem than we do."

"Uh-huh...?" Othello was smiling now, on the verge of giggles.

"I keep them under control," Duke went on, frowning at Othello's smiling, "By keeping them focused on me, my achievements. By showing them that I AM BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE. Including them. And you. Get it?"

Othello turned the words over in his head, and each time he did, like a child with a jingle-toy, he gave a small giggle. The giggles bubbled and percolated until they were chortles. Then full-on belly-laughs. He was laughing so hard he was crying.

"Better than me?" Othello said between giggles. His inner conquer-Beast was awake, and Othello was using that inner confidence to speak his mind. "Hardly."

The lunchroom was silent. Othello looked around and saw that all eyes were on him and The Duke. And Duke was seething.

"What makes you say that? My grades, my athleticism..." He looked from Neil, to Jean, to Angel. "...My friends... Are all better than yours."

"And yet, you're still a sad, little boy..." Othello purred. "Who's mad because someone else is playing with his toys..."

The two stared at each other for a long moment.

"Angel." Duke barked. Angel jumped a foot in his seat. Duke turned to him and smiled. "How would you like a spot on the team next season? I know how much your dad wants to see you in a jersey."

Othello glanced over and saw the awe on Angel's face.

"But... The coach said..."

"We can work on your anger issues. Really, I think you're too valuable to just walk away from over something like that." Duke chuckled.

Angel looked at Othello.

Othello's mind was racing. How could he compete with that? Duke was going to steal Angel away, because he could habd Angel everything he wanted... Othello had nothing like that to offer... Why shouldn't Angel be happy?

Wait... WOULD Angel be happy?

"Ugh..." Othello growled aloud. "Angel!" Angel jumped again.

"If sports is what you think will make you happy, then go on. Be one of Duke's henchmen." He looked Angel in the eye and realized something. "You need me more than I need you."

Angel's eyes widened. Then narrowed. Then he gritted his teeth and Othello watched the shard-bogey pulse with renewed life. A thrill of terror slithered up Othello's spine. He got ready to defend himself just as Angel raised his fist.

...And punched The Duke in the mouth.