“Master?”
The old mazoku turned his glittering eyes to the younger beside him. The boy gazed at him, his bright violet eyes large, curious.
“What is it?”
The night was dark, quiet except for the incessant chirp of crickets. Grass prickled the back of their heads as master and pupil lay down in the tall, cool grass, staring out at the endless array of stars.
The boy smiled a little on his full, pink lips, “How did you become so strong?” His tone was filled with adoration and his eyes never left the old mazoku.
The boy’s master watched him for a moment, then replied in a soft, considering tone, “All mazoku are strong. With age. You will be too, once you have gained power, learned how to gain power.”
A glint of excitement flashed through the boy’s eyes, “Learn how? How can I learn?”
“This is your lesson; all you need to know,” the elder paused, his breath lightly making it’s way passed the sharp fangs behind his dark lips, “pain is the key.”
“Pain?”
The old mazoku watching the boy’s eyes flicker in confusion and smiled self-assuredly, “Yes, pain. We will gain power through other’s pain.”
Now, the young mazoku was no older than 8, and growing up in a rather sheltered enviroment, he didn’t always understand. This concept seemed odd to him. How was that so?
“Here, watch, I’ll demonstate,” the old mazoku sat up, his long, dark hair cascading down his back. Turning his head, he motioned to a guard, among the many that stood aways away from the two. The guard, tall and stately, gripping a long spear in his hand, nodded quickly and came over to the them.
“Here,” the boy’s master turned his head to the younger, but as he did, his hand shor out with lightening speed to grab the guard’s genitals over his close tightly, with an iron grip. The guard’s whole face paled and he screamed out in pain, his knees buckling. He fell to the grassy ground as the mazoku released him.
A ripple of pleasure, jittery and tingling, spread through the boy, the sensation so amazing he nearly collasped. It built up in his stomach, flowing all through him, stronger than all the other little spurts of pleasure he’d felt through his short life. A sickening smile spread across his master’s lips as he watched him, feeling enjoyment also as the young guard, collapsed in the grass, clutching at his crotch, his whole body trembling in pain.
The boy hardly knew--or cared--anymore what his master had done to the guard. The feeling was too strong and wonderful, the only he could focus on. He barely knew how close his master was to him till the old mazoku spoke, his voice breathy and husky, his beautiful face only a couple of inches away, “Amazing, isn’t it?”
The young mazoku caught his breath again, closing his violet eyes. In a soft, childish voice, he whispered, almost pleadingly, “Can I have more?”
A thick, ammused laugh came from his master and he patted the boy roughly, his strength forgotten, nearly knocking the young one over. He chuckled more, “Patience, young one, patience. We do not wish to kill the poor fellow, do we?”
The young mazoku’s eyes snapped open, glittering darkly, urgantly, “Would that give us more?”
“Of course,” the old mazoku smirked, “we would /ravish/ in that, but,” he smiled further, tipping the boy’s chin to look into his eyes, “you’ve drunk enough tonight.”
The younger watched him with large eyes as his master got to his feet, tall; beautiful and handsome at the same time. His face was a perfect shape, narrow and wonderfully thin, surrounded by the long hair, straight as bow¹ [1] hair, and like liquid silk falling down his back in dark blue, almost black, locks, the color of midnight abiss. In contrast, it made his skin seem whiter, and his eyes seem redder. He was just breath-taking, the most beautiful creature most would ever see in the course of their entire life. The young boy had prayed and wished to grow up and look just like him, but the fact remained that he looked so radically different, there would be no possible way to look like him. Thinking of this, his hands immediatly shot to his ears.
His master bent a little to help him up, “Come now, Zeibriel, it’s late and you must get to sleep now.”
He gratefully allowed himself to be helped to his small legs, trotting along after his master’s long strides, his tiny hand enveloped in his master’s large, thin hand. Casually, he asked, “Master, how come you never sleep?”
His master kept his eyes trained on their path ahead of them, “I do not need to.”
“Why not?”
The old mazoku glanced down at him with a soft smile, “Once you become older, you’ll learn to go without sleep.”
His pupil beamed. Master was so smart. He knew everything about mazoku and the world. A smile spreading across his face, he hugged onto his master’s side lovingly, “I love you, master!”
As suddenly as he’d said it, a bolt of pain rippled through him, so sudden and harsh he fell the the ground away from the old mazoku. Wincing in pain, he slowly opened his eyes, gazing at his master confusedly.
The older mazoku stared down at him, his eyes glowing dimmly red, a sliver of pleasure running through him at the boy’s pain. But a dark frown remained on his handsome face. His voice came out low and dangerous, almost a warning, “Mazoku cannot love. Never declare it.”
The boy stared at him baffledly. Slowly, it began to sink in. He’d upset his master. Of all the things he hated most, it was to displease his master. Slowly, pressing his small palms to the soft dirt beneth him, he painfully got to his feet, keeping his face towards the ground. Wordlessly, he went after his master.

~~~

“Are you Zeibriel Kesu?”
Zeibriel jerked his head up, shortish locks of green hair falling over one eyes. He tossed his hair away, staring at the girl who stood before him, only some feet from where he knelt in the stiff grass, gently pulling it out with his tiny fist. She watched him silently, her hands clasped behind her back.
She was wonderful. Zeibriel had never seen a more beautiful girl before. She was around his age roughly, with dark, dark blue hair, shimmery and straight and very long. Her face was pretty in the way that little girls’ are, her skin pale with delicate features. Over her thin frame, she wore a sleeveless white dress, almost a toga. He noticed also her long, sharp elf ears, pierced all the way to the top. Her eyes stared down at him, a pit of black and blue and utterly deep.
Zeibriel stared at her, his whole body frozen where he was. Eventually, the air seemed to lift between them, and he replied in a soft voice, “Yes, I am.”
Something unreadable passed through her dark eyes, and her gaze never left him. Slowly, he sat up straighter on his heels and asked in a soft voice, after noting her clothes, “You’re a shrine maiden, aren’t you?”
A wave of sadness lingered in her eyes as she nodded, “Yes, I am.”
But the boy didn’t noticed this, cocking an eyebrow, “How did you know my name?”
Surprisedly, a smile remarked on her young, full lips, “I’ve been told of you at my shrine. They tell me to keep away, for the old mazoku would surely kill me if he saw me. They tell me there is a boy living with the old mazoku.”
“Oh,” he paused, glancing down at his lap, then back up at her again, tilting his head, “who’s the ‘old mazoku?’”
“Surely you must know. You live with him.”
Zeibriel shook his head, “I only live with my master.”
The girl’s eyes grew a bit larger in startled fear, “Y-your master...? But that means...” she glanced down nervously, then jerked her head up, panickedly, “that means...you’re evil!”
Zeibriel’s eyes widened considerably, hurt remarking in his demon eyes, “I’m not evil!” his tone was childish and hurt. He suddenly sat taller, puffing out his small chest and putting his fists at his hips in a pitiful--yet cute--attempt to look strong and macho, his voice proud, “I’m a mazoku!”
She watched him as he simmered down, and quietly took a seat down, sitting cross-legged in the stalky grass across from him. But the girl’s mind raced over this. Mazoku are evil, aren’t they? She’d been brought up strictly to know what were the evils of the world. And a mazoku was clearly one of them, to say the least. But this boy, although she sensed a deep evil within him, seemed...just like her.
She looked at him curiously, tilting her head slightly, “Are you half elf?”
The boy’s eyes flashed furiously, and his small hands shot to his ears, attempting to cover them, but it was useless. His ears, reaching high above his head, pointed sharply at the top, colored slightly greenish in the narrowest areas. Both ears were run through with a gold hoop, glittering beautifully in the bright sunlight.
“I’m not an elf!!” he exclaimed angrily, “I hate them! I hate them so much!”
She stared at him baffledly, “What?”
“My ears!!” he cried, his demon eyes flashing again. His hands still remained over them as much as they could.
“But...” she delicately raised her hand to one of her ears, a little longer and pointed than humans, “they’re like my ears...”
Zeibriel peered at her ears, his anger dying down, “Well...but you are an elf, aren’t you?” she nodded, “well, you see? I’m not an elf, so I can hate my ears.”
“Oh,” she nodded slowly, not completely understanding his logic, but not questioning it. She suddenly smiled adoringly, “well, they look cute.”
He stared at her as she giggled, and he slowly, catiously brought his hands down. She smiled brightly at him, and the boy was reminded again how beautiful she was. She had a nice smile, he noted.
“What’s your name?” Zeibriel asked curiously, tossing some of his greenish hair out of his eyes again.
“Nasake.”
“Are you married?” he asked next.
Nasake’s eyes widened a little in shock, almost mortified, “I’m a shrine maiden!”
Zeibriel shrugged, “Doesn’t mean you can’t be married.”
She calmed a little, considering, “Oh. Well, I’m not.”
Zeibriel grinned crookedly, puffing out his small chest again and pointing to himself with his thumb, “Ya should marry me, Nasake!”
The girl stared at him, her eyes a little large. Was...was this mazoku boy confessing his love to her?
But as she stared at him, her heart suddenly felt fluttery, and in that instant, he young mind came to the conclusion that he was the most wonderful thing around, the most handsome boy around, and that she surely must love him.² [2]
“Yes, we’ll marry!” she said brightly, smiling happily as well. He smiled at her, satasfied with this. “When will we marry?” she asked curiously, tilting ehr slightly, her long blue hair falling gracefully over her shoulders.
Zeibriel smiled wider, taking in how cute she was, “Ah, I dunno,” he got to his feet, “maybe when we’re older.”
She watched him, “Why not soon?”
He looked down at her, his demon eyes softening, “Maybe.” For that moment, that they stared at each other, the air hung still, the moment lingering. Their souls seemed to touch gently, barely a grace of fingers, and their eyes were suddenly no longer children’s, but that of years of experience of life and love and age, locked in a powering gaze.
But it broke, Zeibriel’s gaze, expression jerking back to an 8-year old state, grinning crookedly, “I’ve gotta go in now.”
But Nasake still stared at him, and he felt that possibly her appearance of looking years older had not suddenly come up like his, but had always been there.
“Will I see you again?” her voice was soft, tinged with fear, as if his abuptness meant that he didn’t want to see her again.
“’Course. We’re gonna get married!” he exclaimed, winking cutely. She watched him, then seeing and feeling he had no intention of leaving her for good, a smile spread on her thin lips, and she nodded vigorously, “Mm! I’ll come to see you!”
The mazoku smiled widely and nodded, his longish green hair falling back over his one eye in the position it stayed in so often. He tossed with away once more and whirled around to run gayly back to the huge, dark fortress that stood waiting for him.

~~~

Araizo Kesu’s eyes flickered a deep red. He felt the aura of the shrine maiden, strong. Deep in his cold heart, disgust and anger arrose, her white soul gleaming so brightly and innocently. It made him sick.
The small hand inhis own tensed alittle, simultaneously as Araizo felt the shrine maiden’s presence. A think smile remarked full on his lips. He must sense her too.
Zeibriel looked up to his master, and his pace stopped. His purple eyes gleamed, and he smiled widely, “Nasake’s here!”
Araizo jerked his head to the boy, his eyes flashing dangerously. Anger slowly seeped in. He knows...
With an excited smile, he gripped his master’s hand a little tighter, strugging to pull the tall man along, “C’mon! I wantcha to meet her!”
Araizo’s protest reflected only in his eyes that narrowed quickly as he allowed the young mazoku to pull him along. The grass parted obediently for Araizo’s long robes, his soft shoes padding on the sod as they walked across the vast clearing behind the fortress.
Suddenly, she came into view. Like an angel in the distance, she sat among the flowers, her long hair shining like dark silk thread, her deep eyes gazing upward toward the bright, warm sun. Her skin appeared like porcelein, fair and beautiful and pale, brushed with a soft hue of pink on her cheeks. Innocence and knowledge warred in her appearance. She, too, sensed the presence of evil near her, and her eyes slowly shifted to the mazoku approaching her.
Zeibriel’s eyes lit up as he saw he meet his gaze, “Nasake!!” he pulled his hand away from his master’s, barely glancing at the old mazoku as he ran forward excitedly, “Nasaaaake!!”
Nasake’s gaze rested on Zeibriel, her heart pounding. He’d come back! He’s here! She watched, the rushing wind running through his light hair, his violet eyes lit and happy as he ran towards her.
He now stood in front of her, his tiny lungs taking in air, his slender chest heaving up and down as he caught his breath. They didn’t speak for a moment, just gazed at each other, another moment frozen in time. But Zeibriel shattered the moment, grinning crookedly and whirling around to the old mazoku, “Master!! Come ‘n meet Nasake!”
Nasake felt fear grow in her heart as the tall mazoku approached. Standing over six feet tall, Araizo held an omnious presence to her as he seemed to glide over the grass towards her. She felt chills all over her body, the world seeming to darken. There was so much energy...alarmed voices screamed in her head, but she remained where she was, watching him.
He was very handsome. She didn’t know how in the world this kind-looking, good-looking man could strike such a reaction from her sensitive heart. He appeared a good man.
Araizo gazed down at the small shrine maiden, his expression almost blank from his towering height, then he bent his knees, leaning down, and smiling at her as he lifted her hand. Nasake could only stare as he brought his two, warm lips down upon her hand tenderly. Staring deep into her eyes, his red, demon eyes remained kind and gentle. He spoke in a charming, quiet voice, one that could put a child to sleep, “Pleased to meet you, Nasake. You may call me Araizo.”
The instant the words left his lips, something flickered in his eyes, and she could hear his thoughts, as she often could with various people.
“Little bitch.”
Nasake’s eyes widened slightly. That word...she’d heard it once before... it wasn’t nice....
Zeibriel looked on as his master straightened to his full height, the robes shuffling and falling back to their original place, his red eyes still on the young shrine maiden. They got along! he thought happily.
“You’re a shrine maiden, Nasake?” Araizo asked quietly, his tone curious, but with an edge of iciness at the same time.
She stared at him, an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t like that feeling.... But she nodded slowly, never parting her lips to say a word.
“Shouldn’t you be at the shrine?” the old mazoku continued, his tone crossing now to cold.
The feeling in her stomach grew larger, nagging at her. She finally pulled her gaze away from those burning red eyes, her cheeks flushed and stammered, “I...I came out to see the flowers...”
Seeing her take her gaze away, Araizo moved his gaze down to Zeibriel, then away to stare off into the distance. Keeping the girl in his view still out of the corner of his eye, he went on in a passive tone, “Well. They might want you back soon, now won’t they?”
She swallowed largely, nodding and looking back up at him slowly. But...Zeibriel was here. She’d hardly gotten to talk to him at all...
“Zeibriel and I must be heading back now. I suggest you head home, Nasake,” the old mazoku said, rather icily. He seized Zeibriel’s small hand again and turned them both to leave.
Zeibriel stared after Nasake as he stumbled along with his master. Why did he have to leave now? It wasn’t even getting dark, and he wanted to stay with Nasake more. But, his master said he must go in, and he must be right. With a soft sigh, he turned his back to Nasake, walking with his master.
“You need to stay away from her, Zeibriel.”
The young mazoku jerked his head up, his eyes wide and confused, “Master..”
Araizo didn’t look at him, his eyes hard and glaring, “You don’t feel anything around her?”
Zeibriel was still confused, “Well...” he smiled brightly, “I like ‘er a lot!”
Araizo narrowed his eyes, going on bluntly, “She is not your friend. You remember that pleasure you felt? That wonderful feeling?”
Zeibriel nodded slowly, swallowing largely.
“That girl is opposed to you feeling that. She doesn’t want you to have that pleasure. Is that the kind of friend you want?”
Zeibriel stared in front of him, his violet eyes clouded and not-understanding. None of this made sense. Why would Nasake not want him to be happy?
At his silence, Araizo stopped and turned to kneel in front of his pupil, taking the boy by the arms, “Zeibriel, I know you like her. But her kind is very different from our kind. She will never love you back. You are a monster. I am a monster. And that girl is incapable of loving monsters. Her whole life, she will strive to keep you from being happy. I don’t want you to be around her anymore.”
The young mazoku’s eyes wallowed with emotion. Was this true? Would Nasake never love him? Sadly, his thoughts passing over everything, he knew it must be true. His master would never lie to him.
“So, you’ll stay away from her?” Araizo asked, searching his eyes to find a response.
Zeibriel didn’t respond for a moment, still thinking about his options. He’d never go to see Nasake again. For his master, he wouldn’t. Anything for his master. The boy smiled weakly and nodded quickly, “Yes, I’ll stay away.”
Araizo smiled satasfiedly and brought a thin, white hand to stroke Zeibriel’s young face, “Atta boy. You’ll be a great mazoku, Zeibriel. Strong and powerful, just like me.”
A smile struck the young boy’s face. That was the best thing he’d ever heard. To get a praise like that--to be told he’d be just like his master---Wow. His heart soaring, he nodded excitedly, “I will be! I’ll try so hard!”
Araizo smiled and rose up, taking his pupil’s hand again.
There’s a belief that if you’re leaving something, and you look back, then you will miss that thing, even the slightest bit, and there’s a part of you that truly doesn’t want to leave. As Zeibriel walked back towards the fortress with Araizo, he looked over his shoulder, searching the grassy clearing where his first love had sat.

~~~

4 YEARS LATER

“Zeeeeiiii!!!”
Zeibriel sighed, lifting his head wearily to Zarian, cocking an eyebrow at the younger mazoku.
“Play with me! I’m bored!”
Zeibriel sighed again, turning fully to him. His gaze fell over Zarian’s looks--so dark compared to his own. The younger’s hair was a deep blue, like the color of twilight sky and silky, just slightly wavy. His eyes were a deep blue also, almost black. They were one of the most amazing things about Zarian: so deep and intense, they always seemed to be thinking some profound, intriging thought that no one else would understand. His skin was the contrast: a pale, soft nude color, so light. The master had made Zarian in his image.
Zeibriel, a fresh preteen of 12, now looked at the 10-year old mazoku. His brother, basically. The master had made him two years after he’d made Zeibriel, but the two had lived seperate until only 3 years ago.
“Zal³ [3], I don’t wanna play,” he called the younger by the nickname he’d given Zarian, “ya only like to play stupid, little kid games.”
Zarian pouted a little, his dark eyes unreadble, “I ain’t a little kid!”
Zeibriel rolled his eyes, murmuring, “You ‘aren’t’ a little kid.”
The younger stopped, processing this, then smiled, nodding in agreement, “Yeah! So let’s play!”
The older mazoku rolled his eyes again, “No, Zal! I don’t wanna!”
Zarian seemed to stop, trying to think of a way to con him into it, but sighed, lying his head atop the table he sat in front of, his dark hair falling from his eyes, which stared at Zei forlornly, “But, Zei, I’m bored. Let’s go into town or something.”
Zei, which was the nickname Zarian had took up calling him, deciding Zeibriel was much too long and hard to say, cocked an eyebrow, remarking, “You know if we go into town, I’m just gonna hang out with my friends.”
Zal’s gaze on his brother didn’t change, his eyes deepening, “I know.”
“Well, you’ll be bored. And they’ll pick on you.”
“But you always protect me.”
Zeibriel sighed, glancing around the room. He loved the kid, but what an nuissence he could be! Tossing his hair from his eye, he commented quietly, “I won’t always be around ta protect you. You gotta do things on your own too.”
Zarian was quiet, watching the older mazoku for a moment, then said, his voice soft, “I know.”
Looking at Zarian, Zeibriel really wasn’t sure the younger did know, but let it go. Lazily getting to his feet, he stretched his small body and yawned widely before looking to the darker mazoku and cocking his head, “Well, let’s go.”
A smile spread on Zarian’s childish face, his eyes lighting up and gleaming with contentment, “Hooray!” He jumped to his feet, scrambling to Zei and grabbing his hand. They were almost the same height (although Zei was leaving him behind at a quick rate), but Zarian had always done this--or some other habit--that depended on the older mazoku for his protection. Only two years apart, their minds seemed decades apart, and often it was difficult to tell who was ahead.
They left the huge fortress, brushing past servants and maids and other adults the young ones never knew.
It was almost always a bright, sunny day out. Zarian hardly knew what rain was, it so seldom rained. The country of Kareku was a beautiful place, especially their city, ....................., which was the biggest, and the busiest. Street venders flooded the dirt roads, crowded with people of all different backgrounds, and noises filled the air of different voices and sounds. Going into town was one of the most fun things to do for the boys, for it very rarely happened. The master wasn’t too pleased with the idea of the boys roaming town, especially not Zarian. He gave them the strict rule always: never tell the humans in the village what you are. He never explained it, and Zeibriel--although never knowing why-- never questioned it. But the master would let Zeibriel go, as he was “growing up,” and as long as the elder was with him, Zarian could go too.
The two mazoku pushed through the crowds of people, Zal tightly clutching Zeibriel’s hand, glancing over sights he rarely got to see.
“Elf.”
Zeibriel froze, straightening his back, his whole body growing cold. His demone yes narrowed, he turned to the owner of the voice.
“Yeah, I called you an elf,” the young human boy scoffed. He looked about Zei’s age, maybe older, and was clearly human with healthy pink skin and round green eyes that hid under the sandy brown hair that fell in thick waves around his round, plump face. Zei’d come across him before, many times actually, but he didn’t know who the boy was, didn’t know his name. Nor did he care to know. In Zei’s eyes, he was just another imbecile human.
The boy had friends with him, both humans, who stood off to the side of him or behind him, sneering at Zei.
Rage burned in Zeibriel, his quick temper flaring up, and he cried out angrily, “I’m not an elf!”
The head boy laughed a little, “Sure. Then why’re your ears pointed? They’re huge!”
Zal tightened his grip on Zei’s hand, knowing what he’d do, but Zei, being stronger, wrenched his hand away, almost an impulse, and shot his hands to his ears, attempting to cover them and failing miserably.
“Shut up!!” he snapped furiously, his eyes suddenly flashing into a deep red, identical to his master’s usual color, “I’m not a stupid elf!!”
Sneering, the human asked, “Yeah? What are you then?”
A silence fell over the arguing boys. Zei narrowed his eyes further, still red, but he had no idea what to reply. I can’t disobey my master. My master is always right and knows what’s best for me.
“I’m a human!” he blurted out, his tone sharp. Zal, clutching Zei’s side, tightened his grip a little on the thin folds of Zei’s clothes.
An uproar of laughter erupted from the group of boys; cold, mean, hateful laughter. A hatred built up in Zei, so strong and powerful he almost couldn’t contain it. He wanted them to die. He wanted to see their blood covering the dirty streets, their faces when he laughed at their mutilated bodies, their faces when they heard his cold, mean, hateful laughter.
Unaware of his transformation, Zeibriel’s eyes began to glow almost a whitish light with pure fury, and an aura of black mist began to snap around him, the energy sparking slightly. It was only noticable to Zarian at the moment, who’s blue eyes grew huge, and he yelped out in a terrified voice, “Zeeeii!! Stop!!”
At the moment Zal’s voice broke through Zei’s anger, he calmed a bit, glancing with his blood colored eyes to the younger mazoku, who clutched tightly to his linen shirt, tiny hands shaking and white he held so hard to his brother. Still angry, he looked back at the human boys and spat out, “If you don’t shut up, I’ll beat you to a pulp!!”
“Zeibriel!!! Stop!!” Zarian pleaded loudly, his voice cracked and tearfilled.
“Get rid of your little brat, and I’ll take you on!!” the head human boy threatened, narrowing his eyes, “everyone knows elves are puny wimps!!”
Something in Zeibriel snapped, and he flew forward at the boy, nearly taking Zal with him, shouting with fury, “I AM NOT AN ELF!!!”
His fist was about to connect with the boy, when an arm wrapped around his waist, yanking him back forcefully. ⁴ [4] Before he could cry out in anger and surprise, his attention was diverted as a rock came hurtling over his head and hit the head human boy squarely in the cheek. Not hardly knowing what hit him, the boy cried out in an “oof!” and shot his hand to his plump cheek, blood flowing a little from his lip, his green eyes wide with surprise.
It all happened so quickly, and Zeibriel whirled around to see the source of the rock, to see his friends, their faces contorted in anger, stooping to pick up more rocks from the ground as they ran forward, now pelting the other group of boys with the rocks.
“Get outta here!!” one shouted, the others backing him up and shouting threats at the boys. The other group, smaller, knowing they’d be severly beaten if they took this group on, began to retreat, turning on their heels and running away, their faces showing they clearly weren’t happy about this surrender.
Zei whirled to his friends, still in tow by someone, his demon eyes large. He had no idea what to say, and they barely knew he was there as they glared after the other gang, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted.
Finally, Zei whirled around, twisting widely in the grip to see who held him by the back of the shirt. At last he was loosened enough and turned to see a wide, impish grin and long locks of green hair that fell over the green eyes that peered down at him.
“Seibrum!” Zei exclaimed at the elf that held him. Seibrum’s eyes twinkled merrily as he let the younger go with a playful shove forward, “Hey, you. You’ve been getting into more fights, eh, kiddo?”
Seibrum was Zei’s only elf friend--and just about the only elf in the city. He was tall, much taller than any of Zei’s friends and kids his age--and incredibly slender, having a thin body frame and somewhat prominent hips. His whole look was green, as his skin held a pale green tint to it, his hair a mix of a sea green and an earth green, falling in chunky, silky locks around his thin face and trailing a little down the back of his neck, kept in a short pony-tail most of the time. And his eyes, they shone from his thin, pale face like large, dark emerald orbs, glistening in the sun, deep and twinkling. His ears were much smaller than Zei’s, but still long and pointed at the tips.
And Seibrum was one of Zei’s favorite people. He was always cheerful and optomistic, grinning like a Cheshire cat and laughing constantly. No one could ever be mad at Seibrum, and the whole town loved him.
A hand landed on Zei’s shoulder, and he looked around to see his friends surrounding him.
“You okay, kid? Did they hurt you?” one of the eldest asked, peering at him concernedly.
Zeibriel’s anger still bruned, and he realized he was he was physically shaking. It was fading, and he nodded, “I’m fine...”
Seibrum grinned, his eye gleaming, “Were they teasing you about being a wimpy ol’ elf again, kiddo?”
Zei was about to agree, nodding enthusiastically, but froze suddenly, remembering who he was talking to. He began to shake his head wildly, “No! I mean...yes, but...”
Seibrum laughed merrily, his hands at his prominent hips, “Aw, I know ya mean well,” he grinned, leaning and touching a finger to Zei’s nose, “I caught you off guard, that’s all.”
Zeibriel stared at the elf, who just winked at the young mazoku before stepping back in line with the other boys, his hands still on his hips.
“Dun worry, Zei, we’ll get ‘em next time,” one of the human boys declared, glaring off in the direction of the quarrel, slamming his fist into his palm angrily.
Zei narrowed his eyes in rememberance, but another thought struck him suddenly. His demon eyes widening, he whirled around wildly, “Where’s Zal?!”
“Zal? Oh, you mean the kid?” one of the boys said, “I dunno...I haven’t seen him. Did he come to town with you?”
Zeibriel seemed to not hear him and broke free of the circle of friends that enclosed him, glancing panickedly around the busy street.
“Get outta here, ya kids!”
Zeibriel jerked his head up to the human adult towering over him, a round, pot-bellied cook/baker, no doubt, his long apron dirtied with stains and crumbs. He glared down at Zei, locks of curly back hair in a mass over his forehead, a thick mustache covering his upper lip.⁵ [5]
“You’re scaring away my customers, so get!” the cook/baker/whatever snapped as if he was speaking to a disobediant dog.
“Mister, please, have you seen my brother? He’s my height, a little smaller, dark blue hair--” Zeibriel begged the man desperately, his eyes pleading. His heart heaved with worry. Oh, what if Zal got hurt? The master would be so mad! I can’t fail him!
“Little boy...well, I saw a kid running in that way,” the man (we’ll leave it at that) raised a meaty hand to point in the fortresse’s direction, “towards the pal--”
“Thank you!” Zeibriel cut him off quickly, turning swiftly and taking off, pushing past the crowds of adults, ignoring the shouts of his friends after him. I have to find Zal! he thought anxiously, racing over the huge grassy field that seemed to go on forever behind the fortress. His hair blew back from his face and the wind combed through it. Zei was an excellent runner, faster almost than any runner in the town. The world whizzed by him, and it was a miracle he didn’t trip. One would think that he would catch up to Zarian in no time, but the problem was that Zarian was just as fast a runner as Zeibriel, and having taken off a long time ago, he had a nice head start.
Zeibriel reached the back of the palace, the yard that led to the huge, grassy clearing, and halted, his feet skidding a little. Standing straight, his chest heaving violently, sweat beading it’s way down his young face, he stared across it, his breath short. Tossing the messy locks of green hair out of his face, his violet demon eyes suddenly fell upon a figure in the distance. Narrowing his eyes in determination, he took a silent, deep breath and began running again to the figure, his feet pounding into the ground with each flying step.
He reached the figure finally, well knowing by now that it was Zarian. The younger mazoku stood, watching Zeibriel with large eyes, his thick, wavy hair blowing beautifully in the wind. He stared at Zei for a moment, emotions and thoughts flittering through his deep eyes, before throwing himself at the older mazoku, glomping his arms around him. The older’s eyes widened a little as he heard Zal begin to weep.
“Oh, Zei! I was so worried!!” the younger mazoku sobbed, burying his face in Zeibriel’s chest, his tears wetting the thin material of his clothes. He held Zei around the waist with a death grip, his small body pressed against his brother’s, “you got so scary! And your eyes, and your...your aura...” he was choking by now at attempting tot alk while sobbing so fiercely. But he went on, still choking, “I was so scared! So I ran...away to get the master. I...I was thinking, ‘Master will know what to do!’ “ choke, “’Master will make things better!’” he stopped to cough violently before going on, “and they told me Master was outside and--”
“Zal, shhh,” Zei commanded softly, but firmly, and all that came now from the younger mazoku was sniffles, sobs, and his choking every now and then. “Zal,” Zeibriel went on, “it’s okay, I’m okay now.”
“But...” choke, “those boys...”
Zeibriel’s eyes narrowed hatefully as he stroked Zarian’s soft hair, “Those boys deserve to die.”
A silence fell, surrounding the two boys like a blanket as they held each other in the vast clearing. Slowly, nodding, Zarian closed his eyes, letting more tears slip down his cheeks, “Yes, Zei.”
Though a mazoku, Zarian never possessed the constant yearning to fight, and yearning for death that Zeibriel and most other mazoku had. He enjoyed pain, it gave him pleasure just like any other of his kind, but he didn’t enjoy giving pain himself, and stayed resolutely away from it. It was almost as if he didn’t see the point.