The Pinecone of Secrets by The Real Nick

  

The Pinecone of Secrets

Hello everyone! 

I am the author of this story and am getting my footing after over a decade of not writing. This story is pure fiction and inspired by a friend's gaming experience. Busts don't start happening until Chapter 3 and I apologize if it's a bit slower than you're use to but still hope you enjoy!

Chapter I

   Character Creation on Maple Street

The sun rose gently over the rows of what was presumably a normal, unassuming stretch of upper Midwest town. In particular, it seemed to cast a more radiant glow along the stretches of various middle to upper class homes with well maintained landscaping on Maple Street. It was a Spring day, the end of March, and the town of Sunnyside, which was tucked against a mountainside, was just kicking away the remnants of what would be their last snowfall of the year.

All was quiet, save for the casual but almost uniform sound of several car alarms being disarmed. And almost as if on que, the front doors of the various homes on Maple Street would open as a legion of fatherly figures meandered out of their homes. Coats, suits, brief cases and coffee cups. Waves of hands, caffeine fueled smiles and neighborly exchanges of

“Morning! Heck of a week! “

“How about those Jets!”

“Hump day am I right?”

Came from all of them at seemingly scheduled intervals, as their wives followed them out to the porches, giving parting kisses and waves, before one by one they climbed into their vehicles and systematically backed out of their driveways and screeched off in rather frantic speeds, belying their niceties.

The mothers all waved to one another with a mixed bag of genuine and feigned smiles, before dipping back inside their homes. A calm silence filled the neighborhood again, birds could be heard chirping and singing, darting about in-between trees. The skies looked mostly cloud free, and were showing to be a bright, clear, beautiful blue.

It was going to be a fantastic day.

Down at the south end of the street, illuminated by the glow of the rising sun, a figure appeared on a bicycle. An unassuming silhouette, accented by what appeared to be a simple crown of sorts and a short, flowing cape. Mounted between the handle bars of the bicycle was a mahogany shaded, plastic horse head.

The bicycle would leap off the sidewalk and take the middle of the street, barreling down it with a fervor, the rider finally coming into view. A boy, nearly thirteen, was lurched over those handle bars, his lengthening limbs, slightly above average height, light fair skin and lean frame, was garbed in a short, slightly loose white football jersey that barely reached his waist, with #1 in red across the chest. A pair of worn thin, faded blue fleece joggers that hugged his legs, crotch, buttocks and came to above his ankles, clinging to the only remnants of baby fat in his rear and thighs. A pair of white and red sneakers pumped those pedals.

A thin, short, red, rayon cape flowed behind him. Sat upon his head was a makeshift, though meticulously crafted, crown, made up of cardboard, glue, spray painted yellow and with the name “JUSTIN“ scribbled across it in black sharpie, nestled stop his sandy blonde hair, which was cut short and neat, looking expensive. His young, handsome face was soft, sculpted and devilish, with a pair of deceptively captivating copper green eyes and a smile that exposed an expensive set of dental braces.

On his tail was another boy, racing behind on a scooter with a broken, comically small toy horse head haphazardly glued to the center of the handle bar. Slightly smaller in frame, no older than eleven, lean of build with a little more meat on his bones, but also light complected. His hair was a rusty shade of red and shaved into a short mullet, face smattered in freckles from brow to chin, an oddly handsome, energetic, impish-like face with bright blue eyes. A pair of cheap rubber elf ears taped over his own. He was garbed in what appeared to be a sort of elven, Peter Pan costume that should have been thrown out two Halloweens ago.

Faded olive green tunic that was high collared, short sleeved and ripped and frayed at the bottom which sat on his pudgy rear and didn't even attempt to fully cover his lower front, with a badly cut star shaped cardboard badge on his chest which had “ Crit + “ drawn on it in red crayon. Leggings, while faded as well, were darker, and clung desperately tight to his figure, embarrassingly accenting every curve, lump and bump. He wore a beat up pair of black sneakers. Strapped on his back was a broken, taped and glued toy bow and small acme horn.

The two sped down Maple Street with purpose, pedaling and zooming past houses with barking dogs and through the pathetic practically melted piles of snow that were all but white memories of the last cold they'd see until next season.

Finally, coming to a slow stop, the crowned boy would let his leg drop down to the road, propping himself up as he inhaled the crisp morning air and extended a hand out expectantly.

“The war horn, Archer Carson.“

Carson, the red headed boy in elven gear would idle to a stop beside the bigger boy. Reaching behind himself to produce a small and slightly weather Acme bulb horn. Handing it over with a bizarre eagerness.

“Here, King Justin! Here it is! This is gonna be so cool to see in action!“

Justin would make an annoyed face, before reaching over and snatching the horn.

*squeaksquonksqueeeaaak*

“I told you to remove this dumb rubber thing yesterday during practice. You're never gonna be chancellor if you keep this up!“ Justin would say in a boyishly condescending tone, before fidgeting with the rubber bulb and ripping it off and tossing it into someone's yard.

Carson's face went red, expression sinking as he clasped his hands together dramatically, bowing his head. “I- I'm- sorry King Justin! It won't happen again!“

Justin rolled his eyes, before he'd clear his throat and make a slightly uncomfortable face, reaching down to the seat of his bicycle and adjusting himself.

“Alright whatever man, just stop being such a spazz. Get ready to witness the beginning of the coolest thing you're gonna do this year- Well, besides going to my birthday party next month.“

An eye squint. “If you don't fuck up again.”

Carson smiled nervously, gripping the handle bars of his scooter, eyes darting between the houses. Justin would raise the horn to his full lips, licking them a moment. Hesitation hit him suddenly. A small chill ran down his spine accompanied by a gentle breeze. He got the feeling someone was watching him. And not just them, but him. He cleared his throat, brushing it off, before putting his lips to the horn and unleashing a wave of horrendously off note and erratic sounds.

*Badaboodabo badabumbumbuuuum!*

*BADABUMPBADUMPADAAAA!*

“Hear me, people of Maple Kingdom!”

Justin would call out loudly after lowering the horn, his voice cracking a bit in the trenches of post pubescence.

“Your reigning King has come to announce the start of the third year of the tournament, of The Pinecone of Secrets!”

Carson's eyes were widening, the red headed rubber elven eared boy would bounce excitedly on his scooter jostling his bow about, gripping the handles. His body seemed to be bursting with pent up energy.

“We will meet in my backyard in thirty minutes!” Justin would continue to shout, chest puffing as he stood up a bit, handsome young face scrunching.

“BRING YOUR OWN GEAR! Or you WILL be disqualified!”

He'd then, without looking, toss the horn carelessly at Carson, who fumbled to catch it and hit himself in the face with a small whimper. Justin would then drop back onto his seat, brows furrowing, lips shifting, before reaching down to adjust the contents of the front of his thin, faded blue fleece joggers. A visibly plump and shapely arrangement. Carson blinked.

“Are you okay, my lord?”

Justin's face reddened a bit and he scoffed. “I'm fine, totally cool. You're just a kid, you wouldn't understand. Not until you start getting hair on your… Nevermind! It's man stuff.” Said with a dismissive huff. “Stop being weird about things, dude.”

He whipped his bicycle around, mounted horse head wobbling comically, heading back the way he came, sneakered feet hitting the pedals. “To the castle!”

Justin exclaimed theatrically, before racing back off down the street. Carson fumbled with that horn a moment, before letting it clatter to the street, cursing himself as he picked it up,gripped his scooter and bolted after Justin who was leaving him in the dust.

“Behind you my lord!” Carson cried out as he pounded his foot against the ground to keep up with the older boy.

One, two, three minutes passed… and then, the silence that had returned after the two departed, was shattered, as every front door of every house on that street was thrown open and waves of various boys of all makes and types began pouring out into the sidewalks and streets. A slew of hodge podge and makeshift costumes, weapons and props would accompany them.

Three dozen or more lads had filled the streets in mere moments. Father's away at work and mother's just happy to have some peace and quiet would happily let them pour out in droves. Various radio flyer wagons being pulled hauling juvenile and shabbily constructed things like painted banners, glued together or found toy weapons and what appeared to be medieval themed set pieces.

Among them were a trio of boys who had emerged from a single yellow house in the middle of Maple Street.

The one at the front, a boy no older than eleven, with unkempt medium length brown hair, wore a scuffed up white piece of wrestling headgear, chin strap and all, with a pair of plastic bat wing decor glued to the sides, a set of of small football shoulder pads and chest guard, sat upon a long sleeved white shirt with a cartoon mascot on it. A pair of thin, bright blue running shorts that stopped above the knee, shin guards and beat up red sneakers he wore with bare feet, no socks. Bare feet in shoes was a diabolical move in the opinion of his peer groups.

His face was boyish but carried some maturity, light complected with brown eyes. He was thin, but a bit tall for his age. Limbs suggesting his growth spurt would be significant when it hit. In his hands was what appeared to be a makeshift spear, glued and pieced together from cardboard and an old pool cue. 

“For the last time, Tim, you can't go. It's not even me saying that, dude! It's part of the rules. You can't enter the tournament of the Pinecone of Secrets unless you're at least ten! Give it up already man. I told you we're only doing this because we need an invite to Justin's birthday party next month anyways. This stuff is so lame anyway. Plus, mom said.” He'd whine a bit, rolling his eyes.

“The Playground Pirates want in on this year's  tournament and since I'm Pirate Captain you better get me in, Chris!”

A slightly shorter boy, no older than nine, Tim, would jump up and shoulder check the taller boy with a puppy-like growl. He looked almost like Chris, shorter hair, lighter brown, brown eyes, young face. One that was full of piss and vinegar, and a half dried chocolate milk mustache. He wore a black, wrinkled, short sleeved shirt with a jolly roger on the chest. 

A pair of thin, slightly loose black and blue checkered pajama pants, splotchy with cheese chip dust, and a pair of sneakers that were adorned with a cartoon racecar mascot. Sitting on his forehead was a lifted eye patch and a red bandage tied loosely around his head, causing that shorter hair to poke out messily. Tucked into a knotted up jump rope around his waist was a sword of some kind, mashed together with sticks, chewed up gum and various candy wrappers. A real frankenweapon.

Chris jerked a bit from the shoulder check. Tim was spunky, always had been. But Chris would call it “annoying”. He'd reach back and slap Tim upside the back of the head with his spear free hand, grumbling, before looking toward the third boy in their troupe who had been particularly quiet all morning and had been sweeping the floor with his eyes woefully now and again.

“Hey Brian, are you good? You haven't said much, since we got ready.” Chris would ask.

Brian, no older than eleven himself, would look up. He was about the same height as Chris, with soft blonde hair that was extremely tight and kinky, in a tight poof atop his scalp. Dark kind eyes and a defined, almost stoic face. Among the boys he was particularly the most “handsome”. His skin was lightly toasted, like a tanned marshmallow. Both skin and hair compliments of mixed race parents.

He wore a fitted purple jersey and a pair of thin white gym shorts, along with some grey socks pushed into a pair of black slides. He too wore a pair of old football shoulder pads, borrowed from Chris, and an athletic cup on the outside of his shorts, also borrowed from Chris, as well as a piece of cardboard which was taped around his torso with a big, crudely painted yellow cross upon it. Upon his head sat a circlet, shaped and molded of aluminum foil and an old cut up cereal box.

In one hand, a circular tin trash can lid. In the other, an old plastic toy broadsword covered in stickers and decals.

“Just having second thoughts, dude. Justin is a huge butthole. I mean, he only doesn't hate me because I'm half black. And I'm conflicted, I'm a Paladin. I'm supposed to be virtuous and good, working for Justin just feels weird. He's such a spazz and it just feels…”

“Shitty!” Tim squawked out. “ You guys are lame-oid sell outs.” He'd say while blowing raspberries between sentences. “You should just keep the Pinecone of Secrets and win this year. Who cares about going to Justin's dumb ass birthday party.”

Chris would brush aside Tim with a glance.

“Dude, go home! And keep your mouth shut about that.. No one knows.” Said with a subtle, annoyed, cracking whine. Then back to his Paladin pal.

“Brian, I told you dude it's.. ah, listen,” he'd say with his most laughably convincing tone “We're not working for Justin, we're securing a spot at that birthday party. We're a team, remember? I'm a Dragoon, and as one I'm honor bound to my friends. It's me and you in this together dawg” Chris would drape a free arm over Brian's shoulders, tugging him gently.

Spread out clusters of lads in their eclectic larping apparel would shift past the trio, some going at a lower pace behind. The rusty wheels of one of the many wagons could be heard creaking out loud.

Brian pushed softly back against Chris, a somber expression crossing his handsome toasted features. “It just feels wrong, dude. Justin really is a jerk and all he's ever done is flex what others can't have.. I'd rather not even get the chance to win one of those consoles.”

“You guys are suuuuuch pussies.” Tim chimed in, running ahead and between the two, separating them and brandishing his mostly harmless hodge podge Pirate sword. He'd whip it in his big brother's direction, sword tip spearing towards Chris’ midsection. The older boy would let out an excited gasp and side step, swatting at the toy sword.

“ Dude, stop, you almost hit my nuts!”

Brian looked between the two brothers and Tim would shake his Pirate sword at him as well, before turning his back and stopping in his tracks, arms crossing indignant.

“Whatever, I don't care anymore. It's stupid that I'm not allowed to per.. parcip.. precipitate? It's hella dumb I'm not allowed to precipitate. I'm gonna go find my friends.”

And just like that, Tim would dash off ahead and through the spread out gathering of other boys on their march to Justin's castle, bumping into them and shoving older boys aside like the fearless scamp he was. Chris heaved an internal sigh of relief. Tim really could be a worse little brother but he certainly wasn't the goat. 

A cool breeze swept across them in the already crisp, early Spring air. It sent a chill down Brian's spine, his brows furrowing. He'd glance over his shoulders, then about, lifting up his tin shield to block the cold. Chris cleared his throat. Not wanting to push Brian any further about their plan, he simply asked. “What's up?”

“Just.. Like someone was staring at me. I dunno man.. kind of felt weird? It came from Joe's old place” He'd clear his throat, looking at the blue two story home.

Chris gestured to the dozens of other boys marching around them, brows quirking in question as he reached up and adjusted the wrestling headgear with bat wings on his head

“No.. it was different.” Brian sighed. Feeling an internalized moral conflict seeding in his tummy, rooting, as the sounds of all the marching boys and their mish mash gear from all of their homes filled the air.

Well, except for one boy. In one house on Maple Street. A that story dark blue home that had been vacant for the better part of the year and just this week had a moving truck in the driveway. He was the only kid who hadn't exited his home to join the others.

Inside the home, which was dimly lit by open blinds, had loosely placed furniture items and moving boxes scattered about, the sound of a man and woman's muffled shouting was audible inside the walls of the upstairs quarters.

“Well this was your idea! We're stuck here now! And I told you to quit drinking! We can't afford lawyers and your habits!”

A man's voice bellowed.

“I'll quit drinking when you quit taking pain killers for your quote unquote bad knee! I need something to get through this slice of hell we’re in because of him!”

A woman's voice, shrill in tone, responded.

“Shut your whore mouth! You want him to hear you?? He already hates us!”

The man responded, in a tone no quieter.

“Well it's not like he's going to be able to hurt me. It's you he'll go after again! Just go get him distracted and I'll grab the bug out bags.”

The two continued back and forth, as their voices slowly faded. At the end of the hall upstairs, in the last bedroom, stood a kid.

His room was dark, illuminated only by the black out curtains which had been cracked open. A boy no older than eleven stood there, scrawny in frame, with seemingly cartoonish, elongated limbs. Jet black hair which was sheared and layered in choppy bangs that covered half of his face.

A long sleeved black and white striped shirt draped over him loosely, one size too big and a pair of holey black skinny jeans clung to his long legs. Upon his feet were a pair of black ankle boots, with two large buckles which fastened them tightly to his feet and sturdy, rounded toes that were dense, hardened, but narrowed just enough. His skin, pale, almost as if he were a corpse. And his face, back to that bang-veiled face. Expressionless, unblinking. Dark eyes were deep, not like ocean waters, but like a void. A place to view all and retain all that was seen, light layers of ashen black eyeshadow peppered around them.

He stared silently down at the street filled with swarms of neighborhood boys. Eyes shifting to certain ones, hands quietly coming together as he slowly began to tap a closed fist into an open palm, that fist then changing to two fingers in a cutting motion, then finally flat. He repeated this process over and over in silence. Breathing as he stared down at the clusters of other lads and all their antics.

“ Goebbels!” His bedroom door opened abruptly as his father stepped inside, a wiry middle aged man with thinning hair and small spectacles. He'd take two steps inside, before clearing his throat, curiously cautious. “Hey sport, how's it going?”

The boy would turn to face his father, unblinking eyes looking not only at him but through him. The man would smile nervously, before reaching back and opening the door wider.

“You're mother and I were thinking, we need some time to take care of things. Alone. You know. The two of us. Without you here. Heh. Whoo, crazy mom and dad stuff yanno.” He'd point two fingers at his head and twirl them around.

Goebbels silently took a few steps towards the door, the air seemingly carrying a different and heavier gravity around him. The boy's very presence was somewhat unsettling. It was as if he existed in a different dimension while sharing our very own. His father moved out of the way anxiously, before clearing his throat.

“You're mother and I noticed a lot of neighborhood kids outside this morning! Looks like they're doing something fun in costumes, kiddo.” He'd do a little shimmy and shuffle, moving towards a pile of boxes in Goebbels darkened bedroom.

“Something with costumes. You've got a costume here right? Of course you do. You've got all kinds of Dracula stuff in here, you crazy emo kid you..  Hehe. I remember I was into Space Opera at your age. We were all about that stuff..”

The man was a nervous wreck, attempting to futilely mask it by cracking jokes and doing physical comedy. He'd begin digging through one of the boxes, grabbing a fistful of dark material before pulling it out, loosening a newspaper with it that fell to the floor. A black hooded cape in hand, the man's eyes shot towards the paper and the article in bold italics above an image of a youth baseball team group photo, Goebbels among the boys in it.

Entire little league team hospitalized

He could feel Goebbels watching him and so he pretended to not even notice the paper, moving behind the boy as he draped the hooded cape over his shoulders, reaching over to gingerly secure it to his son. Goebbels would stare ahead into the distance again, only looking back towards the window when the sound of the neighborhood kids would reach higher volumes. Almost as if he were absorbing something from the experience.

“There we go, now you look more like a.. vampire wizard whatever, hehe. That seems to be what they're going for out there. Now listen, son.” Goebbels father would pull the hood up over the boy's head, and if he didn't seem ominously dark before, he certainly did now.

“I need you… WE need you to behave. Just go out there and be yourself- Well, be a.. Be a good boy!”

In the hallway his mother, a frazzled looking, middle aged brunette in a blouse and trousers, would come barging in and begin ushering Goebbels out of his bedroom and down the stairs, father in tow.

“You look great honey. I bet you're gonna have so much fun making new friends here! Please feel free to stay out and play all day long! Don't worry about checking in. Your father and I will be here, exactly where you left us.” She smiled feverishly, guiding him down to the front door.

His father would lean in to whisper to his mother. “I've got the passports ready…”

That front door was pulled open, as a wave of sunlight flooded into the darkened living room and illuminated Goebbels in a warm morning glow amidst the cool air. The large groups of boys in costumes were walking past the house, the air filled with the kind of chatter only adolescent boys could have.

Goebbels eyes unwaveringly drank in the scenery just a moment, chest rising as he quietly inhaled and then exhaled once. His parents each put a hand on one of his shoulders.

“Good luck honey, have a great time.”

Mom would say, before leaning down to place a half hearted kiss atop the emo boy's hooded head. His father patted Goebbels shoulder, a half hidden emotional complexity taking his face.

“Be good, sport. And remember even though we'll be here later for sure that we love you very much and will always remember you.”

Goebbels stared into the wave of boys, their knick knacks and trinkets and slapped together equipment. The two parents withdrew into the house, door slamming. Followed by the sound of a deadbolt locking. Leaving Goebbels to stand there, a cool morning breeze lifting that short black cloak and causing it to billow softly.

A mere few moments would pass before the ominous, quiet emo boy was approached by two boys, the same age as him. Chris and Brian.

“Hey, never seen you before. You just moved in here, huh? My name is Chris.” Chris would speak, the two taking a small pit stop as the new kid living in their old friend's house piqued their interest.

“I'm Brian.” Brian would say, with a half heartily polite smile. The eerie vibe emanating from Goebbels was unmistakable. It was the same feeling Brian had minutes ago while he felt like he was being watched. 

The two boys would wait expectantly for the traditional response one would give to being introduced, but were instead met with silence. They almost felt like they were being pulled into these new emo kids eyes.

“ So… uh, yeah. Like we said, Chris and Brian. I live in this neighborhood with my little brother. Brian lives a couple streets over.” Chris would motion in the direction with his Dragoon spear.

“We're on our way to play this yearly game called the Pinecone of Secrets. It's kind of cool if you want something to do.”

Brian shifted his tin shield and toy sword.

“Plus you can meet people and maybe find some friends, especially since you're new here. It's not anything weird or crazy, just role playing. We all give ourselves classes or jobs or whatever. I'm a Paladin, so I can do a little healing and give my team buffs. And.” He'd brandish his little plastic sword

“I got this to smite people with holy power”

“And I'm a Dragoon.” Chris chimed in, pointing to the bat ears glued to his wrestling headgear. “I have a jump attack that does crazy damage and makes enemies unable to hit me.”

Just then, Chris’ eyes widened a bit. A light bulb went off above his head.

“Hey! You should totally join us! Be our friend, we're cool guys, we can show you the ropes.” He'd look at Brian, sending him an awkwardly obvious wink. 

A perplexed expression swept Brian's smooth, handsome, toasted coconut face. Reaching up with the hilt of his plastic sword to scratch at his tight blonde kinky afro. What was Chris concocting now?

“Give us one second!” Chris said, before tugging Brian aside, huddling against his little buddy amid the last bits of boys who were on the move.

“Dude, listen. We're already going in together on that prize Prime Minus Blackout. Justin is gonna give away two, right? So we're already ahead by sharing the prize and double our chances of winning. What if we *third* them??”

“Third them?” Brian asked, brows furrowing. “Do you mean triple them?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah sure okay. Listen, let's take this new kid along, get him into the Pinecone of Secrets tournament and make sure he gets an invite to Justin's birthday party.” Chris seems overly excited about the plan, he always was when he cooked one up. Perhaps he and Tim were not entirely unlike.

Brian sighed a bit, glancing over to Goebbels who seemed to be standing there staring at everyone. His head never seemed to move but it was as if he was surveying everything around him. Ingesting every moment and every visual of the environment and its inhabitants.

“I dunno man. That seems just as scummy as helping Justin cheat.. You wanna use this kid? You'll have to split the sharing time three ways. Especially if we only get one Prime Minus Blackout.”

Chris would put his hands on either side of Brian's face, shaking his head gently.

“But what if we get booooooth..”

Brian jerked his head away, feeling more and more tired and conflicted with this situation. He hated Justin. He didn't want anything to do with him. But Chris was his best friend. “You don't even know if we'll get one.”

Suddenly, the sound of a deep breath exhaling sounded right beside them. Both Chris and Brian yelped out in surprise, seeing Goebbels standing right beside them. Chris laughed a bit nervously.

“Heeeeey pal. Didn't notice you standing right there. Actually kinda scary, heh.”

Goebbels would stare dead ahead at both of them, observing them. It Brian swallowed a small lump in his throat, almost feeling like he was being suffocated. There was something deep in his belly that was attempting to signal a warning to him. He assumed it was due to Chris’ sudden lackadaisicle morality.

“So! Uh, we need to get a class going for you. But we gotta get moving, the game starts in like ten minutes and you'll hear the rules then. What do you think you want to be? Brute? Archer? Healer? Eh.. definitely probably not a Healer.” He'd examine Goebbels overall aesthetic, from the choppy black emo hair pouring out from under the hood of that dark cloak, to the shadows around his eyes.

“Damn dude, you look kinda crazy I'm not gonna lie. I don't think we've ever seen a real emo kid here before. Those look expensive. Where'd you get them?” Dragoon Chris would ask, pointing at the black buckled ankle boots on Goebbels feet.

Silence.

“So I think we should go with Warlock. You totally look like a creepy spellcaster. Bet you'd do some real damage on the battlefield. Right Brian?” Paladin Brian shrugged.

“I mean sure I guess. Is that okay with you?” He'd ask, before realizing Goebbels was staring directly at him, releasing a calm but cold deep sigh that made Brian feel extremely uncomfortable. Goebbels right booted foot began shifting a bit, crunching bits of debris and slush from the melting snow between the road and his dense booted toes. He'd begin doing light motions with his hands over and over again.

Rock, paper, scissors.

Brian turned his back to his pal and their new Warlock buddy, not liking the feeling of someone looking at where his personal stuff was. That bad feeling grew more. His Paladin instincts told him to move.

“Rock paper scissors? Oh! Maybe that's like your spell casting huh. That's cool, dude.” Chris said, attempting to break the obvious weird tension as he felt Goebbels gaze shifting to his crotch a moment before returning in the direction of Justin's house.

Bwwwwwaaaaaaaaah!!!

Just then the acme horn sounded again from not too much further down the street.

Chris shifted on his feet and turned in the direction of it, feeling an inexplicable uneasiness nearby, following him. As if something was washing over him. Brian would motion with his sword and shield, swinging them around slowly to stretch his upper body, gear shifting along with it, before moving into a light jog.

“C'mon, let's go get this over with.”

Chris then started following, stopping a moment, looking back at Goebbels. “Let's go dude, we're gonna be late! By the way, what's your name, anyway?”

Silence, as Goebbels lifted his hands into his pockets and with a subtle slouch in his posture and an almost meticulously haunting stride, began following in Brian's direction. 

Chris, blinking a moment, said.

“New Kid works great then. Hey, New Kid, Brian wait up!”

And so the three of them began moving towards Justin's castle. A plan had been hatched by Chris. Brian and he would play their part in Justin's ritualistic game, earn their spots at his birthday party and double- No sorry, third- No sorry, triple, their chance of snatching a Prime Minus Blackout. Tim was still going to potentially be a problem up ahead if he continued to throw a fit about not being allowed to join because he wasn't old enough, but that was a bridge Chris would cross when he came to it.

A Dragoon, a Paladin and now a Warlock, began their descent into what would be the most memorable day in their young lives.

                      Chapter  II

             The Tournament Launch

               And the Chilling Stare

Justin's home was not only the largest in the neighborhood, but the largest for several blocks. It was a spacious three story home sat at the end of a long driveway in a big gated off area. Perfectly landscaped topiary sat flushed green with remnants of snow atop it.

In the backyard was a huge mother in law's quarter, where Justin himself resided, having convinced his parents (threw a tantrum) to take it. Surrounding the mini house was a variety of shoddily pitched tents and lean tos made up of cardboard and assorted knick knacks, and the backyard itself was abuzz with all of the lively neighborhood boys who had gathered for the tournament.

A variety of kids in shabby costumes. Elves, orcs, wizards, knights, ninjas, bards, you name it. All adorably crafted with some of the worst makeup and props you'd have ever seen. It was the epitome of adolescent fantasy role playing.

“Honey! I brought you and your friends cookies!” A sweet and motherly voice called out as a thin blonde middle aged woman appeared dressed as casually conservative as possible, carrying a huge platter of baked goods.

“Leave it on the Table of Feasts!” Justin's voice shouted ungratefully from inside the mini home, cracking a bit. Boys were filing in and out of the home one to three at a time. Getting their final inspection and approval from Justin.

“Of course my sweet angel!” She said in a delightfully maternal tone, moving to a large weathered picnic table that sat amidst the clusters of boys. Tim, now with that eyepatch on, happened to be near the picnic table when this happened, surrounded by a group of other lads his age, his Pirate crew, all wearing some wrinkly rough and tumble apparel with pirate trinkets attached to them. The nine year olds and other nearby lads would swarm the cookies instinctively.

Justin's mother started moving towards the mini house where what seemed to be one last trio of melanated boys in line were waiting. Two taller lads, twins, no more than twelve, dressed in makeshift gladiator apparel with a smaller boy, no older than ten, wearing a bed sheet wrapped around him in an above the knee tunic.

“STOP! Can't you read the sign?!”

Justin's petulant voice would erupt from just inside. His mother would come to a halt, glance at a large poster board haphazardly taped against the front window of the building.

“NO GIRLS ALLOWED”

And scribbled just below

“and no fags or sissies”

She stood there a moment, blinking, before clasping her hands together.

“Well that was my mistake! Have fun with your little friends sweetie! And remember not to eat too many chips! They upset your tummy!” She would exclaim before moving away from the mini house and back towards their main abode, passing by the pack of feral nine year old Pirates who were shoveling her cookies into their mouths.

“These-mmf-are-mfmf-good!” Tim would mention to her as she moved by them, watching Justin's mom. She would smile apprehensively before moving back inside the house.

Just inside that mini house, King Justin sat upon his throne, a branded Prime Minus gaming chair in the main room. It was moderately clean, and obnoxiously decorated with an amount of materialistic items only a kid with Justin's family fortune could acquire. Carson, fixing his taped on rubbery elf ears, stood at attention beside the royal throne as Justin sat slouched down in it with an obscene manspread, his crown sitting snuggly if not a little crooked atop his perfectly cut sandy blonde hair, and a bag of salt and vinegar chips sitting on his stomach.

“We gotta get this show on the road, anyone else?!”

Justin would shout, visible chip crumbs in his dental braces, dusting his hands off on that expensive gaming chair, before the trio of darker skinned boys came in, guided by Carson's hand gestures. The rusty red headed short mullet wearing “elf” boy would guide them inside Justin's room, gesturing for them where to stand before hopping back to his place standing beside Justin.

Carson would look anxiously at them, fidgeting with his ill fitting nylon elven costume, before saying with a sincere and genuine smile.

“Those outfits are really cool. Are you guys vikings and like a wizard or something?”

“Billy, Gladiator.” one of the twins said. The two identical boys were a bit larger, even for their age. Toned physiques coated in a variety of mismatched buckled belts taken from their mother and father's wardrobe, that started at their midsection, leaving their upper torsos bare besides a set of football shoulder pads. At their waists were kilts, made of a pair of gym shorts they shredded into strips, one white the other red, that would have gone just above their knees and each boy had their bare dogs tucked into a pair of black slides.

Darker skinned, with heads of short and well maintained black fade cut hair. Brunette eyes that were calm and contemplative sat against articulated and strong features, even for boys their age.

“Bobby, also a Gladiator. We're all brothers.” The other twin spoke, lifting a fist to softly pound it against his open palm.

Justin seemed to squint those devilish copper green eyes, looking between them, before shooting a glance to the smaller of the three, who seemed quite nervous. Licking the salt and vinegar flavor from his lips before smirking.

“.... C-Collin. I'm a H-Healer.. “ The boy stuttered. Anxiously, almost fearfully. He was a bit scrawnier, with a slightly lighter complexion than his brothers, with a gentle and handsome face that would have seemed sweeter had it not looked like he was constantly worried about something. Brown sugar eyes doe like in nature.

He wore a single blue bed sheet, covered in cartoon characters, that was wrapped around his frame from his shoulders to his waistline, hanging down to barely mid thigh, feet tucked into a pair of blue shoes with scuffs and faded stickers on them. In both hands he clutched what had been a mop handle that now had a glitter coated ball of aluminum foil fastened to the tip.

Justin looked the trio up and down, never having seen them around here before. He motioned to the wall behind him with a judgmental expression.

Carson's eyes widened a moment and he cleared his throat, apprehension sweeping that young freckle smattered impish face a moment, bright blues shifting, before he straightened up a bit.“ His lordship needs you to stand against that color test over there.”

The three boys would turn around, seeing a large poster board mounted to the wall. And what appeared to be a color gradient scale that started from a pale peach color all the way down to a dark brown and nearly black shade. The three brothers, confused, glanced back.

“I don't get it.. “ Billy said, brows quirking.

“The King will need to see if you're able to join the tournament. Stand against the wall.” Carson would speak again, adjusting his taped on elf ears. The three boys suddenly looked quite indifferent to the situation they found themselves in.

“Dude, what does this have to do with anything? You want to see if we're.. what?”

Bobby spoke up, as Collin began looking between his two older brothers, almost beginning to fidget with worry.

Justin rolled his eyes, sitting up and tossing his bag of salt and vinegar chips off to the side. Red headed Carson would attempt to catch the bag, fumbling it and finding himself tumbling to the floor and off to the side, landing on the floor beside Justin's bed and coming face to face with what appeared to be a few single socks that seemed quite a bit stiff and crusty.

At that moment, Chris and Brian had made their way inside Justin's bedroom- Ahem- Justin's throne room, with Chris gesturing for Goebbels to remain outside for just a moment. 

“I need to rate your difficulty. The darker you are, the more difficult it will be for other players to see you, especially at night. And that would give you an unfair advantage.”

Justin said quite plainly without skipping a beat. An angry expression swept Billy and Bobby, while Collin appeared more worried.

Knowing what they had just walked in on, Chris let his eyes lower to the floor a bit while Brian's face swept with frustration. This was exactly what he had meant when he said Justin didn't hate him but only because he was half black.

“What? That's.. This thing is only supposed to last until sundown. And that's.. it's..”

Billy began to speak, stammering as he felt the insult turning into anger.

“That's literally racist, dude.” Bobby said.

“... Yup.” Brian said under his breath, before receiving a soft elbow from Chris, who while not racist himself was obviously complicit in Justin's antics. All for that Prime Minus Blackout gaming console.

“It's not racist, idiots. It's the rules. I don't make them, I just enforce them. And we have to be fair to the other players.”

Justin said with an eye roll.

Young Collin nervously looked between Justin and his big brother's, hands tightening around his healer's staff.

Bobby, brows furrowing angrily and the Brute stepped towards Justin's throne.

“You do make the rules! And their lame ass rules bro. You're a piece of shit, man.”

Billy, the other twin, would begin to grab at Bobby's arm, sensing well what was coming next.

“Let it go man, he ain't worth it.”

And in that moment Bobby began pulling against his twin brother's grasp, taking steps towards Justin, who planted his feet on the ground and used them to push himself back in his gaming chair, rolling back quickly.

“Hey! Get back! I am the King!”

Justin would then jump from his chair, red rayon cape flowing, and move to stand behind it, fingers digging into the back of it as he called out.

“Archer Carson, Dragoon Chris, Paladin Brian! To arms! Defend your King! I'm summoning my enchanted defensive shell ability! Ping ping wee wee– WHOOM!”

Justin began creating sound effects, wriggling his fingers in the air, brows furrowing for focus, as the nearly thirteen year old King would back himself into a corner, drawing that Prime Minus gaming chair near as a barrier.

Carson, who had been on the ground mingling with those socks he found, leapt to his feet and came running the second he heard Justin's call, drawing that toy bow from his back. Chris reluctantly gripped his spear and moved to put himself between the trio of brothers and Justin as well, that boyish but mature face marred with frustration. Working with Justin would have been so much easier had he not been a dick ninety nine percent of the time.

“Do we really have to do this now? The tournament hasn't even started bro.. “

Chris would remark with a disgruntled whine, before looking to Brian, who heaved a sigh and put his hands up as if to surrender the situation he didn't want to be involved in. “Dude..” Chris whispered “He's not gonna invite us to his party if he gets his ass kicked..”

Brian grumbled, he cared about Chris a lot. Enough to let himself get dragged into this stupid situation all for the chance to win some stupid gaming console. But he was getting tired of it. He would lift his tin shield up, rapping a fist against it in an attempt to break the tension that was building. Brian, even at his age, tended to be the most mature one among his peer groups.

“Listen man, can we talk outside?” Brian said, to Bobby specifically, his tone shifting a bit. The brothers exchanged glances, posturing to maintain their footing in this social interaction. The two older boys looked at Collin who appeared quite concerned. Billy and Bobby knew their little brother was a scaredy cat by nature. 

“That sounds good guys.. c-come on. I d-didn't want to do this anyway. Please” The scrawny, dark caramel skinned boy said, those doe eyes shifting. He seemed the most reluctant and worrisome of them all, hands still gripping his healer's staff as he began taking small steps back.

“Yes.. excellent.” Justin said from behind his “barrier”, looking at Carson and Chris as he stood up a bit. “As a half breed, Paladin Brian seems to be able to speak their native language..”

Dragoon Chris and Archer Carson's eyes widened a bit at hearing that. Justin said it to them but definitely said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You fucking white pri–” Bobby would began cursing again as Brian ushered them to the door.

“Yo listen bro he ain't worth it c'mon. His parents got too much money, you'll be the one in trouble brother trust me.”

The three boys would allow Brian to escort them outside, though not without Bobby and Billy making sure to knock a few things over on the way. Once they were out, Justin- King Justin, would wheel his throne back out into the open, moving to stretch with a yawn, that ill fitted white jersey with #1 on it lifting a bit to expose some soft belly.

“ Uuuuugh. I'm telling you guys, you do not want to be King. It's crazy keeping up with the rabble around the neighborhoods. Time to get this Pinecone of Secrets out and get this show on the road.” He said, before turning and bending over to rifle through a box he dragged out from under his bed.

Carson may have taken a peak at Justin, one of his rubber elf ears sliding a bit crooked, putting his bow back behind him before fixing it. Chris would shake his head, feeling dirtier by the minute that he was still willing to be involved with this scheme. He thought about Tim's words echoing in his head.“You guys are lame-oid sell outs.”

He was right, yanno. Brian was right. But he was already this close.

“Is the plan still the same?” Chris asked, feeling anxious about what he was going to propose.

“Still the same numb nuts.” Justin answered shortly.

Just then, the door opened and Brian stepped back inside, sunlight illuminated his tight, blonde, short afro. Looking at Chris with a quizzical expression. Chris cleared his throat, adjusting the toy bat winged wrestling headgear upon his unkempt brown hair. Carson, a devout Justin loyalist, would look between them, wrinkling his impish nose, bright blues scanning them.

“Justin- King Justin, I mean. Is it possible to induct another member to your royal guard? It's late I know.” He'd fidget a bit. He'd told Goebbels about the plan on the way, not that he listened. Or did he? Chris wasn't sure. 

“What? No.” Justin said shortly as he stood up from the box he'd been rummaging through, looking towards the door, holding in his hands the Pinecone of Secrets. A rather large pinecone, spray painted gold with cheap sparkling plastic gems glued all across it.

In that same moment, the room grew slightly heavier. It was almost as if the sunlight which had illuminated Brian had been drowned out, while simultaneously remaining. A cool breeze flowed in as the dark, cloaked figure appeared before them.

Goebbels stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, slouched in that almost ghoulish manner which made him seem almost inhuman. His deep, dark eyes encircled in dark smudge, veiled by choppy black bangs would shift about the room a moment. A mysterious stranger to be sure, an intimidating one to be certain. Goebbels took the air out of the room a moment, just as he exhaled slowly through his nostrils. 

Carson, who was standing near to Justin, would lift a hand to scratch through his short cut rust red mullet, that freckle smattered face scrunching up in a bit.

“Who's… Who's he?”

King Justin, holding the legendary Pinecone of Secrets in one hand, but reaching up to adjust his crown with the other, would look to see who his elven whipping boy was looking towards.

Their eyes, then met. Justin's devilishly charming copper greens connected with Goebbels deep, dark, void like oculars.

All grew silent..

One week earlier

The sounds of arcades, game machines and children's laughter and screams of joy thundered through the brightly lit and cartoonish pizza themed mega restaurant. Booths lined every wall and the center of every drive aisle, workers in aprons and pizza slice mascot outfits droned about. 

Prize tickets were ejecting from machines like rail gun ammo belts and children with wide eyes were dragging reluctant parents this way and that way.

Justin was running through the aisles, pointing to everything you could imagine. His mother, father and the restaurant manager in tow.

“This is where I want to open my presents. And look! I said LOOK! This is where I want everyone to stand and sing happy birthday to me!” The nearly thirteen year old would exclaim, a devilish smile wide, neon lights catching in his braces.

“It's going to be hard to secure every part of the venue, we have parents who have already boo-” The manager would begin speaking, before Justin, growing red in the face, would shout.

“Money! My mom and dad got it! You just write down what I'm telling you!”

Before he'd turn around, dashing forward, not even noticing the figure in front of him

*THUNK!*

He'd hit someone, or something, rather sturdy. Justin fell back onto his rear, shaking his head and growling, looking at who he collided with.

A scrawny, long limbed, pale emo boy stood before him. Still entirely upright, as if completely unphased, staring down at Justin. It was eleven year old Goebbels. There with his parents getting food on their way to their new home. Justin, clenching those braced teeth, would get back to his feet.

“Watch where you're going, idiot!” The nearly thirteen year old would say. His mother would speak up.

“Justin sweetie, it was an accident. I'm sure if you both apologize we can continue on with your birthday party planning.”

Justin would scoff, looking Goebbels up and down, before moving forward and shoulder-checking the younger, dark and ominous emo boy quite hard. It caused Goebbels to stagger a bit as Justin moved past him.

Goebbels parents, seated nearby, would stand- Looking more scared than upset.

“Hey! What's the problem here?” His father would ask.

“We're so sorry!” Justin's mother would blurt out graciously. Justin's father would clear his throat. “Our boy is just excited. We apologize. Let us pay for your meal.”

The sound of everything else would fade around Goebbels, as he slowly shifted, turning to face the direction Justin moved in. He watched the slightly older boy moving through the restaurant. Taking in his figure, almost as if studying him. 

Within seconds, his hands began shifting and clicking together slowly. Rock, paper, scissors. Rock, paper, scissors. His booted right foot was grinding against the sticky carpeted floor.

“ Let's get out of here, whatta ya say, champ?” Goebbels father's voice suddenly broke the dimension of silence that seemed to be forming, grabbing the pale otherworldly emo boy by the arm and moving him expediently towards an exit.

Present day

“No new players.” Justin said sharply.

“Ah, Justin- King Justin, your lordship, hear me out dude.” Chris would reply with a worried expression. He needed Goebbels in. He needed that tripled chance of winning a Prime Minus Blackout at Justin's Pizza Kingdom thirteenth birthday bash.

“He's quiet, he's chill, he's no problem. Plus we would have one more extra guy to make sure the Pinecone of-”

“Ah! Hey!” Carson cut Chris off, rust red brows furrowing sharply over that impish face. “Shut up about that!”

Justin's arms crossed over his chest, an indignant look crossing his handsome young face. “No, nuh uh. Hell no.”

“Your lordship, he's already got a class picked out, he's a Warlock and he-”

“You wanna get uninvited? Huh, Chris?? I'll throw your ass right out of this tournament and you won't even get to go to my birthday! You can hang out with your stupid little brother and his butt Pirates! How about that?” Justin shouted, face flushing a bit, grip tightening on that Pinecone of Secrets.

Goebbels hadn't moved an inch the entire time. It was as if he were a shadowy statue. Eyes unwavering, unmoving, from Justin.

Brian stood there, having picked up his gear, gripping the handle of his sword tightly. “He can take my place.”

Carson, Justin and Chris all looked to Brian then. Justin smirked.

“Dude.. Brian, what?” Chris said quietly, feeling his heart sink a bit.

“I can't do this anymore. Justin, you're an obnoxious prick. You just wave your money and shit in front of people, with things they can't have, and you're mean to everyone and that's why no one really likes you.” Brian sheathed his sword into his belt loop, reaching up to put a hand on Chris shoulder. Brian's darker hazel eyes connected with Chris’, and he smiled half heartedly at the other boy.

“Dude… I can't. You're my best friend, and I hope you get what you want. I'm going to uphold my Oath as a Paladin and tend to the wounded and help the other kids in this tournament. They don't know what's really going on and they should at least have some fun. Hit me up when you're done with all this bullshit, bro.” He said, looking into Chris’ eyes a second longer.

Chris could feel a bit of doubt seeding in his own belly, and he swallowed, brows furrowing. “Brian.. dude.. I..”

“Gay.” Justin said, eliciting a boot licking snicker from the rust-red headed elven Carson. “I knew you didn't have it in you, white chocolate. Get the fuck out of here and take your knock off vampire with you. And you better keep your mouth shut too or I'll make your life suck this coming summer.” 

Chris felt a bit of anger rising in him from hearing that.. but he was already in so deep. And he could taste that Prime Minus Blackout, it was so close. Maybe he could use some feigned loyalty to Justin to earn it. Then he and Brian could play all summer long on it. He backed away from Brian, breaking eye contact with him, gripping his makeshift cardboard spear and moving to Carson and Justin.

“I'm still in, my lord.” Chris said to Justin, feeling absolutely riddled with guilt. It was the burden of the Dragoon.

King Justin would smirk. “That's right..”

Then looking back to Brian and Goebbels, who had still not unlocked his eerie, haunting gaze from Justin.

“Are you still here?? Get out! I'm running behind and I gotta make my announcement.”

Brian would turn to put a hand on Goebbels shoulder. “Come on, New Kid- Warlock?. Let's go play with the others.”

The moment he touched the emo boy's shoulder, it felt otherworldly. Like he was touching a deep and cool tombstone. He'd pull his hand away, opening the bedroom door. Confused by what he felt.

Goebbels would stay there a moment longer, deep, void like eyes unmoving from Justin. The King of the neighborhoods would feel something, a bit subtle.. It made him uncomfortable. It felt like the few blonde, nearly invisible hairs on his balls, which were larger than most boys his age, stood upright, making his already taught scrotum pull up a bit. “..... huh.”

Then, the feeling released him. Justin exhaled a bit, eyes seeming to, for the first time, be filled with a little.. fear. Carson would draw his bow again, moving to stand in front of Justin, blocking him from Goebbels view. He'd pretend to draw back an arrow.

“I've got a Critical Plus badge gifted to me from our lord.” Note that shabby cardboard star pinned to his ill fitted elfish olive green leotard, with “Crit +” scribbled on it. “My magical elven arrows never miss and always do max damage. I'll drop you, New Kid. And you won't even be allowed to play with the others. Because you'll be dead.” Carson said, voice pitching a moment in the most grating fashion, his one problematic rubber elf ear loosened again and dipped a bit.

Goebbels turned then, his feet sliding as if not even touching the ground, that black cloak shrouded his scrawny frame, before he moved to exit; Stopping just a moment, glancing over his shoulder. Black chopped bang covered eye unknowingly painting over Carson. The rusty red headed mulleted boy felt a sense of foreboding wash over him, a creeping sensation crawled up his inner thighs, causing his hairless nutsack to wrinkle up a bit.

Then, Brian put his hand against Goebbels' back, feeling that ominous gravity against the scrawny emo boys form, and gestured to the door.

“After you, New Kid Warlock..”

The air, which had been very still, shifted and grew normal again, before Brian and Goebbels exited Justin's bedroom.

Chris looked between Carson and Justin. There was a moment of silence. It was as if the three of them didn't know what to say. Carson and Justin felt spiritually… violated. Chris was deep in his feelings about Brian. Everything was beginning to feel heavier to him, the weight of his decision to sacrifice his morals for a super cool gaming console, to quite honestly sacrifice the friendship he had with Brian. They'd been best friends since the first grade. A whole lifetime practically.

“Shit.” Justin said then, brows furrowing as he put one hand on his hip, rolling his shoulders a bit, hands shifting to pat down his pockets, feeling something there. A single key, brows furrowing.

“That punk Brian has the other key to my super secret awesome hideout… Oh well.” 

He'd then lean over and nudge Carson with a mischievous smile, braced teeth showing.

“Not like anyone is gonna need to get in there anyway since I'm gonna have this anyway, hehe.” 

He'd lift the Pinecone of Secrets to his face, rolling it and letting the light catch the cheap gold spray paint and plastic gems. That mischievous smile attempted to cover up a genuine feeling of worry young Justin was beginning to feel.

Carson snickered in response, reaching up to fix one of his taped on rubber elf ears. The rust-red headed, freckle faced boy also seemed slightly perturbed. An unshakable weight had settled onto him, as if fate had set something in motion none of them were fully aware of.

But the tournament was about to be underway.

Justin cleared his throat, feeling once again the weight of the Pinecone of Secrets in his hand. He took a deep breath, before speaking.

“Alright losers. It's showtime.”

The masses were gathered around the mother in law's quarters. Groups of warriors, wizards, bards, rogues, elves, humans, orcs. If it existed in a kid's imagination, it was there. Justin would take front and center, standing atop the Table of Feasts and the decimated cookies.

He'd explain the rules, and immediately dismiss and send away anyone under ten or those still lingering who didn't meet his super fair and not racist at all shading chart. Which meant Tim sent the Playground Pirates angrily out of the backyard, swinging their toy sabres with all the spitting and cursing a feral pack of nine year olds could muster.

It also meant the Brute twins Billy and Bobby, along with their little brother Collin the Healer, would ultimately leave as well, being guided and spoken to by Brian, whom was moving through the groups of boys,  giving them reassurance and a Paladins blessings for a safe and successful tournament- Knowing well what was at play.

Chris had managed to reach Tim, who had found and picked up a small rock. Aiming at Justin from the peanut gallery, the eye under his eyepatch squinting as he took aim, but not before his big brother grabbed his wrist.

“Tiiiiiim!” Chris gingerly but comedically yoinked his little brother off to the side and away from the gathered crowd. The younger boy would struggle against him, blue and black checkered, cheese chip dust covered pajama pants kicking.

“Lemme go, Chris! I'm gonna throw this at his nards!” Chris would put a hand over Tim's mouth, kneeling down on one knee before him. The younger boy struggled a second longer, before halting. Brows furrowing indignantly. He definitely looked like a younger, feral Chris.

“Listen to me, alright?” Dragoon Chris said in as calm a voice as he could manage.

Justin's speech had begun in the background.

“Please don't tell mom anything. I'm still gonna try to win a Prime Minus Blackout.. My chances aren't as good looking now, but I think I can convince Justin to throw me a bone if I just stick with him for this.”

He'd scan his little brother's eyes a moment- Well, the one without the Pirate eyepatch. Reaching up with one hand he'd tussle Tim's short brown choppy hair, patting his shoulder with the other.

“So you're still gonna be a lame-oid sell out. Brian has bigger balls than you.” Tim would huff, that now mostly faded chocolate milk mustache shifting as he frowned. He was frustrated with his big brother's decisions.

“I know, I'm a loser.. I'm sorry I'm not always a good big brother.” Chris was beginning to feel the weight of his choices. Brian was disappointed in him and so was Tim. “But if you just stay chill for this one last time, let me get through this day, I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll do anything you want.” He'd force a smile, before reaching up to adjust the bat winged wrestling headgear on his noggin.

“Anything?” Tim would then ask, a pitched curiosity in his tone, single brow arching. Now looking down at his big brother.

“... Yeah, I'll do anything. But just once okay?” Chris would say, feeling a little better. “But you can't tell mom about how I'm helping Justin cheat and you gotta behave for the rest of the Spring break, okay?”

“Will you dress up as a cheerleader for Halloween this year?” Tim said, now peering down at his big brother.

Dragoon Chris would gulp a bit, feeling a flush of pink washing over his cheeks.

“A uh.. cheerleader? Like a male cheerleader?”

“Nope. A girl one. With a skirt.”Young Pirate Tim grinned, before poking Chris’ forehead.

“And you gotta go allllll over town.”

Chris would begin feeling the embarrassment from the future creeping over him and he seemed a bit hesitant. Tim would smugly pull back from his big brother. “Okay then, dummy. No deal I guess an-”

“Wait, wait! Okay.. okay. I'll do it.”

Dragoon Chris said with a whimper and weak smile. Tim had always been a menace in some way shape or form.

“Good. Glad we could come to a grievance.” Tim said with a sly grin. Chris smirked then, standing. He'd flick Tim's forehead tenderly.

“It's ‘agreement’ dummy.”

Tim scrunched up his face, before reaching out and putting his hand at the crotch of Chris’ thin, light blue running shorts, a steady and strained finger would snap a sharp *flick* against his big brother's bulge. Chris gasped, eyes widened a second as he felt a sharp, hot sting in his left nut.

“Uh!.. Mmm..” He'd grimace, pawing at his boy oyster, turning to face away from Tim as the sting from the flick turned into a dull ache in his soft, veiny little egg shaped testicle. With a little grunt he said

“Alright Tim, you got what you wanted, now go play with your friend's.”

Young Pirate Tim would laugh menacingly, hauling back and punching Chris hard in one of his asscheeks, before spinning on his heel and darting off through the crowds. Stopping just at the open side gate that leads to the front of Justin's house, he felt a cool breeze sweeping through the area, turning to lift his eyepatch as he looked around.

In the distance, a black hooded, cloaked figure was looking in his direction. Set against the swath of costumed boys in the backyard, the vibrant green foliage capped with melting white snow, it stood out. Young Tim began slowly pushing that gate open, noting how heavy it felt suddenly.

“... who is that?”

The boy would say quietly outloud, before feeling a sense of foreboding wash over him. It trickled from the top of his head and centered in his groin, causing his smooth nutsack to wrinkle up. It's cold, Tim thought, before he'd break from the feeling and push out of the backyard. He had a Pirate crew to run.

Chris, who had been watching Tim leave, noticed Goebbels staring at his little brother. He wanted to say something, but felt a heaviness in the air that almost seemed to prevent him from speaking. He'd instead rub his one aching nut a bit more, upon which that very moment, he noticed Goebbels shifting his gaze towards him now. Chris felt something catch in his throat, before what felt like a small increase in pain in his recently flicked, dully aching young testicle. He winced a bit, cursing Tim under his breath, before breaking the gaze with the dark hooded and cloaked emo boy, to join the crowd for the rest of Justin's speech.

Atop that Table of Feasts, bright red rayon cape flowing softly in the breeze, Justin would continue addressing his dominion.

“The key to battle is not getting hit in the balls, or the face! And if you do, do NOT go home crying like a little pussy crybaby bitch! We don't want parents cock blocking our good time! Everywhere else is fair game!” Justin would inhale a moment, before exhaling and continuing.”During the tournament if you engage in combat, it is TURN BASED and all powers and abilities are taken as the battle permits. My powers as King are the only unbeatable ones.” He'd say, nose tilted upwards “Tournament ends at sundown, and whoever finds the Pinecone of Secrets must bring it to my secret fort behind the Well Right Pharmacy!” King Justin would inhale again, taking a breath, before continuing. ”If the Pinecone of Secrets is not located and brought to me by then, the tournament is forfeit and the CURRENT REIGNING KING, ME, will remain! Archer Carson will take over for Sorcerer Lenny, who moved away, as the keeper of the Pinecone of Secrets this year, and he will be responsible for hiding it somewhere in the neighborhood!”

The address to his people made, he'd reached behind himself, hand dipping into the back of those thin, fitted, faded blue fleece joggers, retrieving the Pinecone of Secrets from the spot between his joggers and briefs and lifting it up high. The sunlight would catch the gold paint and plastic gems.

“Look upon it, losers- I mean my subjects. Hehe” Justin would say condescendingly, a wide smile painting his face, dental braces gleaming.

A collection of oohs and aahs would rumble through the crowds. Some boys began to slowly wave their homemade flags, others would raise their makeshift and toy weapons high. There was a fervor that was mounting. Every boy there wanted to be King of the neighborhoods, for some reason or another. And the poor souls thought they might have that chance. That chance for notoriety, to be the coolest kid for a year.

Chris, who stood silent at Justin's side with his pool cue and cardboard spear held against his chest like a guardsman with a rifle, would look out into the crowd. Finally finding who he was looking for, seeing Brian standing near Justin's mini home, standing next to Goebbel, who managed to exist almost as if a darkened shadow in the brightest part of the passing morning. Brian would make eye contact. Chris would smile a bit, but Brian would not return it.

Instead he'd turn to Goebbels and seemingly begin speaking to him. Chris felt like shit again, who for all intents and purposes did not seem to even acknowledge he was being spoken to. All this for a gaming console. For a chance at a gaming console. His little brother was disappointed in him, Brian, his best friend, the person he liked the most, was disappointed in him. For what? He'd glance at Justin, looking the other boy up and down. For him.

“And now, Archer Carson, if you please.” Justin would then pass the Pinecone of Secrets down towards the rust-red headed elven Carson, who would grin mischievously and use both hands to cup the Pinecone of Secrets gently in his grubby little palms.

“It's my honor my lord!” That handsomely impish, freckle smattered face would light up. Carson's devotion to Justin was enough to make Chris’ tummy turn, though he was one to talk. The elven cosplay kid would scurry towards that gate and vanish.

The next thirty minutes passed. The rabble making their final preparations, managing their gear and plotting out points of interest in the surrounding blocks that they would explore to locate the legendary Pinecone of Secrets. Eventually and just as the sun would begin to crest upwards into the hour of noon, Carson would return, hurrying to Justin's side, who had excused himself to his bedroom for the time Carson was gone.

Whispers exchanged between them, a seemingly sly smile would creep upon Justin's face. Brian, who had been standing beside Goebbels- Though keeping the emo kid at arms length this entire time, would shake his head. Reaching up to scratch his tight blonde afro.

“You know, you're real quiet. I'll be honest, you could probably go home if you're feeling bored. I can tell you no one is gonna win this thing anyway, and you and I aren't even in the running anymore.”

Goebbels head would shift a bit, looking at Brian now, who suddenly felt a small, gentle wave of apathy begin washing over him. Brian found himself looking into Goebbels' darkened eyes. The black smudges around them began to seem like stains around a well hole.

Brian felt like his whole body was being draped in a cool, weighted blanket. A tingling sensation would creep up his inner thighs, before a light tickling scratch would dabble with his hairless ballsack. He'd clench his teeth, breaking eye contact with Goebbels and moving a few feet away.

“... Yo.. what the hell was-”

“Let the tournament BEGIN!”

Justin's voice, cracking in post pubescent fervor, sounded through the open space, abruptly cutting Brian off and sending birds erupting into flight from nearby trees, as the dozens and dozens of lads in attendance would begin piling out of that backyard. Clanging their makeshift weapons together and joining in collective and unharmonious shouting, laughter and joking. That sun had set high, the chill air that had hung around for the better part of the morning had started to fade away as a cool and crisp early Spring warmth blanketed Maple Street and the surrounding neighborhoods of Sunnyside.

It would be an adventurous day for sure. And one that some of these boys would never, ever forget.

                          Chapter III

                     The Broken Arrow

                                And

                   The Parking Lot Blitz

Justin's bedroom, the main room inside that mother in law's quarters, was large. It was mostly well maintained but definitely lived. Huge disheveled bed, expensive console, television and toys and gaming desktop. Posters lining the wall of every mainstream mascot you could imagine. Justin was one of the few kids in all the surrounding neighborhoods with internet access. Justin was one of the few kids in the town of Sunnyside with everything.

And he knew that. Perhaps not on a deeper, subconsciously hyper self aware level. But he knew he had things other people didn't, and he always wanted more.

King Justin waltzed into his large private quarters, adjusting his makeshift cardboard, yellow painted crown. The one with his name scrawled across it.

“Another year, another tournament underway. I bet those assholes are gonna be out there fighting for hours trying to find the Pinecone, hehe.”

A mischievous snicker would push out of the current reigning King of the neighborhoods, followed by a slimy little smile. Carson was bringing up the rear as usual, always just arms length from Justin.

The boy always had a lapdog, for as long as anyone could remember. And in the last couple of years it was Carson.

The rust-red headed currently elven boy would step further inside the room, shifting a bit and doing a wide step. Those olive green nylon leggings weren't getting looser. Scrunching up that freckle smattered face, he'd adjust something.

“I bet they'll be out there beating each other up all day looking, my lord.”

Chris was the last one into the room, forgetting to shut the door behind him, eyes a bit heavy. He was tired. Stayed up too late the night before with Brian and Tim. Talking about all the fun they were gonna have with one of those brand spanking new Prime Minus Blackout gaming consoles. Now Chris doubted he'd get one at all. But he was this deep in and couldn't back out now.

The Dragoon boy with the unkempt brown hair would move to a corner spot of the room, propping his spear against the corner and leaning next to it, arms crossing softly against his lean chest, legs, nearly smooth with invisible peach fuzz sprouting, crossed at the ankle. He felt like shit. He felt like a sellout. The cool breeze coming in from the open private quarters door was a bit chilling.

“Alright, remember the plan, idiots. I'm going to go to my hideout and stay there until sundown. Carson, you will come and report to me at that time and do what?”

Justin said, arms crossing at his own chest, that #1 jersey lifting just a bit.

Archer Carson had been fidgeting with his one rubber elf ear that had been misbehaving all morning, fastening to tape once more. Those bright blue eyes would glisten, as he'd reach down into the front of his painted on leggings. Justin grimaced. The Pinecone of Secrets would “glow” in Carson's hand as he retrieved it from his undies.

“I deliver you this, after getting everyone to claim they could not find it. Hehe.”

“Dude, that better not have touched your ginger weiner.” Justin grumbled.

Carson shook his head. “No my lord of course not! I promise!” It certainly did.

Another breeze poured into the room from the open door.

Chris pushed off the wall, grabbing his pool cue and cardboard spear. Justin turned to him. “And you, Dragoon Chris, will need to scout the paths between here and my top secret super cool exclusive hideout. Make sure no one is growing suspicious and that people are playing their parts. I wanna hear about aaaaaalllll the fights that happen. Bet I can break up lots of friends this year. Like I already did with you and that loser Brian.”

Chris’ heart ached a bit.

“Yeah Justin, I got it. I know what I gotta do dude.. Just.. chill man. Brian is my friend.”

Carson growled like a guard dog.

Justin's face flushed a bit, and he'd grin, baring those dental braced teeth like fangs. He'd approach Chris, getting right in his space, looking down at the younger boy, though the two were nearly the same height. “Listen Chris. You want a shot at a Prime Minus Blackout? You know how rare they are? Hmm?”

Chris would close his eyes a moment, brows furrowing. He could smell the salt and vinegar chips on Justin's breath.

“Of course I do man…”

Justin pressed a bit closer, his chest bumping against Chris' own football padded chest, separated only by the pool cue spear between them. Justin growled, as threateningly as a whelp could.

“Look at the ground when I talk to you..”

Chris felt a heat rising in him, things were getting a little tense. It was different when there were more of them. The heat was getting hotter. The Dragoon shifted his gaze towards the ground between them.

Noticing the toes of their sneakers kissing, and the handled end of that pool cue spear dangling in a position that was between Justin's ankles.. There was a lot of room between King Justin's legs. Chris gripped his spear tighter.

“You do what I say, and you don't talk back. You act up and you're not getting into my birthday party. And you're sure not getting a chance to win a fucking console. Today you're my bitch. Understand?” Justin said, his crowned forehead now pushing against Chris bat winged wrestling headgeared forehead. 

“That's right Chris. Loser.” Carson chimed in, nearly salivating at watching Justin put the heat on someone.

Chris would let his mind run wild for a moment. One hit. He could do it. Staring at that thick pool cue spear handle swaying between Justin's legs like a weight. Hesitation came and settled in his chest and tummy, followed by fear. Fear of losing that console he didn't even have.

“Alright, Justin… I got it.” Brow beaten.

Justin smiled. “Yeah. I bet you do. I bet you'd do anything I asked for that console.”

He'd step back, and Chris would watch his opportunity to deliver that pool cue into a precious and private space melt away, making his own arms and legs a bit jelly like as the rush poured out of his limbs and chest.

“You better be grateful King Justin is giving you this chance! If it were up to me you'd be outta here.” Carson said, brows furrowing and scrunching his handsome, impish, freckle smattered face at Chris.

Justin would turn to face Carson, tossing the ornate and glowing Pinecone of Secrets towards him. The rust-red headed elven boy would catch it.

“Don't put the legendary Pinecone in your junk this time, dude. I don't want your dirty ginger weiner all over my trophy. Now go.”

Carson would catch it and tuck it into a loop of his tunic belt, before turning to begin making his way out- But stopped. Justin and Chris would turn towards the door now as well, as two shadows had filled the frame. And this time the cool breeze that flowed into the room felt heavier, otherworldly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Justin would say, post pubescent cracking belied his toughness.

Goebbels stood there, that black hooded cloak draped over his pale, scrawny frame like a veil of dark mist dancing softly in the breeze. Slouched down a bit, long arms bent as his hands were tucked into his ripped skinny jeans. Black choppy bangs covering half his face would leave his one exposed eye to shift across the room, focusing mostly on Justin. Then Carson, then Chris.

“You can't be in here!” Carson would exclaim, drawing the plastic and beaten up toy bow from his back.

“C'mon New Kid Warlock, I told you not to come in here. Let's go out there with the others.”

Brian would speak, reaching to grab Goebbels shoulders. Goebbels eyes, deep and consuming, would shift to their corners. Brian felt in that moment a gripping sense of foreboding and released the new and macabre mystery boy.

Goebbels then took a few strides into the room, long legs giving him an almost unrealistic stride, seemingly gliding. Those black buckled boots seamlessly drifted in each step. He'd grow closer to Justin, who began backing up a bit.

“Someone get this loser out of here!”

Justin would decree, pointing a finger at the haunting emo boy. Paladin Brian would begin stepping inside the room, sword remaining sheathed but shield lifted, Chris would point his spear at his best friend.

“Really bro?” Brian said, halting then brows lifting at Chris. The Dragoon frowned.

“Just go man… I gotta finish this.”

Carson would then turn, quickly stepping in to put himself between Goebbels and Justin, aiming his bow right at the mysteriously cloaked newly dubbed Warlock. Justin would scuttle back some more, before putting his hands together and wriggling his fingers.

“I summon the Shield of Kings! Wee wee noo noo wah wah wah wah…!” He'd then raise his arms up, acting as if he were showered in something. “Bing! I am now coated in the Shield of Kings. It means NO DAMAGE can be done to me during the length of this battle. Those are the rules! End turn.” He'd add a little flourish by tossing his red rayon cape about, that #1 jersey rising and falling with each movement.

It seemed the game was afoot even here.

Chris stepped back a bit, watching as Brian drew his sword and lifted it with his shield, creating a cross with them.

“Then I summon the holy spirits of my Oathbound. I create a barrier of increased defenses and health regeneration for myself and Warlock New Kid. End turn.” Brian would mutter and make chants, before uncrossing his sword and shield, taking a powerful stance as he looked between the three boys before himself and his suddenly unexpected ally.

Chris would look between them, now holding his spear in both hands, mimicking the visual of him leaping high into the air.

“I leap into the air on the Dragoons wind, making me invulnerable for one turn! On my next turn I'll drop down to deliver critical damage! End turn.”

Chris would take a breath, nostrils flaring a bit. He'd mouth the word “sorry” to Brian, who just shook his head a bit in response. 

Archer Carson would take a wide stance, black sneakered feet parting quite a bit as he dramatically drew back the imaginary strings of his toy bow.

“I use my turn to attack! I added my Critical Plus buff! I reach back into my enchanted quiver to draw tons of magical elven arrows to unleash my strongest move.”

The rust-red headed elven boy would reach back into the little satchel attached to his chest belt, removing what looked to be a large handful of uncooked spaghetti pasta.

“Rain of Arrows!” Carson would shout, handsomely impish face flushing a bit, causing all those freckles to light up. He'd take aim at Goebbels and throw the entire handful of uncooked pasta at the cloaked emo boy. Everyone watched as it rained down upon his scrawny, otherworldly frame. A few stuck in his visible, choppy black bangs, the rest spilled down around him and dropped to the floor unceremoniously.

All was quiet for a moment, as Goebbels stood there, motionless, deep, void like eyes locked onto Carson. Consuming the visual of the little elven ginger archer.

“It does max damage, dummy! You're dead now!” Carson exclaimed. Justin nodded in the background, still shielded by his “barrier”.

“Yeah you're a dead body now, idiot, you're supposed to drop to the floor!”

Brian spoke. “My Oathbound defense buffer must have saved him from a death dealing blow! I have to heal him on my next turn but he still stands with health regeneration!”

Justin growled. “Fine!”

Goebbels stood there. Those dark eyes consuming every square inch of Carson's form. Hands slowly withdrawing from the pockets of those holey skinny jeans. A breeze drifted in from the open door, causing his cloak to billow. Brian would clear his throat, speaking to Goebbels.

“New Kid Warlock, it's your turn..”

A heaviness drifted into the room, and Goebbels, who had been staring intensely at Carson, moved in stride up to the rust-red headed elven boy. Carson, who had been acting quite tough and filled to the brim with bravado this whole time, suddenly felt different. Those bright blue eyes would now be looking into Goebbels deep and almost cavernous dark eyes. He felt in that moment like a chihuahua that had come face to face with a pit bull.

The other boys watching, unable to look away, feeling compelled.

Goebbels opened a palm that was extended towards Carson, lifting his other hand to form a fist that hovered above it. Carson's eyes shifted down towards it, taking in the pale skin, feeling a pulling inwards that started in his belly. He felt.. frozen, eyes unable to look away.

Then, in a series of quick succession, Goebbels' fisted hand began slamming down into his open palm. The sound of skin smacking clicking loudly. Rock, paper, scissors. Rock! Paper! Scissors! ROCK! PAPER! SCISSORS!

His unnaturally long right leg had swung back suddenly, scrawny and wiry like a fishing rod casting its lure. That black, buckled booted foot bent so far the heel nearly touched the back of his head. It flew forward then, cutting through the air like a  scud missile that had locked onto its target before speeding through the distance and racing up between the generous gap in Carson's lean, nylon tight clad leggings.

That heavy air had almost stopped time. All the boy's eyes began to widen as the exact moment registered in their brains as to what was about to happen. Everyone except for Carson.

Breaking through the tension in the air, Goebbels thin, pale lips would rip open and for the first time, breaking the silence, his voice, sharp, pubescent and focused, would ring out in their ears like a siren.

“Rock, paper, NUTS! You LOSE!”

*WHAM!*

A rich, heavy, sickeningly meaty crunch followed the initial impact as the dense, thick toes of Goebbels boots absolutely fucking hammered up and into Carson's hairless ballsack in those tights. The boy's veiny egg shaped testicles were driven against his pelvic bone and flattened there, the meaty layers caved in, before being blasted out to either side of Goebbels boot toes by the sheer force of the impact, popping out on either side and stretching his smooth scrotum paper thin as his young nuts were jammed up into the corners of each of his inner thighs.

The initial pain was sharp, violent, white hot and mind breaking. Carson's small, vein riddled, egg shaped nuts began pulsing intensely with sharp needling pain that soon spread and flooded his hairless sack. The impact was so hard it hiked him to his toes a second as his buttocks jiggled in those leggings. His eyes jolted wide open, pupils dilated, jaw dropped as he seemingly stared straight ahead into Goebbels eyes.

Brian, Chris and Justin's eyes widened in absolute shock and horror.

Carson's small frame jerked immediately into a T Rex pose, that toy boy dropping from his hand and hitting the floor with a clatter. The color drained from his handsomely impish, freckle smattered face. Eyes widened, staring into the depths of Goebbels, as his legs trembled and his mouth hung open in a silent scream as an unbridled and fiery pain flooded his fleshy, developing young balls.

“..a….a…aaaah…”

Eleven year old Carson had never been hit in his balls before. Until now.

Goebbels eyes would seemingly devour the pain that was pouring from Carson's devastated and bewildered expression. The otherworldly emo boy dislodged his boot, and Carson's throat rolled loose a high pitched shriek, his full bulge spilling back out into its once upside down heart shaped lump in his tights, now a warped mess.

The moment Goebbels boot hit the ground, the excruciating pain that had been boiling in Carson's now swelling testicles reached a fever pitch, dropping the boy to his knees, arms swung loosely at his sides.The Pinecone of Secrets loosening from his belt and rolling towards Goebbels.

“... He just kicked Carson in the balls.”

Chris said aloud and in shock.

Carson's eyes were widening further, panic setting in as the most unfamiliar mind and body crippling torment railed him. The rust-red headed boy's rubber elven ear that had been slipping all day finally fell off completely and hit the floor at his side as he gasped, small frame rattling. Chest rising and falling as his breathing sped up with his heart beat. Feeling a swirling and building nausea seeding in his guts, arms dangling like wet noodles, unable to even cup himself.

“Ugh.. UGH.. ah..Ah..Aaaaah!” Folding inwards, forehead hitting the floor, freckle smattered face shaped by terror and pain as tears began streaming down his cheeks and snot bubbles formed in his nostrils, feeling his tender, aching small veiny eggs pulsing and doubling in size in their tight smooth sack. Carson let out a long and pathetically agonizing scream. “...Waaaaaaaaaaaah!!!”

Which devolved into squeamish coughing retching, lips greasing up with snot and spit.

“Carson get the fuck up!” Justin screamed.

Chris and Brian both felt a bit queasy, the latter gagging himself, the sight and sound of seeing Carson get his nuts absolutely fucking wrecked sent their breakfasts turning in their tummies, especially when the kid started retching.The remaining boys dropped the make believe fighting in that moment.

Goebbels would stare down at the ruined red headed boy, as if he were admiring his work. Face blank and emotionless. The booted foot which had mercilessly t boned Carson's shuttle through puberty twitched a bit, toes curling as if satisfying something unseen. The vision of Carson quaking in his old faded elven tunic tights creating the idea of gratification.

“... You're not allowed to do that!” Justin would scream again from a distance, pointing at Goebbels. The sounds of Carson's terrified sobbing filling the room.

“Yeah man you can't just…“

Brian said, watching Carson shaking violently.

“... G-get.. get.. my mom… get my mom.” Carson managed to squeak out in cracking pubescent tones between sobs. Suddenly feeling the nausea pulling back from the pit of his stomach and pushing up through his torso. It felt like a vice grip was squeezing his balls, but it was the swelling meat straining tightly against its membrane. Something, cold, then warm, and wet, tumbled into his chest.

“.. ugh… UGH..”

Brian would put a hand on Goebbels shoulder, trying to pull him back.

“Dude you're gonna get in trouble now.”

Carson would shift, face beet red, sweat and tear stained with one rubber elf ear barely clinging to his head. Lower jaw trembling.

“.. get my mom.. get my m-” His words cut short as a load of digested marshmallow breakfast cereal and milk would fill his mouth, eyes straining, cheeks puffing out, before the bile would blow out past his lips, splattering against Justin's bedroom floor. Carson heaved once, twice, three times, lurching again and spraying puke across the ground before Goebbels a second time.

The rust-red headed elven boy's hands, finally lifting weakly, would slip between his thighs to defensively cup and cradle whatever was left of his budding little manhood. After a pathetic attempt to stand, Carson's legs would buckle and he'd collapse to his side, moaning, groaning and crying.

Goebbels would continue to take the imagery in, before noting the glimmer of the Pinecone of Secrets which lay beside the defeated elven Archer. The emo boy would bend down, extending a long arm to collect the treasure in his hand, eyes scanning it a second as he then looked up towards Justin. Those deep void-like eyes settled on him. He'd also then extend a pale hand to Carson's quivering body, fingers deftly ripping that “Crit +” badge from his tunic, calmly affixing it to his own shirt.

“Hey! Put that down! It's mine!” The King of the neighborhoods would shout, though this time with a bit more trepidation in his tone. Chris would drop his spear and move to Carson's side, hands shifting to settle on the boy's hip and shoulder as he curled into the fetal position sobbing incoherently. The smell of their playmates puke wafting in the air.

“Guuuh..” Carson would garble weakly, pathetically. Chris didn't know what to do, he'd never seen someone get hit in their nuts so badly before.

“We gotta get his mom and dad.”

“Carson, is your mom home? What about your brother?” Brian would ask, brows furrowing, before moving to Carson's side as well. The rust-red headed elven boy would be jerking a bit, body spasming now and again as the amount of pain began to send him into shock, once handsomely impish face was now ghostly pale and drenched in sweat and tears.

He didn't respond, just continued crying as he rolled himself over onto his stomach, his pert tights covered butt sticking up in the air, finger rips visibly poking out from beneath his cheeks as he desperately clung to his agonizingly aching young testicles, cramping so badly he'd be struggling not to soil himself.

The boys would all slowly let their eyes shift towards Goebbels, who held the Pinecone of Secrets in his hand. Examining it almost thoughtfully, before looking up towards Justin. Brian and Chris looked between the two. It had definitely begun to seem like Justin was a point of interest for the mysteriously cloaked emo boy.

“You stay away from me!” Justin would exclaim, reaching over to his nightstand and grabbing a key, shoving it into his thin, fitted blue joggers before he circled the room, keeping distance between Goebbels and himself as he began moving towards the door, yanking his red rayon cape off a cabinet corner it got snagged on.

“Chris, you want a Prime Minus Blackout? You get that Pinecone back from discount Dracula and I'll just give one to you, today! I have them locked away in my hideout!”

Chris, aware of the gravity of how badly wounded Carson was, was not entirely dismissive of this proposal. Handsome, young mature face would shift, brown eyes instinctively looking up to meet Brian's, whom he knew would be looking at him immediately.

“... Bro.”

Brian shook his head. “Dude Carson is hurt. This is over. We gotta get him help.”

Chris then looked to Goebbels, who had begun turning, almost drifting, to face Justin's direction as the King of the neighborhood managed to reach his bedroom door. Both boys attending Carson would then look to Justin.

“Dude, your friend is hurt. Are you just gonna leave??” Brian would furrow his brows at Justin, already knowing the answer. Justin scoffed a bit.

“He needs to walk it off. We can't go crying to adults about our tournament! Besides, he knew the risks of being my royal guard. I'm getting on my royal steed and getting the fuck out of here. My offer still stands, Chris! You know you want it!”

Justin would then grab hold of his crown as he dashed out his bedroom door and into the backyard.

Brian would move to stand, head shaking.

“I'm gonna go get his brother. We can't leave him like this. He might need to go to the hospital. That looked bad.” The Paladin would then shift his gear, tucking that plastic sword back into his belt.

“Why'd you do it, New Kid?”

Goebbels would take one last look at Carson, who was groaning and crying more and more quietly, the shock from the pain had put him in a near catatonic state, before quietly striding towards that door and outside in that lurching, ghostly drift. One hand tucked into the pocket of those holey skinny jeans, the other cradling the Pinecone of Secrets in his palm like a skull, that black cloak flowing behind him like the deathly tendrils in the wake of a reaper.

Chris took a deep breath, reaching for his Dragoon spear. The room was starting to smell more and more of Carson's puke, and it was making him gag a bit internally. He would adjust the bat winged wrestling headgear on his head, then adjusting the football padding on his upper torso.

“You're gonna do it, aren't you? You're gonna go after the New Kid. For that stupid gaming console. Damn, Chris.” Paladin Brian's voice began to grow more frustrated than it had before. “Look at Carson. Justin doesn't give a damn what happened to him. You think he's just gonna give you that shit bro??”

Chris sighed, looking Brian up and down a moment. “Bro.. I.. I feel like I'm in so deep already. And now if I can just get that Pinecone back from the New Kid, he said he'll just give me the console.”

He stood, glancing around Justin's bedroom. It was a treasure trove of all the things his lower middle class family couldn't afford. A reminder of where he came from, where most of them came from. They're family could barely afford to keep Chris in wrestling and football, let alone buy him or Tim an overly priced gaming console. Maybe he should just steal Justin's Prime Minus that was hooked to his television. Wasn't the Blackout, but did that matter?

Chris moved to Brian, the sound of Carson's fading whimpers and raspy sobbing tickling at their ears as a gruesome reminder of what just happened. Chris would look into Brian's eyes.

Something had changed. Something was different between them now. It was in the air. Chris swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Help me?”

Brian would give Chris a disappointed look, shaking his head as he crouched down to try and start helping Archer Carson up. The rust-red headed freckled boy was dead weight with a set of swollen, bruising balls, throbbing, stretching his hairless nutsack in his tights. He'd let the boy lie there longer, grimacing as he stepped over his puke.

“I'll be back, Carson, don't move.”

Dragoon Chris would look down at the wounded boy. He never got along with Carson, but damn, no one deserved that. Chris felt a bit of fear rising in his lean, toned body. Felt a tightness in his own nuts. Free hand drifting to cover them- He was scared to be on the receiving end of Goebbels boot. All for that sweet, sweet Prime Minus Blackout. Inhaling quickly, he'd chase after Brian.

Once outside the two boys, Paladin and Dragoon stood side by side, watching as Justin was wheeling his bicycle with the mounted horse head on the handle bars through the grass quickly, glancing over his shoulder with an anxious expression one didn't normally see the King of the neighborhoods bare, as Goebbels stood not too far from him, watching, hand still clutching the Pinecone of Secrets.

“You remember what I said, Chris! Our deal is still on! You get that Pinecone and bring it to my super secret hideout!” Justin would exclaim, crown slipping down his head a bit as he mounted the seat of his bicycle. Stopping at the gate to adjust it.

“You have my word, Dragoon!”

And in that moment Justin would hunch over those handle bars, curvy rear popping out as he began pumping the pedals of his bike, loose remnants of snow being strewn in his wake as he sped off. Goebbels would watch him slowly fade into the distance as a gentle breeze picked up, passing over the faces of the three boys.

“He's lying Chris. You know that.” Brian would mention, adjusting his tin trash can lid shield. Chris felt his cheeks turning a shade of pink, before looking at Goebbels.

“New Kid! Any chance you might want to trade that Pinecone for anything?” He'd exclaim. “I don't want to have to fight you for it.” Chris was intimidated by the dark and mysterious emo boy- They all were.

But he had skirmishing experience on the football field and the wrestling mat, Carson didn't.

“.... don't do it man.” Brian said.

Goebbels would shift his deep, dark eyes towards Chris a moment, the black smudged paint around them almost seemingly expanded. Though perhaps that was just the perception. His scrawny frame, awkwardly hunched in what could only be described as macabre and peculiar, the black cloak flowing around him like mist, hood covering an already half veiled, pale, expressionless face.

All was silent, save for the sounds of birds chirping about in the early afternoon Spring air and neighborhood dogs barking about. It was a stark contrast to the groups of boys and activities that were happening in Justin's backyard less than an hour earlier.

Chris swallowed a lump in his throat, gripping his spear. And then suddenly in that moment, the emo boy, the New Kid, the Warlock, would turn to face the back gate and begin drifting towards it and out. As if completely unphased by anything that had just transpired. He turned to Brian then.

“... You think I can get that cup back?”

He asked, gesturing to the athletic cup Brian had secured to the crotch of his white gym shorts as part of his armored costume. It was Chris’, after all. Just on loan for the tournament to make for a full armor set.

Brian would exhale, reaching down, wincing a bit as he pushed and pulled on the plastic protective equipment until it loosened, trying carefully to avoid his own private squishy bits. He'd then hand it over to Chris, rich brown eyes scanning his buddy over, disappointed in him but wantonly curious about his impromptu adventure.

“Plan on getting your nuts kicked into your throat?”

“Planning to have that not happen.” Chris would attempt to feign some sense of smug confidence, reaching past the front waistband of those thin blue running shorts of his, brows wriggling like caterpillars as he shifted and adjusted, making sure to pack his boy oysters and everything else in there securely where they needed to be, before shaking his legs a bit.

“Alright.. phew…”

Brian would nod, looking Chris up and down a moment again, casually shrugging then. “I think I might go get Carson's brother instead of his mom. The less questions the better for everyone.” Turning to start heading towards that gate himself. “Good luck man. Like I said last time, I hope everything works out for you.”

Chris watched his best friend go. Feeling less and less vindicated in his actions by the minute. But all he needed to do was get the Pinecone of Secrets from Goebbels, and that Prime Minus Blackout would be his. Or at least that was what he hoped.

Roughly one hour later

The sun had crawled to a high point in that bright blue sky littered with fluffy white clouds. It was well past noon. Maple Street and the surrounding neighborhoods had become filled with splinter groups of boys engaged in the playful and competitive spirit that was the tournament for the Pinecone of Secrets. Everyone wanted it.

They all wanted their shot at becoming King of the neighborhoods for a year, for that invitation to the thirteenth birthday party of the wealthiest boy in town for a chance to win something a majority of their parents couldn't afford.

Adults who were milling about their day would stop to take watch of the lads and their antics. Seeing all the sword fighting, arrow shooting, spell casting. The sound of makeshift toy weaponry and protective gear clashing and banging together. For this one day a year the streets were filled with the homemade coat of arms flags and band banners and the competitive spirit of boys looking to claim a small piece of their tiny worlds for themselves.

Justin's feet were pumping against the pedals of his bicycle, those lean but defined thighs burning a bit, he'd been racing around for quite awhile, dipping in and out of back alleys and looping around some streets a couple of times. Both to lose Goebbels and to avoid making a clear and direct path to his super secret fort, whose location he announced before on many occasions. Not that he was afraid of the mystery, dark and foreboding emo boy.

No. Justin wasn't afraid of anything.

“Huh… Ugh. Eh.”  The nearly thirteen year old King of the neighborhoods would pant a bit breathlessly, lips parted as his tongue wagged out a bit, dental braces gleaming in the sunlight. He'd coasted into a large parking lot that was attached to a strip of shops and offices. Scattered along the parking lot were various clusters of boys in their makeshift costumes.

It was a traditional spot that popped up during the Tournament in the last two years. Where kids looking to take a break from scouring for the Pinecone of Secrets and battling one another could take a break. Makeshift cardboard booths were set up, as trades and purchases were made of gear, snacks and drinks.

Justin would continue to coast through the parking lot, that red cape fluttering behind him, the head of that mounted horse seemingly navigating through the merchants and stationary vehicles.

“It's the King!”

“Justin, hey!”

Justin would shift his gaze about, hand lifting to wave at the other boys a moment.

“Hello loser subjects. Nothing to see here, just on my way to my super secret hideout.”

He would say, but deep down he began to grow frustrated, concerned. His mind wandered back to the New Kid Warlock who had managed to secure the Pinecone. HIS Pinecone. “You better get that damn thing, Dragoon Chris. Not like you're gonna get that Prime Minus Blackout anyway… Hehe.” A mischievous smirk would cross the devilishly handsome boy's face.

He'd finally slowed to a stop at the edge of the parking lot, where a large concrete slab had been turned into a makeshift basketball court by the kids of Maple Street, hopping off that “royal steed” as he guided it behind a large metal green electrical box.

Stopping there to catch his breath, bike dropped, eyes closing as he adjusted the yellow painted cardboard crown on his perfectly cut sandy blonde hair, leaning and sliding to the ground, manspreading obscenely as he sighed. All was quiet for a few moments, until he heard the sound of voices coming from the other side of the court.

“He's so cute, we gotta keep him.” Ten year old Collin said. The younger boy, garbed in his mystical Healer's tunic, the blue bedsheet with cartoon characters on it wrapped around him from shoulders to mid thigh, those scuffed faded blue sneakers grinding the grit on the pavement as he crouched down to extend in his hand a piece of beef jerky towards a fluffy brown puppy that had wandered up.

He'd glance over his shoulder, brown sugar eyes watching his older brothers, awaiting the acknowledgement and agreement, sunlight making his dark caramel skin glow.

“Don'tcha think so guys?” The puppy would yip playfully at Collin, tail whipping excitedly as it took the treat.

Nearby, twelve year old Billy and Bobby, would be casually tossing a weathered basketball between one another, dribbling now and again, making light work of three pointers.

The boys were still in their Gladiator. Small football chest and shoulder pads fastened securely, an array of random belts strapped across their smooth, bare, toned and darker skinned upper bodies. Gym shorts shredded into strips, Billy's red and Bobby's white, creating kilts that stopped above the knees. Bare feet tucked into black slides.

Bobby smirked, shaking his head. “No way lil bro. You already know what mom and dad are gonna say.” His handsome, maturing face catching gentle rays of sunlight, looking at Billy with an eye squint.

“Best two out of three?”

Billy scoffed, waving his twin off with a grin, casually striding towards his brother, tongue swaying out for a moment as comical expression swept his dark, handsome young face.

“Easy bro easy, you wanna bet allowance on it too? I got this buddy.”

Collin would move to stand, eyes closing as he felt the warmth of the sun making him feel nice and toasty, a welcomed change from the cooler morning air earlier. He'd brought nothing to wear besides his jockey undies, that tunic sheet and his sneakers and his big brother's clearly had nothing to offer him. The boy would reach down and grab his healer's staff, using it as a walking stick as he approached his brothers, puppy scampering behind him.

“What should we name him? I kinda wanna call him Jerky because he likes beefy jerky” A hesitant shift to his light and gentle voice. Was that right? His soft brown sugar eyes would cast down to the fluffy brown puppy circling and nipping playfully at his feet.

Billy and Bobby stop playing for a moment, looking towards Collin before the two would laugh lightly, back handing each other in the chest as they shook their head at their little brother.

“Yo I bet if you tell mom what you named him she just might let you keep him.” Bobby would say, palming that weathered basketball, keeping it from Billy who was now actively attempting to snag it back from his twin. 

Collins eyes would light up a bit, biting his lip in excitement at the prospect. He'd reach down again with a free hand to scritch and scratch at the fluffy brown puppy, healer's staff still in his other hand.

“What do you think, Jerky? That sounds like such a cool name. Haha” The dark caramel skinned boy would laugh a bit, smile widening as the puppy would nip and lick playfully at his hand.

Eventually the two older boys would get back to a more casually competitive back and forth on the court, those stripped kilts swaying and opening in the early afternoon breeze that was beginning to pass through. They could feel the crisp air passing through their legs, as all they wore beneath those kilts were briefs- And they didn't mind the draft. Kept them nimble.

The sound of that basketball bouncing against the concrete slab would continue on for just a bit, Gladiators Billy and Bobby trying to outperform one another as Healer Collin played with Jerky, lightly jogging and speed walking around the perimeter of that basketball court as he dragged the balled up aluminum and glitter coated staff head for the puppy to chase after.

“C'mon Jerky! You'll never catch me! Hehe!” The boy would gleefully exclaim.

In the distance the group of boys gathered at the merchants square in the parking lot seemed to begin to become abuzz with excitement. Something must have happened. Someone must have shown up with something cool or interesting.

Collin would watch his brothers slowed their game down to a halt, peering over into the distance now too.

“Yo it's one of those other white kids that Justin's friends with. Think his name's Chris?” Gladiator Bobby would say, lips curling into a judgmental smirk, shaking his head a bit.

In the distance, Chris could be seen in his Dragoon gear, striking up conversation with various other boys. Seeming to imitate a vampire or some other mysteriously dark creature through gestures.

“Pfft. Dumbass stupid ass game anyway. Glad we aren't playing.” Billy said, arms crossing over his chest as he let a long leg stretch out, propping up a bit like a kick stand. “What we shoulda did was just kick Justin's ass and take that Pinecone.”

Gladiator Billy would look at his twin, laughing a bit now, nodding in agreement.

“For real man, I'd love to beat that Justin's ass. Boy he'd be crying real quick, I just know he's gotta be a huge pussy.”

The boy would then begin to imitate Justin's voice, exaggerating the inflection of dental braces.

“You gotta be this caucasian join the tournament. You gotta suck my weiner and kiss my ass because I'm a spoiled brat.”

Bobby was laughing now at his twin, one hand at his stomach as he did so.

Collin watched his older brothers, smiling a bit at the impression and while he thought it was funny, he didn't think it was nice to make fun of other kids. Even if it was the mean sixth grader Justin. Collin would rather collect bugs, color and most importantly, pay more attention to his cute new furry friend more than anything. He'd stop to kneel again, petting the puppy as it began rolling and pawing at the boy's gentle touch.

“Can I tell you a secret, Jerky? I'm glad we didn't get to play in that tournament. My brother's helped me practice but.. I'm scared to fight and stuff. I'd rather watch cartoons, or draw.. yanno. I like that kind of stuff. Maybe you can watch cartoons with me when we get home.” Healer Collin would smile gently, eyes never leaving the pup.

Billy would throw the basketball quickly at Bobby, who would catch it instinctively with a grin. “Yo did we settle up or what? My allowance is feeling a little heavier already.”

“You wish bro you wish!” Billy would exclaim, before looking towards Collin. With his hands gripping the basketball aggressively, he'd call out.

“Collin, come on, we're going home. You're gonna have until we get there to figure out how to convince mom and dad to let you keep Janky.”

Collin would look back at them, giggling a bit at that, knowing his big brothers were always playing around with him and his antics. “ Uh, his name is Jerky and he's gonna be my new best friend! Just watch!”

The younger boy would say, jumping around Jerky while laughing and waving his hands to get the fluffy brown puppy all worked up, yipping and barking as it chased after young Collin while he began running after Billy and Bobby who had started off ahead of him.

“Hey! Wait for us!”

From behind the electrical box nearby, Justin rolled his eyes a minute, listening to the brothers go on and on. The moment the impression of him was featured, his light skinned face grew flushed, lips pursing, eyes narrowing. He'd hop back to his feet, hand smacking and slapping at his butt to knock loose grass away.

Justin could feel his heart catching in his chest as he repeated what Billy and Bobby were saying about him. Thinking now also about how Brian called him an obnoxious prick, and said that he had to use his belongings to get friends because no one really liked him. The nearly thirteen year old would reach up, adjusting that yellow painted cardboard crown with his name scrawled across it. He didn't need friends, especially them. Friends were stupid, he thought. 

“Stupid niggers…” watching the ground, the rush of using the word hit him as it past his lips, almost worried someone would hear he said it despite being mostly alone, fists clenching a bit. He felt anger, perhaps even a twinge of humiliation. Maybe even hurt.

The self proclaimed King of the neighborhoods would watch the three brothers as they began gathering their things and making their way down the street, then look up towards the parking lot after a moment, noticing Chris walking around talking to different boys, showing them a piece of paper.

“Good work, clown.. keep looking for that Pinecone.” He said to himself quietly, reaching over and picking up his “steed” straddling the seat, shifting a bit to get comfortable. That mahogany shaded plastic horse head rattled a bit as it had started to loose between those handle bars.

Suddenly, Justin felt a cold chill. A gentle breeze blew across the parking lot, causing that red rayon cape off his to flutter slowly. He knew that feeling, it was something he'd grown familiar with in the last couple of hours and knew it was time to get on the move quickly, to his hideout.

He'd walk his bike to the corner of that large electrical box, peering after Billy, Bobby and little Collin who had started their trek home. 

Some distance away at the same time

Chris has wandered into the market square (the parking lot), spear in one hand and an aggressively handled piece of notebook paper in the other. That same gentle breeze caused the thin material of his running shorts to ruffle a bit around his smooth thighs and tussle a few loose strands of that unkempt brown hair.

He approached a stall, one boy wrapped in throw blankets with a small orange traffic cone affixed to his head stood behind a lineup of various bottles on a card table. Soda, sports drinks, even water.

“Welcome to The Thirsty Horse. Everything you see here is seventy five cents, which is twenty five cents cheaper than my competitor at The Thirsty Pony.”

Chris would nod. “Uh, greetings, good sir.” He knew the kid from the classroom across from his. Sliding that piece of paper on his table. It was a crudely drawn likeness of Goebbels, but for a kid like Goebbels it didn't need to be perfect to be recognizable.

“I'll take a Fizzy Orange.. Also, have you seen this kid? He's a mysterious and highly dangerous Warlock on the loose.” Chris would then dig loose change and lint out of his pocket, counting seventy five cents out and stacking it before the boy.

The boy would slide Chris his drink, who would uncap it and take a few big pulls from the bottle- Quite thirsty after all. Bat wings on his wrestling headgear bobbing and flapping a bit. Looking down at the sketch, the merchant would shake his head, the bustling sounds of the other boys scattered about the lot fluttered about.

“Nah, can't say I have. Seen a couple Necromancers earlier but.. nothing like that. Why's he so dangerous? Especially to have one of the King's own men looking for him.”

It was no secret that Chris, Carson and Brian “worked” for Justin. But the general population wasn't aware of the fallout from earlier.

“... He dabbles in forbidden arts.”

Chris said, remembering the sight of Carson's bulge being hammered into a misshapen lump by Goebbels thick boot toe, then the sounds which followed. He gagged a bit remembering the puke, biting his tongue.

The kid grimaced. “Hey c'mon dude, the soda isn't that bad. But what do you mean by forbidden arts?”

Chris exhaled a bit, feeling a tightness in his chest from the carbonated beverage, before widening his throat to let a small belch out, smacking those sweet orange drink coated lips a bit. He'd toss the empty bottle into the bin under the table, grabbing that sketch back as he glanced around at the other boys, both merchants and customers alike.

“... He kicked someone in the balls.”

Chris said quietly.

The merchant boy's eyes widened a bit, before he sat back, squirming in his seat. 

“That's… that's illegal. Especially during the Tournament.. You can't just kick another dude in the balls. Why? How?”

Chris shrugged. “It seemed to be a ritual of some kind, he's a Warlock after all. It's like he puts you in a trance or something. He's an unknown New Kid who moved into Lenny's old house on Maple Street.. Extremely mysterious with no known background.”

A cool breeze would pass through the parking lot once again, the sound of lads chattering would muffle a bit. A heavy cloud would pass by overhead, veiling the parking lot in an overcast. The merchant boy Chris had been talking to, would suddenly blink rapidly.

“... Hey.”

Reaching for that piece of notebook paper, taking it from Chris as he cast a wide eye over the crumpled up sketch, then looked back into the distance. Then the sketch again. Chris’ brows would furrow, and he glanced over his shoulder. The merchant boy would clear his throat.

“Is that your guy?”

At the edge of the parking lot, Goebbels had appeared. The cloud which cast a shadow over the parking lot had almost seemingly delivered him. The scrawny, slouched emo boy would be standing there, one both hands tucked into the pockets of his hokey skinny jeans. That loose, large black and white striped shirt shifted about, his hooded cloaked dancing hauntingly, slowly.

“That's him..” Dragoon Chris said, swallowing a lump in his throat. The moment he mentioned it, the merchant boy started collecting his things and began getting ready to shut down The Thirsty Horse. That was probably for the best. He also began motioning for other boys to do the same, though none of them understood what for.

“He's a sack tapper.” The merchant boy said to a few nearby. This got them moving a bit. If there was one thing a majority of boys could agree on, it was that no one liked taking a shot to the nards, playfully or otherwise. 

Chris inhaled through his nostrils, that handsome, young, mature face would show his resolve. Attempting to remain composed on the outside, a gut wrenching trepidation on the inside. Exhaling then, spear in one hand, abandoning that sketch as he approached Goebbels, free hand reaching down to feel the hardened plastic athletic cup he had tucked down the front of his briefs. It was more of a morale booster than anything.

The choppy black bangs which were exposed beneath the hood of his cloak rustled against the breeze. Goebbels would drift a few feet towards Chris, the Pinecone of Secrets dangling off a piece of string attached to his belt loop. Carson's “Crit +” badge dangling almost like a creepy trophy of some sort from his shirt.

“... New Kid. Hear me out. All I want is the Pinecone of Secrets.” Chris said, voice cracking, his reddish lips would tighten as he cleared his throat. “I'm sure there's something you want. We can reach an agreement that doesn't end in battle.”

Goebbels would stare dead ahead at Chris. Those deep, dark, void-like eyes are unmoving. It was almost as if he was swallowing whatever he was seeing. The black smudged paint around them only added to the unspeakably supernatural force of nature that the emo boy appeared to be. As if.. he was not a being who understood reasoning.

Dragoon Chris would grip his spear, holding it at the ready. It may have been a pool cue with cardboard shaped into a spear tip, but it was all he had.

Suddenly he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey! Look! That emo kid has the Pinecone of Secrets!” Shouted a cute young blonde haired boy with reading glasses, among the rabble of the merchant's square.

Chris’ eyes widened and he would look over his shoulder, seeing the kid, he'd recognize him from around the neighborhoods, dressed now as a knight or chevalier of some kind with one shoulder pad, knee pads and a sash with buttons, in a pair of thin grey above the knee gym shorts and a blue tank top with a cartoon character on it, swinging a wooden sword as he dashed behind a row of parked cars, past Chris and towards Goebbels.

“I challenge you to a battle, beholder of the Pinecone. Or is it the holder of the Pinecone?” The boy would look back over his shoulder at the small crowd of lads who had gathered as witnesses, shrugging a bit.

Goebbels had come to a halt, hands still in his pockets. Watching, waiting, expressionless face staring through the boy, past him, past all of them and into the distance. The kid would then turn to face Goebbels once again.

“Anyways.. I challenge you!” The kid would pipe up again, bright young face, cute and exuberant, eyes locked onto the Pinecone at Goebbels hip. Definitely engaged in this fantasy game they were all playing. Chris shook his head.

“Hey, you might wanna step back..”

The boy would roll his eyes. He knew a hater when he heard one. The Pinecone was up for grabs whenever anyone saw someone else with it. And he was challenging the boy who possessed it. The kid cleared his throat.

“I have high speed, which means I move first. Instead of buffing myself, I will choose to attack with Flurry of Swords!”

The boy hopped forward on the toes of his feet, playfully jabbing the tip of his wooden sword into Goebbels chest, belly, then chest again, a few times each.

“Yah! Yah! YAH!” Before leaping back, smooth and lean legs spread wide in a stance in his thin grey gym shorts, and he whipped his sword about, posing.

The boys watching would clap, some nodding, looking between one another. It was quite an effort and the crowd seemed to agree it was an effective attack. The kid would be grinning ear to ear, those bright eyes beaming behind his glasses.

“That did some good damage to you! I'm surprised you're still standing. Don't worry, I'll finish you off on my next turn.”

“... dude move.” Chris said again, taking a step back. The other boy in his class, the merchant from the Thirsty Horse, had already packed his belongings in a red wagon and had pulled it away, but was still watching. In equal parts fear and curiosity.

The kid would huff, looking towards Chris.

“Hey, if you want a chance to get the Pinecone you can fight me after I take it from this kid, alright?”

Goebbels had looked down at his own torso. At the spots the boy had jabbed at. Unblinking, unwavering. He'd then look up again, at the boy, before taking two steps forward, pulling his hands from his pockets to begin slamming them together. Rock, paper, scissors. The kid with the glasses barely had time to look at what was happening, eyes fixed on the hand motions. The reflection of them in his lenses.

Rock, paper, scissors.

For now only the second time Chris would hear the emo boy, those thin, pale lips would part. Goebbels voice, cold, pubescent, aggressively unwavering, would pierce the air.

“Rock, paper, NUTS! You LOSE!”

The blonde kid in glasses never saw it coming.

All the boys watching, Chris included, would gasp sharply. Horror in their eyes as the emo boy's boot would violently blitzkrieg right up and into the wooden sword wielding kids' most private and tender space, the crotch of his gym shorts collapsing inward upon impact, a disgustingly wet and sloppy *CRUNCH* followed. The next sound was that wooden sword clattering to the pavement.

The once fearless challenger's hairless nutsack blasted against his pelvic bone, veiny boy oysters pancaked mercilessly as a gut wrenching pain erupted in them.

“UGH! .. ugh… guh..”

The boy's eyes went wide open, then slowly crossed towards one another behind those glasses as his lips quivered struggling to even groan, a shocked and pained expression upon his young face and as Goebbels dislodged his boot, the kid would collapse to the asphalt, gasping for air as he began trembling and crying, inconsolable. His young, maturing testicles awash in an disgustingly oversaturation of agonizing pain. He'd puke within seconds.

All those kids were quiet now, gobsmacked expressions, before a voice from the peanut gallery said.

“... He just kicked him in the nards.”

Chris, reliving the episode with Carson all over again, would swallow back a dry heave, feeling his stomach turn at the sight. Multiple boys would hold their crotches, some their tummies and some both.

“ I tried to warn you..” Chris said, the blonde kid would continue blowing chunks against the pavement as he sobbed incoherently.

The emo boy would stand over the folded boy, watching him- Chris would notice something. Through all the times Goebbels seemed expressionless, emotionless, there was something behind his eyes in the moments he watched another boy on the ground in testicular agony. He wouldn't have described it as joy or pleasure.. It was something different. Something.. 

Goebbels would then shift his booted feet, striding forward a bit and standing beside the huddled, shaking, sweating and crying blonde boy. The group of onlookers staggered backwards, a few stumbling over one another. Some with wide eyes, some in shocked confusion. Another cry from the peanut gallery rang out.

“Look out! He'll kick you in the balls!”

And just like that, all the boys in their costumes would begin scrambling and running, their makeshift weapons and knick knacks trailing behind them or being abandoned all together. The vendors in Merchants Square had long since started collapsing their booths and dragging what they could carry.

Goebbels stood there in silence, the darkened cloud that had settled over the parking lot seemed to have begun moving on, a glow of sunlight being cast over it. The Pinecone of Secrets glinted and gleamed in the rays.

Chris was still standing there, watching the emo boy. Unsure of what to do. Even with a cup, he didn't feel entirely secure in himself. He needed the Pinecone of Secrets, though. He needed that Prime Minus Blackout.

“Listen New Kid, I know we don't really know each other, but I need that. If I get it and deliver it to the King.. I mean, Justin, then I can get something I've wanted for like forever. And maybe me and you can even be friends! You don't want to be the King of the neighborhoods. It's dumb anyway.” Chris said with a tinge of desperation to his voice. It was right there. The Pinecone of Secrets. The thing Justin promised a Prime Minus Blackout in exchange for.

Chris was beginning to hear Tim and Brian's voices in his head. About how dumb he was for doing this, for being willing to bend over backwards for something like this. For a gaming console. Did he really need the validation of some material object? He had a friend he'd let down. He had a little brother he let down.

Goebbels was staring straight ahead at Chris, those hands lifting to begin clicking and clapping together slowly. It was almost as if it really did have some supernatural, hypnotic effect. Chris would grip his spear, taking a deep breath, trying not to watch the emo boy's hands, but somehow almost finding himself transfixed on them. The motions. Almost a blur.

Rock, paper, scissors. Rock, paper, scissors.

Just then, a familiar voice called out to him.

“Chris! Over here!” It was Brian. The other boy's voice would harken from behind a vending machine outside of a liquor store in the parking lot. Chris blinked, almost as if coming out of a trance, finding himself face to face with Goebbels and seeing the emo boy's cloak fluttering as his now infamous right booted foot had been drawn back. Its destination was Chris’ boy oysters.

The Dragoon Chris would jump back, and he just so narrowly missed getting his nuts punted up into his stomach that Goebbels foot blew past his face with enough speed to actually cause Chris’ unkempt bangs to flutter upwards with a powerful gust of wind. It made Chris’ heart drop into his stomach, that kick wasn't sinister, or antagonistic, or thoughtful. It just felt as if it were a pure and unbridled force of nature. 

Like lightning, or a tsunami. Its only purpose was destruction. Goebbels was the Herald of testicular ruin and that booted foot was the elemental force of nature that carved his path. Chris' heart was racing, and as he looked towards Brian, the other boy called out again.

“Watch out!”

It was too late. Goebbels had shifted, his movements a bizarre and otherworldly combination of speed and fluidity veiled in shadows that existed around him. His right  foot had planted back to the ground, just as his left booted foot snapped out and sliced upwards, like a jack knife, hammering squarely up and in-between young Chris’ long, lean legs, collecting his thin blue running shorts along the way and slamming against his athletic cup with a muffled and dense yet hearty.

*THOCK!*

Chris never saw it coming, but absolutely felt it. The eleven year old Dragoon warrior's eyes widened, jaw dropping, bewildered expression painted his face as a guttural grunt that belied his age pushed out of his throat, a sudden and thick pain flooded his balls.

“Ugh!”

The cup's dense plastic absorbed the direct impact, distributing the blow in a shock wave that blasted through the confines of the athletic supporter, rocking his nutsack violently. A deep, throbbing aching had sunk into the layers of his nard meat after that sudden and sharp pain peaked. Chris staggered backwards, tripping over the wooden sword of the blonde boy with glasses who had nearly passed out in his own puke.

His plump rear broke his fall, red sneakers going up in the air, and between his widespread knobby knees he could see Goebbels having turned to face him again. The pain which was pulsing in his tender, small eggs was nearly crippling. Chris reached down to lay a hand over his cup covered testicles, head tipping back a bit as his brows furrowed, eyes shutting tightly as he let out a pained groan. 

Chris had taken a hit to his cup before during a knee at a football game. This was much worse.

“Oooh.. uh, shit my nuts.. ugh.”

The collection of kids who had once filled the merchants square were now all mostly gone, their feet carrying them far from who they would begin to call the “ball breaker” in hushed whispers.

Brian rushed over from the vending machine, grabbing Chris’ small football shoulder pads and lifting him, dragging him to his feet as they both ducked past the vending machine and behind the store. Chris was somewhat struggling to stand, causing the two to trip and stumble, Chris landing atop Brian, both boys out of Goebbels' sight.

Goebbels stood there, watching for a moment, looking down at his boots, before turning his gaze in the direction of the parking lot that led to the basketball court way down at the far end. Hands tucked into his pockets, that unassuming slouch taken up again, long scrawny legs carrying him forward once more as he stepped over the blonde glasses-wearing boy beneath him who was still silently sobbing.

“Dude.. ugh.. thank you so much.” Chris panted, groaning with a pained expression, laying atop Brian with his balls aching terribly. Brian, who was grumbling now, would wriggle and squirm to push Chris off of him.

“You're welcome now, get off me bro.” Paladin Brian would climb to his feet, letting his friend Chris get to his knees, head hanging as he coughed a bit, spitting. Dusting off his thin white gym shorts and purple jersey under his cardboard armor. Adjusting his aluminum circlet.

“You're lucky, man. He almost got you. I can't believe you're still going through with this.. Especially after that. Bet you're glad you had that cup.”

Chris would stick his tongue out a bit in a hearty exhale, balls aching badly. Climbing to his own feet slowly watching Brian dart out to grab Chris’ spear, tossing it beside his own sword and shield upon his return.

“I know dude, I know. I'm dumb, ugh,” a wince, teeth gritting. “You hate me. Tim hates me. But I.. I need this man. And all I gotta do is get the Pinecone of Secrets and Justin is just gonna give me a Prime Minus Blackout… I don't even have to hope to win a raffle on his birthday.. Bleh..”

Brian stood there, watching Chris as he leaned back against a brick wall, tucking a hand down the front of his shorts, feeling his hairless balls, rolling them gently between his fingers, wincing. They still felt like he remembered. Whole. The same couldn't be said for the boys who had taken a cupless kick.

A look swept across Brian's handsome young face that was one of disappointment. Loss even. He shrugged, head shaking.

“Chris… it's not worth it. And I don't hate you, dude. You're my best.. we're still friends.. I just think this is, yanno, pathetic. You're pathetic right now bro. You don't think so? Especially after this?”

Chris felt a tug in his heart, hearing Brian calling him that. By now Chris wondered if it was all even worth it. Did he still truly want that console or had he been so focused on getting one that he was unable to abandon this cultivated personality of pursuing one? The deep aching in his testicles was ebbing away slowly.

“I just want what kids like Justin have.. for once, yanno. Ugh.” He'd inhale deeply, brows furrowing as another wave of aches rose up, thrumming his balls, turning his tummy a bit, before fading again.

“Tim wears all my old clothes. My mom and dad barely keep me in sports and I feel bad, man.. I just want to feel like we have something nice. Expensive. For once.”

Brian would watch his friend, knowing the feeling. Justin had moved to the neighborhood four or so years ago. Everyone was working class until he came along with his shiny baubles and all the toys most kids were lucky to get one of. He was the kid they'd all only ever seen in movies and comics. The kid with wealth.

“We can go swimming at the lake. We can go fishing. We can play baseball, we can do all the stuff we've always done, bro. We don't need a Prime Minus Blackout.”

Brian said, putting a hand on Chris' shoulder.

The other boy would look up, their eyes meeting. Chris remembered meeting Brian their first day of kindergarten. They fought over a red crayon. Then they became friends by the end of the day. The ache in his nuts had finally started subsiding. His eyes lowered.

“I gotta see this through to the end, Brian.”

“I had a feeling you would say that. Well, good luck man. I've been following the New Kid, after waiting for Carson's big brother to get him. He's dropped like five guys on the way here. I even watched him drop one of the high schoolers who was helping his brother fix his costume. He's a crazy dude.” Said in seriousness, followed by a hesitant and hushed laugh.

”And I think he's following Justin.”

He knew Chris was hard headed and wouldn't stop, not until he either got what he wanted or got what he didn't want. Again.

Chris would step back from Brian then, his resolve cemented again, but with great fear in his heart. Fear for his nuts. Glancing around the little back alleys, before peering out to make sure the coast was clear. He'd need to sneak attack Goebbels.

“Yeah, I need a plan. I don't know how I'm gonna stop this New Kid. I don't even need to stop him, I just need the Pinecone. And I do not want to get kicked in the nuts again.”

Brian gathered his things, before looking thoughtfully upwards.

“Well.. I think maybe there's one thing.”

Chris would blink, stepping over some trash bags filled with empty liquor bottles. He knew what they were, they smelled like his dad. “What's that?”

“Well, the whole time I was trailing the New Kid, he wasn't attacking any little kids.” Brian said, gesturing with his hands as if waiting for a lightbulb above Chris.

“What does that even mean?” Chris asked, confused by the admission, stretching his legs out to jiggle his sore hairless balls in their cup with a little wince.

“Well, I don't know if it was because they weren't part of the tournament or what, but I noticed he was ignoring the younger boys.” Brian shrugged. “Maybe Tim could help you? I mean, if the New Kid is following Justin, Maple Park is on the way to where Justin's hideout is… so..”

Chris looked like a light bulb went off above his head. There it was. “You think I could get the Playground Pirates to help?? Maybe they could distract the New Kid while I take the chance to grab the Pinecone. And no way he'd hurt a little kid. No one does that.”

Brian would follow Chris out into the abandoned merchants square.

“Worth a try, man.”

Chris would stand there, another gentle afternoon Spring breeze passing by them.

“... You wanna come with me?”

“I'm not helping you with this.” Brian said matter of factly. “I hate Justin and I think this whole thing stinks, man. I wish you had never gotten us pulled into this..”

Brian couldn't stand Justin, but he did for Chris. 

Chris smiled a bit, looking his friend up and down for a moment. Even if things were a little awkward, it felt good to have Brian nearby again.

“You don't gotta help, bro.. I just feel better when you're with me. Support me from the sidelines, like when you come to my games.” Chris would pretend to be throwing a football down a field with a cheesy grin.

Brian smirked. “I'll follow. But don't be gay about it, Chris.” Chris would laugh a bit. For a moment things felt a little normal once again. The confusion of this whole scenario with Goebbels and the tournament had blurred a lot of things in just a few hours.

Brian inhaled, looking down at his slides, sock covered feet tucked into them, before looking back up to Chris, biting his lip before shrugging.

“... I dunno man. Just curious about the New Kid. Where he's from, why he's doing this. That's why I started following him after we left Justin's… and honestly, if he is following Justin, I.. I..."

Shifting to put some weight on his spear, Chris would watch Brian. The Paladin would look down, frown creeping across his face as he let a guilt riddled admission surface.

“I want him to see him catch Justin. I want to see it happen.. yanno. I want to see the New Kid get him, like he's gotten the others in the..”

Chris would tilt his head, watching Brian grow a little unnerved. “... I don't like Justin either man, but the New Kid isn't like a weapon to use, it isn't right to-”

Brian would cross his arms, cutting Chris off mid sentence. “No Chris, I want to see it. I want to see Justin get it bad, right in his balls, man.” The toasted coconut skinned lad said pointedly, certainty in his eyes, guilt and shame sweeping his handsome face, head bowing a bit.

Chris knew he meant it. That was dark, especially for Brian. And while he understood how much Brian didn't like Justin, he thought no one deserved what was happening to the boys of the neighborhood. Not even Justin. It seemed a little out of character for his normally tempered and level headed friend, but these were interesting times. He looked Brian up and down, taking in his visuals. His short blonde afro, his face. He always thought he looked so cool. So different from other boys in the neighborhood.

“Looks like we both want something different. But let's do this together, man. We make a deal. You don't stop me and I won't stop you. I won't get in the way of what you want to… happen. Besides, if Justin makes it to his hideout he's just gonna lock himself in there with his dumb traps until this is all over.”

Chris said in a serious tone, opening his hand and spitting in his palm, extending it to Brian, who then spit in his own hand, before shaking his friend's.

“Yeah, I know… But I've got something up my sleeve if that happens, Chris.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Brian cleared his throat, smiling weakly, before walking out across the lot and past the blonde kid with glasses who was barely starting to struggle to get to his knees, groaning and sobbing. Chris followed, grimacing at the thought of what was apparently a nutpocalypse epidemic. There was a shortcut to Maple Park through a small woodsy patch that they would take, one that would save them time and help them avoid Goebbels.

                         Chapter IV

                      Doom Brothers

                              And

                   Splintered Planks

Justin was pedaling through the neighborhood on his way to his hideout. Faster, faster, faster. The nearly thirteen year old self proclaimed King of the neighborhoods could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up just above his red cape. One hand gripping a handle bar on his bike, the other holding his yellow painted cardboard crown atop his perfectly cut sandy blonde hair, mounted plastic horse head seemingly navigating him. The occasional glance back over his shoulder was given.

He was still there. Goebbels. That black cloak billowing behind him almost in slow motion, hands tucked into his ripped and holey skinny jeans, slouched, head hanging low as those choppy black bangs veiled half his face. Justin couldn't see both eyes at this moment, but he could feel them.

“Where the fuck is Chris?!” Justin complained as he panted, feeling a burn in his thighs, wondering why Goebbels still had the Pinecone and why he hadn't been stopped yet. All of his yes men were nowhere to be found. Justin would make a sharp turn, veering into an alleyway with a screech of his bicycle tires.

He needed an escape, or a distraction. He needed to buy enough time to get to his hideout behind Well Right Pharmacy. Justin was sure he could take Goebbels, no problem. In fact he knew he could beat the emo kid in a fight. He just didn't want to.

Then, just up ahead, as if delivered to him by fate, Justin saw them. Billy, Bobby and little Collin, being trailed by a fluffy brown puppy. He could see the trio laughing and playing amongst one another as they trotted along.

Justin's devilishly charming copper green eyes would light up, handsome young face twisting up in a devious smile. He may as well have had horns sprouting up from under his makeshift crown. He had an idea. A nasty, naughty little idea. Looking back over his shoulder, he waited a moment, a stiff breeze had entered the alley, carrying loose bits of debris along with it.

Goebbels would slowly enter the alley between rows of recycling bins, those ominously long strides carrying the boy in such a way that one could almost never tell if he were gliding or walking. Justin clenched his dental braced teeth, letting the dark and shadowy emo boy grow closer, closer.. Justin could feel the goosebumps rising in waves across his light skin, even on his mostly smooth, three little blonde hair sprinkled scrotum, causing his plump maturing balls to raise a bit.

“You can't catch me, turd. Besides, I got three guards up ahead who are ready to kick your ass if you even try.” The petulant boy would lie, then stick his tongue out at Goebbels, lifting a hand to flip him off, before lurching over his “steed” again and racing off ahead down the alley after the brothers. 

“I'll make you a nice soft bed next to mine, Jerky. Billy and Bobby share a room so now we can too!” Ten year old Collin said, speaking to the fluffy brown puppy circling his feet as he walked. Occasionally nearly tripping him up accidentally which would get a little laugh from the boy.

“I think he just wants more beef jerky, Collin.” Twelve year old Bobby said with a smirk, Billy shook his head wondering how this was going to go over with their parents.

“Sorry Jerky, I ate all the jerky up. I was hungry.” Collin said with a frown, those brown sugar doe like eyes saddened a bit.

“But don't worry, we'll find you something to eat at home. Then we can watch cartoons together and hangout.”

The kid would stop a moment, crouching down to pick the puppy up and hold him close to his chest. His older brothers were rolling their eyes at the over-saturated cuteness of the moment, when a flowing red cape would whizz past them, coming to a stop a good fifteen feet ahead.

It was Justin. Billy and Bobby's faces immediately painted with disgust. The brothers would stop in their tracks, Bobby putting an arm out to cover Collin.

“What the hell do you want, stupid cracker?”

Justin, thinking back to all the (well deserved) things he has heard the two older brothers saying about him, would smile. Those devilishly handsome eyes almost flashing as he cleared his throat.

“I'll take that one. Listen guys, I-”

Billy shook his head, deciding to take a few steps towards the most obnoxious boy in the neighborhood, lifting a hand to point at him as he spoke.

“Yo man, you're an asshole. We ain't got shit to say to you. You're a racist piece of shit and we're tired of seeing you running around acting like you can just do whatever you want and say whatever you want.”

Bobby would move away from Collin then, joining his twin, standing by his side with toned arms crossing his bare but belted upper torso. “You're lucky we didn't bust your shit back at your house in front of your friends, little faggot. You wanna get off that bike and fight or what?”

The brothers were angry and rightfully so. Justin deserved no quarter for his actions, particularly to people of color who he had quite regularly been discriminatory to.

Justin would just smile, mounted on his “steed”, letting the barrage of insults come his way. He cleared his throat then, hands gripping his handle bars as he shifted his butt on his bicycle seat.

“I deserve that, guys. I truly do. Listen.”

The normally petulant and abhorrent Justin have adopted a tone and posturing that belied his true intentions. Seeing well what was coming down the hall far, far behind the brothers.

“I'm sorry, okay? For everything. Sometimes I just don't learn a lesson the easy way, and what I did to you guys was wrong. I know it in my heart. But I'm working on myself, changing my ways.”

Justin opened his mouth, inhaling a bit of air to remove some trapped saliva in his dental braces. It sounded almost like a snake hissing, which was ironically appropriate.

“What's he saying..?” Collin would ask, flinching now and again, a worried look, hugging Jerky close to his chest, who wriggled about and continuously licked at the young boy's face.

Bobby smirked, smacking Billy's shoulder before looking back towards Collin.

“He ain't saying shit.”

Billy shook his head. “Yeah you ain't saying shit, white bastard. You gonna get off that bike or are we gonna come get you off it?”

The situation was growing dire. The breeze that had been drifting down the alley, carrying with it stray debris, began to pick up a bit more. Justin's smile remained.

“Listen guys. All I can do is try to repent. Oh, by the way, if you happen to see a vampire looking kid in a cloak carrying the Pinecone of Secrets, can you tell him to be careful? He's half blind, really frail and weak and my best, best friend in the world. I don't know what I would do if something were to happen to him and the Pinecone.”

Justin said, that feigned smile growing wider. His crown shifted a bit as he adjusted on the bicycle seat.

“He's an reeeeaaalllly easy target.”

Said a nearly completely convincing tone.

The brothers looked between one another, almost as if a plan or idea were formulating. Then, as the twins turned back to Justin to advance on him and pull him off his “steed”, he had already shifted, plastic horse head spearing down the alley and off into the distance. Justin's feet were pedaling once more, knowing full well what sort of danger was coming down that alley.

“Good luck, you fucking idiots.” The nearly thirteen year old self proclaimed King of the neighborhoods would say to himself with a vile smirk as he vanished from their line of sight, that red rayon cape flowing behind him, wind rushing over his yellow painted cardboard crown. He'd created the scene, it was time to flee it, even if he needed to circle back to snatch up the Pinecone of Secrets from the wreckage.

Billy stood there, reaching up to run a hand over dark, kinky flattop sculpted hair, sharing a knowing glance with his twin. Bobby would nod, smiling slyly.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Boy you already know, we're about to go get us a Pinecone. Imagine the look on Justin's face when we show up to his little hideout with that Pinecone of Secrets.”

Billy would reach out, slapping an open palm against Bobby's before they shook on it.

Collin would hug Jerky tightly, those brown sugar eyes watching with concern.

“... I-I thought we weren't playing that anymore? I thought we were just gonna go home? B-besides, I gotta get Jerky home.”

His two older twin brothers would look between one another, then Collin. He was always so worried. Billy would reach over and give Collin a reassuring pat on the head, that fluffy brown puppy squirming to lap at the new hand approaching.

“You're part of the team lil bro. If we have to play the fighting game with whoever this kid is we need our Healer. C'mon Collin, you don't gotta be scared bro for real.”

Bobby nodded, also approaching Collin now and resting a hand on his little brother's shoulder.

“You got nothing to worry about. We're doing all the fighting, you just gotta keep us healed. That's the strategy, remember? Billy and I use our Gladiator might and you heal us from the back. No one is gonna attack the Healer, trust us.”

He'd smile, a promising assurance in his brown eyes and older brother tone.

Collin sighed a bit, feeling an anxiousness seeding in his feet and snaking up to his stomach. He'd force a smile, looking up and nodding at his big brother's. Though his stutter, which surfaced when he was nervous, belied his feigned trust.

“A-alright. I'm.. I'll.. I got this.”

The older twin boys would clench their fists, nodding to Collin.

“Alright, now all we gotta do is go find this friend of Justin's. Three against one should be cake man.” Bobby said, adjusting the shredded gym shorts kilt he wore, bending his toned legs in a bit of a squat to let some air pass between his thighs.

Collin gulped a bit, setting Jerky down now as he adjusted the cartoon mascot covered sheet which served as his little tunic robe, the puppy would circle the boy's slide inserted feet, nipping and licking at his toes, causing Collin to squirm a bit.

“It's not three against one if I'm not fighting, right? I'm j-just the Healer. I just use my healing magic from the back, r- right?”

“We saw all the kids at Justin's. There wasn't anyone really dressed like a vampire… besides.. wait. There was that one white kid hanging out with Brian who looked all emo and shit. Do you think that's who it is?” Billy asked, before Bobby nodded a bit. That breeze drifted through the alley again, colder somehow, heavier.

It would cause the shredded tassels of the twins kilts to flutter and dance in the wind as they talked, getting more aggressive in tone and deciding where to look. Collin felt a heaviness surrounding him, then. Like a weighted blanket. His brown sugar, doe like eyes would widen a bit, goosebumps trickling across his neck. Having picked up his Healer's staff and clutching it against himself, he'd slowly turn around, looking behind them.

There, standing no more than ten feet away, was Goebbels. That dark cloak danced slowly, hauntingly in the chilled breeze. His pale face, half veiled in choppy black bangs, was expressionless. Deep dark eyes swallowed the visuals of the three melanated brothers. Right booted foot dragged back and forth across the gravely road of the alley, crunching pebbles beneath it. A slow, heavy exhaling came from his nostrils.

Collin swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling smothered suddenly. Jerky would whimper softly, the furry brown puppy moved to cower behind the ten year old. His eyes widened a bit, heart crawling into his throat. Feeling the void like eyes of the cloaked and hooded emo boy sweeping them all.

“.... G-guys…. Hey.. B-Billy.. Bobby.”

“What??” The twins would say in sync, eyes widening as they looked to their little brother, also seeing the ominous emo boy standing there before all of them, that Pinecone of Secrets hanging from his belt loop. Dangling, catching the reflection of the sunlight and glimmering, a bauble that dangled in stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded Goebbels.

“Heeeey…” Bobby would smirk, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck. He'd elbow Billy, who returned the confident and smug smirk. Weak and frail vampire kid? The character before them checked all the boxes as described by Justin. 

“Aw man, too easy brotha, too easy.” Billy nodded fervently, before rubbing his hands together. The level of underestimation the two twelve year olds were exhibiting bordered on show boating. Billy and Bobby ran track and played football regularly both for school and for fun. They were athletes. Peak for sports lads in their age bracket and even older at times.

All they saw standing in between them and getting back at Justin for everything was a scrawny, sickly looking kid with pale skin and long, awkward arms and legs slouching, standing there almost like a ghostly humanoid construct, black hooded cloak lazily swaying behind him.

Collin, who typically picked up on minor details as a quiet and observant lad, would notice the exact same cardboard star badge that said “Crit +” on it, remembering seeing it before on the rust-red headed elven boy back at Justin's.

“... H-how did he get that?”

“We challenge you, New Kid!” Bobby would say, rolling his shoulders again and clenching his fists on and off, moving to take a stance that was closer to Goebbels. He'd point to the treasure which hung from Goebbels' belt loop.

“That stupid Pinecone of Secrets is ours, zombie boy.” Stopping then, he'd look at his brother's. “Is he a zombie or vampire or what is he? Yo, what are you?” Asking then as he fixed his brown eyes back on Goebbels, dark brows furrowing, bare upper torso covered in belts flexing a bit.

Silence. Goebbels only took a single step forward, hands which had been bolstered into his pockets would be removed to drape at his sides, choppy black bangs shifted on an incoming breeze, dark boots grinding against the pavement.

“Hey, he's talking to you bro.” Billy balked a bit. The twins were exercising heavier aggression than normally would be called for from them, but the ghostly emo boy before them had what they wanted.

Collin would look between his brother's nervously and as Billy stepped forward to join his twin in standing intimidatingly in front of Goebbels, young Collin would shift towards the back, hands shaking as he gripped his healer's staff.

“Collin, come on lil bro. You're safe, you're only support. They ain't allowed to hit you” Bobby called behind to their little brother, before both twins simultaneously said.

“You got this, Collin!”

“I can d-do this.. I can do this.” Little palms becoming a bit sweaty, Jerky the puppy moving with him, yipping now, tail whipping about, as if cheering Collin on as well.

The caramel brown skinned youth would inhale deeply, an attempted brave face would surface across his innocent young visage. He'd turn to face Goebbels as well, standing safe and a good distance just behind his big brother's. Shifting, smooth dark skinny legs spreading wide as he took his stance, holding his staff up.

“I got this. I can do this.” He'd raise a free hand, palm against the staff as he chanted, closing those brown sugar eyes.

“I summon the healing winds of the desert.”

Goebbels stared dead ahead, unflinching, unwavering.

“Alright whatever you are. We know the dumb rules of the tournament combat. Turn based. We instigated the match and you didn't try to counter right away.” Billy said, lifting a fist as he flexed energetically, planting his bare feet in those black slides against the pavement.

Bobby would follow up Billy's motions, rolling his shoulder a bit before crossing both arms against his nearly bare chest, those various belts expanding as he puffed his chest out a bit. “So that means we get our turns first. Our Healer is a wise nomad from our class's desert homeland and will chant a spell that will slowly restore our health each round.”

The twins would nod to each other, then look at Collin, standing there in his cartoon mascot sheet turned tiny tunic, holding his healer's staff up high with his free palm against it still.

“Keep us healed up lil bro! We got this!”

Bobby shouted, before seeing Billy take a step forward and flex.

“I'm using my turn to activate my Gladiator skill Intimidate! You lose a little defense this round. Hah!” He'd shift, his stripped gym shorts kilt fanning a bit to expose a flash of briefs and a snug, plump bulge that accentuated a set of kinky pube dusted bigger boy balls.

Bobby then followed suit, taking a step forward and flexing as well, smooth dark skin layered over budding muscle. Though he'd make a horribly mean face towards Goebbels, the confident and cocky twelve year old bouncing energetically.

“I'm using my skill Rage Bait! If you look like a dead body now just wait until we're done with you!” The boy would smirk, stomping his feet as his own shredded gym shorts kilt fluttered, a flash of his own brief hugged bulge, bigger boy balls visibly outlined. “Now you've been hit with the angry status effect and you can only focus on me! Hah!”

Collins lips continued murmuring his incantation, cute brown sugar eyes opening a sliver. He was doing his best to keep up his brave new resolve, his puppy friend Jerky wagging his tail enthusiastically, cheering Collin on with yips of encouragement.

“... The desert winds restored you! Shing!”

He'd wave the staff a bit, imagining a sheet of restorative winds keeping his big brother's HP bars filled.

“Your turn, New Kid. Remember you can only attack Bobby right now.” Billy said, narrowed eyes gleaming, motioning to his twin. “And Collin is supporting so he's not involved in fighting. Show us what you got. We can take it.”

Bobby lifted his hands, licking his lips, swaying a bit in a wide stance, beckoning Goebbels forward with a shit eating grin, his handsome, maturing young face brimming with confident determination.

“C'mon spooky boy, show us what you got.”

There was a calm silence, the emo boy had gone from looking through the brothers before him to shifting his ominous gaze to Bobby, seeing the dark skinned athletic boy egging him on, his twin beside him gloating and ushering Goebbels on as well. Then, the pale skinned, slouching postured boy would move his sights to Collin, standing there with his staff held up high, chanting, in a wide stance in that tunic that went to his mid thigh, brown furry puppy yipping and yapping behind him.

Bobby, growing impatient, would sneer, lips curling as he growled a bit at the emo boy.

“You gonna do something or what??”

The shadows below Goebbels would shape and form as he began taking his languid strides forward, as if he were drifting above the pavement. Long legs carried him past the two older twins and closer, closer, closer still, towards Collin, cloak billowing, standing over the boy within seconds, casting a shadow over his petite frame. As slowly as the emo boy moved, he seemed to vanish and reappear at times.

Collins doe like eyes would go from barely open slits to slowly widening, feeling as if he were suddenly shrinking before the ghastly pale boy before him, legs beginning to feel a bit rubbery as he felt his heart sinking into his butthole.

“.. h-healing desert w-winds, I s-summon..”

“Yo you're supposed to fight me dumbass!”

Bobby shouted, brows furrowing, watching Goebbels almost hovering before Collin now, the sound of puppy Jerky beginning to bark and growl added to a layering tension.

Billy suddenly saw something very foreboding and threatening towering before Collin, it was a feeling manifesting itself into a person. Or a thing. Both twins felt a sudden and grievous sense of danger. They'd simultaneously shout out.

“Collin!”

“I-I.. summon t-he…. I.. I…” His brown sugar eyes widened further, handsome young dark caramel skinned face painted in fear. “... I'm not f-fighting… I'm not…”

Goebbels would thrust his hands forward, one bending, curling, before shaping and slamming against open palm. Collin would flinch, eyes shifting towards the shapes, darting side to side, almost as if he were unable to look away now, fear locking his feet into place.

The scrawny emo boy's one visible eye widened a bit, the void-like essence of it seemingly expanding. Those lin pale lips would part as the words shot out of him like sharpened blades.

“Rock, paper, NUTS! You LOSE!”

The twins, unable to look away in that moment, would both go mouth agape as they watched Goebbels booted foot draw back like a tight, taut bowstring, before launching forward so fast it sounded like a baseball bat swooshing through the air.

The thick, dense toe of that boot sped up between young Collins wide stance, vanishing up and under his cartoon mascot bedsheet tunic, reaching its grim destination, slamming into Collin's pudgy little bulge with a gruesome and meaty.

*CrUnCh!*

The impact was so severe that it jolted his thin frame upwards, lifting his bare feet out of his black slides, putting him on his tip toes. Collins' eyes blew wide open, his smooth caramel scrotum punched against his pelvic floor like a deflated balloon, veiny little chestnuts immediately flattened as their meaty contents strained against their membranes, before cramming up inside his groin cavity. A white hot and brutally agonizing pain flooded his developing testicles.

The boy's mouth gaped, the grip on his healer's staff loosened immediately, sending it clattering to the floor. A prepubescent raspy wheeze drifted out of Collin's wide, straining throat, brain short circuited. He'd never known what a blow to the testicles felt like until this moment.

Disbelief on the twins Billy and Bobby's faces, paralyzed by pure shock and horror, Jerky the puppy had whimpered and cowered.

Goebbels would seemingly consume the shocked agony on Collins young face into his void-like eyes, before jerking back his booted foot, dislodging that dense boot tip from the space under the ten year old Healer's tunic as his now oddly shaped little bulge jiggled back out.

Collins' thin frame staggered forward, sharp, disgusting, excruciating pain bleeding from his now swelling balls, legs wobbling as he choked on another raspy inhale, eyes darting side to side, brows up to his hairline, dropping to his knees with a full bodied jerk, lurching forward as his forehead hit that pavement and the fiery nut pain mounted every passing second.

“... *wheeeeeeze*…”

Goebbels stood there watching as the boy's body began trembling, skinny shoulders heaving as the wheezing became faster, heart rate spiking. The pain throbbing in his bruising balls as they sat in his groin cavity began to leak a nausea and gut wrenching spillover that would fill his bowels. Jerky scampered back over and proceeded to jump around Collins head and berate him with licks.

“.... Mom and dad are gonna fucking kill us.” Bobby said, knowing damn well they were NOT supposed to take Collin out to play any games where he could potentially get hurt.

Collin's eyes shut tightly as tears began thickening around his dark eyelashes, wet salty droplets streaming down his cheeks, a rich red flush sweeping his once sweet face which was now a warped mess of twisted confusion and agony. Jerky began shoving his snout to begin lapping up Collins tears of testicular pain.

“.. Huh..*gulp*.. m-my.. b-*wheeze*..” Collin would squeak, clenching up from head to butthole, body tightening, feeling so much excruciating, building pain and brain frying confusion. His tummy knotted up, bile boiling in his guts and rushing up his sternum. Sweat beaded his brow as he shut his mouth tightly, lips pursing, bare feet toes curling as he felt the impending wave hit.

His veiny, fattening chestnuts would begin descending from his groin cavity, squeezing through the opening and back into his smooth dark caramel scrotum, the feeling of them passing through causing him to gag and retch.

Little Collins eyes widened again as he heaved, flat tummy clenching, neck veins bulging, his mouth flooded with warm chunky liquid, another heave would force his mouth open as one, then two huge waves of digested beef jerky and thick bile would splash out against the pavement in guttural retches.

Fragile, misshapen testicles pounding agonizingly as the sweet and kind ten year old Collin squeaked out an urgent prepubescent groan, seizing one last time, a warm and slimy bucket load of jerky puke splashed out below him again in a drawn out choking retch.

Jerky, the puppy, would almost immediately shove himself against Collins face to begin hungrily lapping up and eating the kids fresh beef jerky puke, as Collin collapsed to his side, both arms cramming up between his thin, exposed legs, kicking them clumsily as he pawed and cupped his massacred young nards, screaming and sobbing incoherently the second he could breath again.

“... A-a-a-a-aaaah!”

The once gentle breeze that had swept in and out of the alley had grown suddenly into a great gust of wind, kicking up debris and tossing it about, causing Goebbels shadowy cloak to expand almost as if they were wings of foreboding. It rushed over the three standing kids, Billy, Bobby and Goebbels, slowly winding back down to a soft breeze, then a stillness. 

All was quiet save the sound of Collin sucking air in through snot filled nostrils and leaking pathetic, broken, choking sobs as the dark hooded emo boy stood over the utterly crushed ten year old Healer. His big brother's processing the sight of seeing their defenseless little brother get his barely budding manhood destroyed.

Twelve year old Bobby would tighten his fists, teeth clenching as his complete and utter shock that someone had crushed Collins nuts turned to pure rage.

“HEY!” The darker skinned boy would begin rushing towards Goebbels' scarecrow-like figure, toned body flexing.

“I'll kick your ass, you piece of shit!”

Billy was not in sync with his twin for once, unable to completely grasp what he had seen. The twelve year old would blink rapidly, seeing Collin a sweaty, shaking, sobbing mess with a puke spackled mouth as that fluffy brown puppy aggressively gulped down their little brother's jerky barf. He couldn't look away.

Bobby had flexed his dominant arm, shifting to heave a punch directly at Goebbels face, but instead found the ghastly, hooded emo boy shifted, almost as if moving outside of this dimension for a moment, the punch whizzing past his pale, choppy bang veiled face. The dark cloak billowing like shadowy tendrils as Goebbels now stood before the older boy.

Extending his hands quickly, fist slamming into his open palm, the sound of skin slapping against skin as the emo boy began dropping rock, paper, scissors. Rock, paper, scissors. Bobby's stance loosened as his brown eyes tracked the hand movements, almost suddenly finding himself unable to move, those bare feet tucked into black slides securely spread, leaving a large gap between his thighs as the strips of gym shorts rustled.

Billy's brown eyes widened, seeing what was about to happen, forcing himself to find his footing as he now clenched his own fists, bare feet in black slides pounding against the pavement of the alley as he bolted towards Goebbels from behind.

Bobby's face hung like a portrait, a heavy air consuming him, unable to move. He'd try to shake himself loose, smooth toned torso unable to shift. Legs unable to move, little biceps flexing. Move! He thought. Punch! He thought. But he was unable to do either. Billy planted his feet in a wide stance, posturing, rotating at the hip to throw a haymaker at the back of Goebbels head.

But it was too late.

Bobby's eyes would rapidly jump to connect with Goebbels intensely deepening and void like eyes. The emo boys thin pale lips ripped wide open as that cold, violent and sharp pubescent voice rang in Bobby's ears, handsome face like a deer in the headlights.

“Rock, paper, NUTS! YOU LOSE!”

Goebbels right leg swung back rapidly, the bottom of his boot scraped across the graveled pavement so quickly that the tiny pebbles beneath it sparked in the blitz which was about to occur. Right behind the emo boy as Billy's fist was about to connect with the back of Goebbels head, the thick and hardened back heel of his boot had also connected with Billy.

It blew through the strips of Billy's white gym shorts kilt, burrowing in between the twelve year olds melanated thighs before colliding into his plump blue briefs bulge with a hard and impactful *KRUUUNCH!*

Billy's dark, plump, kinky pube dusted maturing big boy oysters were immediately pancaked against his pelvic bone, soft chubby weiner shoved to the side as his squishy, meaty, developing yogurt tanks erupted in a sharp and stunning wave of pain.

“UH!” Billy groaned out in surprise, lips parting, brows arching, eyes widening. Handsome young face, once cocky, in pure shock and developing agony. Toned developing physique had clenched up, shoulders lifting, lower intestines flooding with shakes. He'd never seen it coming.

Goebbels void-like gaze was still locked onto Bobby's eyes, letting his heel absorb the warmth between the lads twin brothers thighs as he crushed Billy's plump nutsack a second longer, only to then dislodge it like an axe from a stump, jerking Billy's stunned and groaning body with it, leaving the boy staggered and twitching.

His right leg, ever pendulous, sped forward, thick, dense boot toes sailed past strips of red gym shorts kilt, drilled in-between Bobby's dark, smooth toned thighs, hammering squarely up into the boy's packed full brief bulge with a thick and chunky.

*KRAAAWNCH!*

Dark, pube dusted, veiny egg shaped testicles violently flattened, squishy nut membranes straining, knocking his soft loose weiner into the waistband of his briefs as Bobby lurched forward, his handsome, maturing young face awash in agonizing bewilderment.

The pain exploding in his young yogurt churners was white hot, crashing through his pelvis, immediately flooding his lower intestines with a storm of excruciating wrenching. Mouth closed tight, full lips pursing, teeth clenching, eyes sharply crossing, wide open as a feral and agonizing groaning boiled in his neck, veins visible

“....*MmmmMMMmmm!!*”

Goebbels grinded his toes against Bobby's warped meaty bigger boy bulge a moment longer, causing the boy's full, spit covered lips to quiver and part as he let out a guttural, shaken, stunned moaning cry, eyes tearing from the sudden and violent pain. 

“..HuuuuUuUUHhh!!”

The scrawny, long limbed, emo testicular reaper showed a complete and utter lack of emotion in this moment. Steady breathing,  dark hood and choppy black bangs veiled his expressionless pale features. Between him were two stun locked twelve year old Gladiator twins. Their taller, dark, toned and athletic physiques useless as they were consumed in the very physical response of getting their full maturing testicles fucking wrecked. The twelve year old Gladiator twin brother's developing sperm counts fucking annihilated.

Goebbels dislodged his boot from Bobby's misshapen and swelling bulge, causing the once cocky and confident Gladiator boy to issue a choking cry.

“Ugh.. fuck..!”

He then swung back quickly once again in Billy's direction, the already staggered and collapsing boy wouldn't even see the heel rebounding towards him, he'd only feel it plow once more up and between his dark, toned smooth thighs, hammering his already bruising and lumpy big boy balls back into his pelvis a second time, snapping his thick butt outwards, forcing Billy's eyes shut as a set of fat salty tears leaked down his cheeks and he cried out in agony.

“Guuuuh!!”

This time as Goebbels heel withdrew from between Billy's thighs, the Gladiator would begin quaking, eyes rolling into the back of his head, full lips quivering as he dropped to his knees hard, hands cramming up against his pulverized, maturing big boy balls as he lurched, a belching gasp rolled out of his throat, before he heaved a generous load of digested snacks and stomach bile onto the pavement of the alley with a wet, sloppy splatter, breathing ragged at best as he then collapsed to his side, a choking, weeping mess.

“..auuugh...*cough*.. ugh..”

A raspy, guttural inhale came from Bobby, who was hunched over and barely standing, legs beginning to shake as the pain in his aching, swelling big boy balls had consumed every thought he had. The dark skinned lad had begun reaching to cup his reproductive organs, the heel which dislodged from his twin brother's crotch, launched that black booted foot forward in a sweeping arc.

Bobby, beads of sweat dotting his face, excruciating pain freezing him, saw it coming, a black blur which ascended up and under his kilt a second time now, feeling the air it cut between his widespread, toned smooth thighs, before the thick, dense toes of Goebbels boot once again slammed up and into his already lumpy, bruised and thick, engorged maturing boy oysters, amplifying the deep, rich pain in them ten fold as they flattened against his pelvis a second time.

Bobby's eyes widened more dramatically than ever, plump rear popping outward, shaking as the pain crashing through his balls crippled him. He screamed so loudly his deepening voice shattered and cracked in post pubescent agony. “Uuuuuuugh!!”

Goebbels would seemingly consume the utterly agony that was seeping from the boys on either side of him as he cranked his foot, rolling Bobby's mashed, lumpy nuts around once again, eliciting another loud scream from the broken boy Gladiator, before jerking his foot back and planting it on the puke spackled alley pavement, stepping aside as Bobby's crumbling form folded, bleeding that scream into a series of broken groans and moans as he collapsed to his hands and knees.

Eyes darted about as he struggled to focus on his twin, Billy. Seeing a mirror image of himself laying there in a retching daze, the smell of his two brother's barf layered around him, he'd struggle to crawl an inch before looking towards little ten year old Collin barely conscious in his own mess, as Jerky the puppy was still slurping down beef jerky puke from their sweet little brother who was only supposed to be their Healer.

He gagged, coughing, one hand still cupping his swollen, misshapen testicles which throbbed, before bowing his head, stomach rolling into his chest. Bobby's saliva coated lips would open wide and a load of digested treats and thick stringy bile would splash out against the pavement, leading the boy to fall face first in it, groaning and crying pathetically as he curled into the fetal position.

Goebbels stood there, a soft breeze picking up once more. His dark cloak would shift, languid and slow. Around him lie the three brothers, Gladiators Billy, Bobby and Healer Collin. Mostly innocent bystanders lured into a cruel trap by Justin's mischievous tactics. Gruesome stretches of vomit spread out across the expanse of them all, their bodies writhing about like slowly dying worms. Agonizing pubescent groans filled in the gaps in the broken weeping.

The Pinecone of Secrets would glimmer in the sunlight as a stray beam bathed Goebbels in its light momentarily. He'd tilt his head up, those deep void-like eyes closing a moment as the sunlight nearly made his pale, ghostly skin glow.

The weeping groans of the beaten boys continued bleeding into the breeze, Goebbels inhaled slowly, deeply, as if he was basking in their pain. All of it. 

Then, the mysterious, cloaked emo boy would turn, looking back towards the direction he had been moving in. There was a long stretch of alley yet still, but as Goebbels opened his eyes, it felt as if he were looking at exactly where he needed to go. Hands tucked back into his pockets, that scrawny form slouched as he started moving.

“....ugh.. uh.” A pitiful whimpering sob came from his feet, looking down to see Collin laying there on his back, smooth, thin, dark caramel legs spread, tunic having ridden up a bit to expose rocket ship jockeys, hands cupping his wrecked and deformed pudgy little bulge now soaked in a bit of urine.

Jerky was lapping up the last of Collin's homemade beef jerky slurry, before the fluffy brown puppy would yip and scurry off into the distance with a full belly to hide, with no more need for the kid feeding him.

Goebbels would look at Collin, eyes shifting up and down the twitching and sobbing boy, settling on the cradled bulge, raising his right boot, flexing to slam down his heel with a carelessly merciless ferocity that would send a meaty, wretched *CRAAAAAWNCH!*

through the alley followed by birds erupting from the budding early Spring trees and into the clear sky above.

A little later and down the block

The sun had reached its highest point a bit ago and was looming in the clear blue sky with an impending promise of the inevitable sunset within the next couple of hours. Beams of light were cast through the long sprawled out branches of trees that were once winter bare but now littered with budding green leaves.

Brian walked behind Chris, hands tucked into his thin white gym shorts, taking careful steps in his grey socks and black slides as to avoid melted snow puddles, his sword and shield tied to his back.

“I really should have listened to my dad.”

Paladin Brian complained casually.

“He said I was gonna wish I'd worn shoes.”

“You coulda put on my yard work shoes but you didn't want to.” Chris said in a vaguely condescending tone, looking ahead as he took wide strides for no other reason than youthful exuberance. The boy's unkempt brown hair tussled freely, as he had loosened his bat winged wrestling headgear and let it dangle around his neck.

“Bro you don't wear socks and they smell so funky.” Brian said under his breath, but definitely loud enough for his friend to hear.

Chris would wriggle his toes in his red sneakers- He wasn't wearing socks.

“ Whatever man, whatever. “ He didn't really feel like getting into the inevitable back and forth between Brian and himself, especially right now. He didn't have the patience for it today, there was a Pinecone to capture and a Prime Minus Blackout to get paid out for.

“You're welcome for the reminder about the shortcut, by the way.” Brian mentioned as he squeezed through some gnarled shrubbery, a branch snagging half his cardboard armor with the painted cross on it. He'd tear at it until it released, letting it stay in the bush, not wishing to go back for it. His aluminum foil circlet was enough.

“Thank you, Brian. You're the best bro.” Chris said sarcastically with an eye roll, knocking an old soda can on the ground aside with his spear, before raising his long lean arms and waving them about.

“Like honestly just the greatest. It's so cool how you're always right and always have the best answer and-”

“Chris, bro you always get so, uh.. what did Mr Nicholson call it? Redacted?” Brian would interject to cut off Chris’ dramatics.

“Reactive. He said you always get reactive.” Brian laughed at Chris being a goofy spazz.

“Dude, this isn't the time to talk about our feelings like in school alright? Mr Nicholson is just some frickin lame ass nerd anyway.” Chris scoffed at the mention of the man's name, brown eyes shifted about, as if trying to move past the topic, seeing a clearing ahead then.

“Look!” He'd use his cardboard covered pool cue spear to knock aside some of the half dead shrubbery before them, opening up the entrance to the park on the other side.

The two stepped out into the sunlight, before them stretched out a mostly well manicured stretch of green fields with professional grade soccer nets set up, clusters of trees scattered about. At the back of the large field was a big ovular playground, filled with coarse sand, littered with toys and sticky abandoned candy and an array of playground equipment.

Most notably and chiefly among them was a large and old wooden pirate ship jungle gym. One that had been there a long, long time, draped over its side was a white sheet with “SS Booger and Fart” painted on it in black, crafted with care and withstanding of the elements. There were what appeared to be a dozen smaller kids swarming around the playground, all wearing some random article of pirate costumes. Chris and Brian would look at each other, squinting a bit as the sunlight bathed them.

“You ready to go and ask Tim for his help?”

Brian would speak up, smirking a bit.

“Man, I already owe him a favor too. I forgot.” Chris lifted a hand to his forehead, eyes shifting down the length of his smooth lean legs to the grass. He was already indebted to his little brother to wear a skirted cheerleader costume for Halloween.

“Oh crap, Chris. Tim's a debt collector too, I'm telling you dude this is why you gotta be friends with your siblings. Tim is gonna own you, bro.” Brian shook his head with a sympathetic smile. “Unless you got a Plan B?”

Their strides were long and lazy, like most lads becoming young men. Making their way closer towards the playground, seeing now the image of Tim standing at the bow of the ship, toy telescope in hand, face scrunching.

“Plan B? Dude this isn't even Plan A!” Chris said in an exaggerated tone. Indebted to Tim, getting back on Brian's good side, being Justin's search dog. Maybe he was reactionary. Less the thinking type, more athletically inclined for sure, ls.

“Look I just need to get Tim to hear me out. He's gonna get in on that Blackout too, man. He's gotta help.

As they drew closer, it became apparent that Tim had noticed them. Hence the scrunched face. The boy would hike a leg up on the edge of the ship, tossing the telescope, arms resting on his knee.

“Ahoy there! What brings you to the territory of the pirates of Booger and Fart??” The kid called out with bravado.

Chris would reach the large playground, exhaling a pinched breath as he waved unenthusiastically at his little brother, shoulders slumping a bit as if already accepting his groveling fate.

“Hey Tim, what's up, oh brother of mine?”

Nine year old Tim appeared unimpressed, shifting to lean against the bow's edge now. Still wearing that wrinkled black shirt with a jolly roger on the chest, cheese chip dusted thin black and blue checkered pajama pants, minus the chocolate milk mustache.

Eyes darted between Brian and Chris, itching the bandana around his short and messy brown hair. He was soon surrounded by eleven other boys, each one garbed in various gym shorts, pajama pants and wrinkly shirts with an article of pirate apparel, bearing a rascal flare.

“What's up is I wanna know why you're here on my ungardened seas. This territory is hands off for that stupid tournament and run by me and my crew alone.”

“I think it's uncharted seas, Captain Tim.”

One boy, a redhead, spoke out.

“That's what I said!” Tim rolled his eyes, shrugging back at his crew member, then fixing his inquisitively stern look at his big brother, drawing his candy wrapper coated toy saber and pointing it at Chris as he approached. “C'mon Chris, use your outside voice.”

Brian's brows lifted, covering his mouth to stifle a laughter. Tim was unhinged for that one. The Paladin boy, face reddened, would turn away a moment to have a giggle fit along with some of the Playground Pirates.

“I.. I need your help, man.” Chris shrugged his shoulders, looking back at Brian who was trying not to laugh, then towards the ship and its crew of smelly mischief makers. “I have an idea for a way to get the Pinecone of Secrets away from this New Kid who took it. He's coming this way, like any minute now maybe.” Said with a cheesy and feigned smile.

Tim would give his brother a surprised look, before leaning back to share hushed whispers with a few boys from the crew. He cleared his throat “Wow,” said with a smirk, “so you guys lost the Pinecone of Secrets? That means Justin can't cheat and win again since someone else has it. Which is awesome because everyone in the fourth grade classes hates him.”

Chris grumbled, shaking his head as he urged Tim to hear him out. 

“Yeah man I know, but if I can get it and give it to him, then he's gonna just outright give me a Prime Minus Blackout. You know you want to be able to play it.”

Brian was shifting, watching the exchange between the two. He typically always tried to get along with Tim. Any little sibling, even if not yours, was a formidable foe.

“Are you still crying about this Prime Minus Blackout?” An eye roll from the kid.” And what? What's the share?” Tim asked with a mocking lilt to his pubescent tone, brows arching a bit as he studied Chris posturing.

Chris squinted an eye, arms crossing over his chest. “ Fifty fifty, and your friends- Er, I mean, your crewmates, the boogers and the farts, can even play when it's your turn.”

Tim could see how desperate Chris was behind the brave front he manufactured, past his brown, maturing eyes. He'd seen it before, an older sibling desperate for the typical immunity and skillset younger siblings seemed to have.

“Sixty forty, and my crew gets to play sometimes when it's your turn.”

Tim really put the screws to Chris.

“Ugh, okay, fine. Deal. Now come down from there bro, help me out man I'm your brother, geez.” Chris’ tone half defeated, jabbing his spear in his little brother's direction, waving him down as Brian took a few steps closer, playground sand gripping and pulling his slides.

“Is this stupid or what?” Tim shot a look to Brian, asking as he turned to begin climbing down a broad and sturdy rope netting that was anchored beneath the sand. Brian would shrug, his short blonde afro gleaming a bit in the sunlight.

“This is Chris’ plan, not mine, homie.”

Brian absolved himself of implication, something he'd seemed to be good at.

The collection of playground pirates had scattered across the ship, looking down, as if systematically stationed at designated posts. As if they were taking a posturing defensive formation. Tim would reach Chris, looking up at his big brother, arms crossing over his scrawny chest.

“Well what is it, Christopher?”

“Alright, calm down guys.” Chris furrowed his brows, post pubescent voice cracking a bit, moving to slip his bat winged wrestling headgear back on, watching Tim as he spoke. “ So, there's an emo kid, maybe you saw him at Justin's.”

Tim remembered, seeing the creepy gothic looking weird boy. The cool and cold sensation that seemed to come from him. He also remembered the weird almost tingling sensation in his hairless nard pouch.

“He's got the Pinecone. We need to get it from him-” Brian would clear his throat loudly, giving Chris a look.

“You got a squirrel in your pocket?”

Chris rolled his eyes, lips pursing before continuing.

“Alright anyway, I need it. Justin is just gonna freaking give me a Prime Minus Blackout if I get it for him. But this New Kid is kind of a menace. He's a Warlock of some kind, with special abilities that have been pretty lethal. So we haven't been able to just take it.” Chris said, shifting his football chest guard a bit.

Tim appeared curious for a moment.

“Warlock? What makes his abilities special?”

Brian gave Chris a look, waiting for him to explain. Brian alone could say he'd seen Goebbels wreck fourteen pairs of nuts on his way to merchants square alone, not counting Collin, Billy and Bobby, whom he hadn't seen get destroyed.

Chris kind of half smiled, blinking a bit.

“I mean, nothing really crazy or anything. He just uses hex powers on people, and it's really, really effective” He had a flashback of seeing Carson's bulge in his elfish tights looking absolutely fucking wrecked after that hard booted warhead dropped on it.

“Uh, but, listen. You're a little kid, so he's not gonna mess you, there's no way. Plus you have a whole crew. This guy dominates one v one, he won't risk it I bet.”

Brian's brows lifted in disbelief at the fact that Chris did not divulge the nature of the particularly gnarly form of attack that the New Kid Warlock possessed.

“So you want us to fight some dude? And what about you? What are you gonna do? Hide in a bush and hold hands with Brian?”

Tim asked in an annoyed tone, one eye squinting as he lifted his eyepatch to his forehead to peer at Chris, who shook his head.

“Dude, I'm weak to his powers. He almost got me earlier,” Chris then flashbacked to getting a kick dropped on his athletic cup, making his tender boy oysters have phantom aches. He couldn't imagine taking that kind of hit without one and living to tell the tale. He'd never seen guys get kicked so brutally before.

It was like Goebbels had a way of knowing exactly where to strike and from what angle, leaving his victims in utter ruin.

“Listen, I have a plan..” He motioned to his little brother's crewmates to come down “ this involves all of you, too. It's gonna be about strategy and reflexes.”

The eleven other boys shambled down like a pack of feral goblins, snorting and sniffing and making a collection of agitating sounds as the crew of the Booger and Fart assembled around their Captain and his big brother, as Chris squatted, bow legged, grabbed a nearby twig and started drawing their battle plan into the playground sand.

Very nearby

Justin would be huffing and puffing, hands on the handle bars of his bicycle as he walked alongside it. The mounted horse head hung halfway off the rack, bobbing about. The front tire had gone flat and left the nearly thirteen year old to go by foot the rest of the way to his hideout. Luckily he knew of the shortcut through Maple Park.

Eventually he came to a stop, brows furrowing as he grunted and kicked at his bicycle, toppling it over as he growled at it, dental braced teeth flaring a bit.

“Ugh, stupid bike! Stupid tire! S-stupid emo kid! I want my Pinecone!” He let out a post pubescent, vocal cracking little roar.

Birds erupted from a nearby tree, darting away and past the petulant, angry boy. Justin would remove his crown a moment to comb back his perfectly cut sandy blonde hair, setting it back on his head then, green copper eyes shifting to the sky.

“I gotta get that damn Pinecone back before sundown. But how?? Stupid loser Chris has been a failure. Carson's a failure. Brian's a dumb half breed failure.” He said, face flushing, brows furrowing deeper. His devilishly handsome young face scrunched up in a fit. “You can't depend on anyone these days. Even my stupid bike is a failure.”

Justin would then kick at the loose horse head with his red and white sneakers.

“Gah! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Knocking it clean off on the third kick. The flames of his tantrum seemed to be growing hotter, fueled no doubt by hormones and a lack of personal inventory. Everything was someone else's fault.

He spit at his bike, stood over it a second longer before turning and making his way through the brush, thinking back now on Collin, Billy and Bobby, wondering what might have happened to them because of his fun little lie, allowing that small smirk to grow into a short dental braced smile.

“I bet those assholes are wishing they were never born right now… Haha.”

Justin would take a large step through some winter burnt evergreen shrubs, pushing the thick brush aside, wincing as he felt a particularly woody part push gently into his crotch. He'd stop, shifting a bit as to cover himself with a hand as he continued, coming out on the other side as he pinched and shifted things around in his undies to get comfortable again.

“I hate this place. I wish we never moved out of the city. Stupid dad and his stupid real estate business. Everyone here hates me anyway, I don't know what for.” Justin would grumble, before making mocking impressions of various classmates. Among them were Chris, Brian and Carson.

“They're all just dumb losers anyway, who needs them? I should have uninvited half of them to my birthday party. I bet if I did it now they'd be so pissed off and jealous.”

He said confidently to himself, before feeling a small pang of something in his chest.

It was a feeling Justin didn't like, and those kinds of feelings just made him frustrated, confused and upset. He started pointing at numbers of kids from school in his head.

“You're not invited, you can suck it, you're a loser.” His copper green eyes narrowed.

“And you..” He said, imagining a bookish and cute girl he knew well from school.

“You turned me down for the ice cream social? Me? You're ugly, and mean, and I'll never ask you out ever again and I hope you never have a boyfriend… bitch.”

He said in a scathing post pubescent tone, though ended that obscenity softly and almost shamefully.

The nearly thirteen year old self proclaimed King of the neighborhoods would continue pacing himself through the wooded pathway, until he came to a clearing. He'd push out through the shrubbery, red rayon cape catching a moment, before tugging it and staggering out into an open soccer field. 

He'd look across the expanse, taking in the view of the playground in the distance, the one with the big wooden ship. He was nearly to his secret hideout. Pinecone or not, he'd make his way there soon and lock himself inside until this whole day blew over and he could call his parents to get him.

He'd get no more than a few feet across that wide stretch of field, before noticing that the collection of kids gathered around and talking was composed of Brian, Chris and his little brother Tim, along with a bunch of other annoying squeakers, a name everyone tended to call the younger classes. 

“ Well, well, well.. “ Justin said quietly to himself, handsome, maturing young face growing curious as he slithered to keep himself low behind some benches and shrubs, obscured from the vision of the other boys but close enough to hear the words they spoke.

His eyes grew wide, then rolled, then lowered the ground as he cupped a hand to his ear, because he'd seen it done in shows and movies. He was taking in every word Chris spoke to the crew around him.

“And that's when you snatch the Pinecone and throw it to me. Don't get cocky though. Remember the plan, in and out. This guy can move fast.”

“Crazy.” Brian said to himself more than anything, looking between the two brothers, then to Tim. He found himself dealing with an internal conflict of having suggested this idea at all.

“Yeah but what should I be worried about if he isn't gonna do nothing? I'm a kid, he'll get in big trouble if he messes with me.” Tim said with a confident voice, hands moving to his hips as he puffed his chest out, his brows furrowed and he looked at Chris who was nodding in agreement. Trying to avoid the intense side eye he was receiving from Brian.

“Yeah, he will. I have a feeling everything will be fine.” The oldest of the brothers stood, tussling Tim's messy short hair. Feeling very guilty for lying, albeit Chris had complete and utter faith that Goebbels lived by the rule they all did. You didn't fight below your bracket.

“You have nothing to worry about, little bro I promise.”

“And we'll be nearby.” Brian said, almost needing to convince himself this was a good idea now. Wishing he hadn't suggested it to Chris at all. He personally would have let Goebbels go with no pit stops until he caught up to Justin. But Chris was on his crusade to curry favor and get that damn gaming console.

Time eyed them a moment, pushing his brother's hand away, upper lip under his nose as he sniffed, turning then to his crew who had begun scrambling back up that rope netting ladder and pointing to them.

“Alright crew, you know your orders. When I give the signal, you raise the cannons and start blasting!” He'd screech out.

Chris winced at the pitch of tone, watching as the group of eleven boys cheered, raising their assorted makeshift sabres. He could feel the anticipation mounting in his chest. If this worked, if he could get the Pinecone, he could speed run to Justin's hideout and be leaving with a new Prime Minus Blackout- Today. His ambition having outgrown his developing body.

“And don't worry Tim, I'll be hiding out super close by so if anything happens, I got your back bro. You can trust me.” Chris wasn't doubtful, was he?

Tim smirked, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest “I'm not too worried. If this guy acts up I'll just kick him the nuts..” said with a little bravado then, Brian made a face when hearing that statement and began moving away from them and the crewmates who were on the ship. Tim remembered the way he felt when exchanging looks with Goebbels before.

He looked to Chris then, lips pursing a bit.

“Besides.. you wouldn't let someone beat up on me, right, Chris?” There it was, a crack of the tough exterior that belied the idea that Tim was still a kid who believed his big brother would always watch out for him.

Chris felt a tug in his chest. He shook his head, gripping his cardboard and pool cue spear, looking down at Tim. He was sure everything was going to be alright, while simultaneously beginning to feel like a piece of shit. Especially when looking at Tim felt almost like he was looking into a mirror at times.

“No way, dude. You can count on me, I'll protect you.”

Said with a smile, watching his little brother a second longer, before backing away and heading towards a collection of bushes near a row of benches and trees outside of the sandy playground, where Brian was crouched already. Unaware someone else was very close by.

“I hope this wasn't a bad idea.” Brian said with a little concern, looking up at Chris as he approached. 

Chris would lower himself into a bow legged squat beside Brian, setting his spear down. Those brown eyes shifted to meet his friend's. “I think everything will be fine. Tim is fast, really fast. Plus there's twelve of them, ain't no way the New Kid is gonna fight a dozen nine year olds, dude.”

Justin, who was a mere ten feet away crouched behind a separate bush, would be eyeing them. He'd made a small face, reaching down to shift his underwear a bit in his thin blue faded fleece joggers, before getting comfortable again. A smile creeped across his face, he had a plan now too.

A little over thirty minutes had passed, with no sign yet of Goebbels. Chris and Brian were beginning to wonder what was taking so long. It shouldn't have taken this long to walk from the parking lot where merchants square had been located to Maple Park, unless something happened. They were wholly unaware of the trap Justin had laid for Billy, Bobby and Collin and that the three boys' testicles had become a detour on the emo boy's road trip of destruction.

Finally, the air began to grow a bit heavier for a moment. As if someone has turned the volume down the atmosphere. Birds singing, bugs chirping, the breeze that drifted through the budding green leaves. A soft and subtle breeze drifted across the large soccer field, across the playground.

In the distance, approaching from the sidewalk and parking lot of the park, was Goebbels. Moving with long and languid strides. Slouched forms, hands tucked into his pockets, black cloak billowing softly behind him. The boy's face, pale and expressionless. Face half veiled in those choppy black bangs, hooded loosely fitted around his head. Glinting and gleaming in the sunlight was the Pinecone of Secrets, dangling from his belt loop.

The Playground Pirates stood watching, feeling a strange and ominous foreboding wash over them as they stood on the old wooden ship, watching the older, gothic looking kid approaching. Tim stood on the bow of his ship, crewmates at their posts, wriggling his toes in those cartoon racecar sneakers which had once been Chris’

Chris and Brian were watching with bated breath, growing anxious, nervous. Making plans and strategies was all well and good, but the moment the ghastly pale emo boy appeared everything always had a way of beginning to feel futile.

“... I dunno, man. “ Brian said, looking at Chris now with a concerned expression.

“Brian, do me a favor man.” Chris said, eyes focused on Goebbels and Tim.

“If anything happens, get Tim out of here and I'll jump on the New Kid.” Brian would nod, not sure what exactly he was supposed to do, but he would try.

Both boys would swallow a lump in their throat, noticing Goebbels seemingly staring at their hiding spot, feeling a supernatural and eerie chill trickle their spines, sending a tingle through their hairless ballsacks.

“Shit, man..” Chris said. “Do you think he sees us?”

As Goebbels drew closer to the playground, it was as if his void-like eyes locked onto something ahead of him. Across the field, through the playground and the group of smaller kids there, vision set on the row of bushes beside the benches and trees.

Justin felt a shiver run down his spine. It was as if Goebbels' dark, deep eyes had settled squarely onto him. He felt his balls, which were a bit larger than most boys his age, tingle in their smooth, three pube sprinkled sack. He couldn't abandon post now though, he was going to have to take his shot to get what he wanted- What was rightfully his, in his mind. The glittering Pinecone dangling from Goebbels so tantalizingly.

“AHOY THERE!” Tim shouted out as Goebbels drew closer to the playground. Voice loud, grating. The smaller kid would watch the scrawny, older emo boy as he seemed to drift, each step taken with those long legs a slow stride that carried him above the ground as if floating, black cloak rustling behind him ominously. Goebbels boots would crunch and shift in the coarse sand as he stepped into the playground sandbox.

“I said ahoy!” Tim repeated himself, this time his squeaking voice growing a little unnerved. The ghastly pale emo boy paid the small pirate captain no mind, gaze fixed past him. Tim, who had felt slightly intimidated at first, was now feeling a mounting surge of aggravation.

Goebbels was ignoring him. No one ignored Captain Tim. The boy would huff and dash to get ahead and in front of the scrawny, ominously cloaked older kid, withdrawing his makeshift toy saber coated in glued on candy wrappers and stickers as he pointed its tip at the New Kid Warlock.

“Listen, pal! This ain't-”

Goebbels side stepped, dark void-like eyes still staring straight ahead as his slouched form continued, the fabric of those holey skinny jeans stretched with each stride. Brian and Chris would exchange confused looks. It seemed Tim was immune. Though the shadowy force of nature known only to them as the New Kid, didn't seem like he was stopping.

Justin, surveying from his hiding spot near Chris and Brian, started to feel as if those void-like eyes were settled on him and pulling him into them. He could feel his flight response kicking in, his selfishness telling him to flee, but he needed that Pinecone. The sun was going to set soon.

Tim, snarling like a puppy as his aggravation grew, gripped his sword and sprinted with little knife hands across the coarse sand to get in front of the slouched emo boy again, candy wrapper and sticker coated saber pointed at him again.

This time, Goebbels stopped as the tip pressed against his belly.

“These open waters belong to Captain Tim, that's me, and the crew of the Booger and Fart. The tournament is off limits here and you must pay a fine ‘cause this is our j-jura.. juradiction!” Tim proclaimed.

“It's jurisdiction, captain!” A crew member of Booger and Fart shouted.

“That's what I said!” The boy would shoot back with a dramatic eye roll.

Paladin Brian would look at Chris, worry in his eyes. “I have a.. I have a bad feeling.”

Chris shifted a bit, kneeling on one knee, letting delusion convince him and materialistic desire cloud his judgment.

“... It's fine, dude. Tim is fine, he's got this.”

Goebbels would tilt his head to look at the tip of the saber pushed against his belly, expressionless face staring at the toy weapon, then the hand holding it, and then to Tim before it. It was as if he hadn't recognized the boy was there at all, until the moment he was made to.

“You have two options here, buddy.” Tim said, a smug smirk painted across his cute young face. “You pay an ocean tax to us, or you walk the plank!” Just off the side of the ship was indeed a plank, and just below it a small pit of assorted lego bricks, sharp edges everywhere.

The crew of the Booger and Fart would begin a chant. “Tax or plank! Tax or plank!” Their pirate captain eyeing the Pinecone of Secrets a moment, playing cool, as if this wasn't the plan all along. 

“Tax or plank! Tax or plank! Tax or plank!”

The crewmates would keep chanting as Tim shifted the tip of his saber, flicking the star shaped “Crit +” badge first, then  drifting it towards the Pinecone of Secrets, tapping it, watching it dance a bit. Goebbels was still staring down at the kid.

“This looks like a treasure worthy of the tax. Yeah, I think this will do nicely. Pony up, or walk the plank.” Tim would say in a cocky tone that suggested an overwhelming sense of confidence in this moment, smug smirk still sitting there on his little face.

A gentle, cool breeze would begin drifting across the playground. No one said a word for a moment, besides the chants from the rabble aboard the ship. From the bushes, Brian would swallow a lump in his throat.

“... Dude.. Chris.. I don't like this.”

“Bro it's fine, shut up a minute..” Chris said, brows furrowing.

Goebbels hands would shift from his pockets, arms hanging at his sides as he began to stand upright, gaze still fixated on Tim as he slowly rose, now a little taller than before, shoulders lifting, posture correcting.

Tim would look up at the older boy, feeling something dark and primal in his eyes, suddenly feeling a twinge of trepidation. He would take a few steps back, cartoon racecar sneakers crunching in the sand. Tim's cute little bratty face scrunching up.

“I'm gonna give you one last warning, pal! You either pay up or walk the plank!”

“Chris, that's your little brother.” Brian said in a worried tone, as if trying to insight some urgency into his friend. Chris gripped his cardboard pool cue spear, moving to stand now from the bushes, Brian following suit.

“I'm gonna jump in, Tim just needs another minute. He's got this. C'mon Tim, c'mon..” Chris said under his breath. He could see it now. The Prime Minus Blackout, sitting in their living room, hooked up to their television. Early mornings, long nights. The coolest gaming console available, his. Theirs. He could taste it.

Goebbels would continue staring at Tim. Body motionless, face emotionless. Visible pale skin catching traces of the sun, which was beginning to drift lower into the sky.

Tim took another step back, raising his saber up into the air, brown eyes fixed on Goebbels. “I warned you! Boogers and Farts! FIRE THE CANNONS!”

The eleven crew members simultaneously reached down at their feet, producing a number of random balls. Soccer, rubber, footballs, tennis, basketball, shouting and imitating explosions as they began lobbing them in Goebbels direction at a rapid fire rate. The organization and strategy was a little impressive.

The emo boy would stand completely still at first, as the balls began whizzing by him. The black cloak would ruffle against the gentle breeze blowing through, as he absorbed the blows of those that landed. Balls connected with his chest and tummy, arms and legs, but he yielded nothing to the assault, standing unphased, watching Tim.

“... this doesn't look good, man.” Brian said to Chris, who gripped his spear again, took a deep breath, and stepped out from the bush he and Brian had been in. 

Tim, watching the cannon blasts being absorbed by Goebbels, grew more aggravated than he had been when he was ignored. He wasn't upset because this wasn't working, he was upset because no one disrespected the Boogers and Farts.

The smaller kid dropped his saber, sprinting towards Goebbels as he reached down to scoop up a stray basketball into his palms, reaching the older boy as he bent at the knees and sprung up from the sand, a squeaking prepubescent shout.

“Dodge THIS!”

Brian and Chris’ eyes went wide.

Tim caught so much air he was now above the scrawny, ghastly emo boy. Raising that basketball high above

“Captain's Blitz!!” The boy shouted.

Tim would absolutely hammer it straight into Goebbels face, a loud, rubbery *smack!* sounded out across the playground as the boys aboard the Booger and Fart would clamber about like animals and scurry down the rope netting, chanting Tim's name now.

“Tim! Tim! Tim!”

For the first time anyone had seen it happen today, Goebbels eyes had shut upon impact, expressionless face jolted, his head tipping back just a bit, weight shifting him to the heels of those boots as they dug into the course sand. Less of a stagger and more a stun, but it was all Tim needed. The kids cartoon racecar sneakers hit the sand, eyes catching the gleam of the Pinecone of Secrets in the sunlight, bouncing around at Goebbels' hip.

Sticky fingers stretched out, grabbed the treasure, gripping it and ripping it. It tore free from the emo boy's belt loop. Chris felt a flood of excitement washing over him, eyes lighting up. The sound of the pirate crew chanting and cheering in the background.

“TIM! TIM! TIM!”

Goebbels was straightening up, the black smudge around his one visible eye now streaked down his cheek, those deep void-like eyes opening to see Tim reeling back his pitching arm as he tossed the Pinecone of Secrets towards his big brother.

Chris would jump up, a wide smile sweeping across his handsome, maturing young face as he snatched it out of the air. Feeling its layers, the plastic gems glued to it. It was real, it was real! The bat wings on his wrestling headgear bobbing as he landed. His arms flexed, legs spreading in a clumsy pose of victory.

“Hell yes! We got it!”

The crew members of Booger and Fart were cheering, Tim threw his arms up, accepting his adoration, Chris was glowing and beaming like a fool. Only Brian's eyes grew wide, seeing what was coming, and he shouted. “Tim!”

The sound of skin slapping against skin cracked through the air, almost loud enough to drown out the echoes of celebration. Goebbels hands were shaping. Rock, paper, scissors. Rock, paper, scissors. Chris, now seeing it, felt the joy being blown out of him, a fear setting into the hole it left. The Pinecone of Secrets was thrusted at Brian's chest, who clasped it to himself, as Chris began sprinting towards the playground, brown eyes filling with fear and anxiousness.

“TIIIIIIIIIIM!”

Tim, arms still lifted high in the air, black and blue cheese chip dusted pajama pants legs spread wide in his victorious pose, never saw the catastrophic impact that was about to come his way.

“Rock, paper, NUTS! YOU LOSE!”

Goebbels voice cracked through the air like lightning, right leg rearing back as a wave of playground sand seemed to burst out behind him, Tim's head twisted to look up at the pale, ghastly emo boy, seeing no emotions in his face as his pendulous, scrawny leg cut through the air with a whizz, booted foot driving up and in-between Tim's wide stance, closing the gap between his thighs as a gut wrenching, meaty and clear *CRUUUUUUNCH!* echoed across the playground.

Tim's scrawny body launched upwards at least a foot, snapping at the waist, toes of that boot gathered his black and blue checkered pajama pants and fucking plowed into his hairless, undropped balls, flattening them between boot toes and pelvis, a sharp and violent pain he had no concept of existing until now ripped through the meaty contents of his small, veiny, egg shaped testicles and flooded his smaller frame.

“UGH!” A prepubescent cry erupted from him for a second before he went silent.

“Tim!!” Chris screamed as he sprinted.

Tim's once mischievous and energetic eyes were wide open, staring straight into Goebbels void-like gaze, cute young face twisted in shock and horrifying pain. His little lips had parted, saliva gathering in his mouth, brows furrowing as the weight of his body further grinded his little balls against the dense boot tip and the throbbing pain in his swelling nuts radiated from his smooth tight nutsack into his abdomen, scrawny frame beginning to shake violently as his legs weakened. 

Goebbels dislodged his foot from the younger boys crotch, and Tim's legs, quaking, wobbled and immediately buckled as he dropped to his knees, trembling hands moving to cup his massacred boy parts, lurching forward, mouth wide open, eyes wide open, but not a sound was made, as if stun locked, those brown and once mischievously innocent eyes strained wide, pupils dilated, mouth agape as the pooling saliva began dripping from his lips.

Little Tim was experiencing a kind of pain he'd only seen older boys in, but ten fold, and as his now engorged, swelling little nut meat began stretching his hairless pouch, the pain flooding his body toppled him to his side, chest tight, heart racing, body jerking, silent besides ragged breathing as beads of sweat dotted his brow and tears began streaming down his face as his nostrils flared wide with each sharp inhale and exhale.

The once loud and yappy kid Pirate Captain with a bravado of someone five times his size, lay curled up and paralyzed in crippling testicular agony. If puberty was on the horizon it had been fucking derailed.

The crew members of Boogers and Farts were standing there mouths agape, completely bewildered expressions as they processed seeing their Captain not only take a brutal kick to the balls, but that it was an older boy who did it. Watching their leader devolve into a quivering, jerking, tear filled mess. Some cupping their own little nuts, others turning to retch and gag from the sight and thought of it happening.

Chris had rushed to approach Tim, spear falling to the ground as he dropped to his knees, hands gripping at Tim's visible arm and shoulder, panic in his voice and fear in his handsome young face.

“Fuck! Tim! I'm sorry Tim, I'm so sorry!”

A twisting, sploshing nausea rolled in Tim's tummy as he felt Chris pulling him, and he choked, sucked in some air, pedaling his little legs instinctively as the pain grew worse in his now lumpy and misshapen little nuts, craning his head back, heaving once, twice and finally a third time as a warm and chunky splatter of digested marshmallow cereal and chocolate milk splashed out across the course sand before him.

“Tim! I'm so sorry bro!” For the first time today, Chris was visibly shaken to his core. It had been a long and chaotic Spring Break day, with every passing hour seeming to have been a new shit storm that touched down in the neighborhoods. And now this… This wasn't Carson, or the blonde kid from the merchant's square or even himself. 

It was Tim, his little brother, who had now become a victim in this disastrous situation that he secretly felt responsible for. If only Brian and him hadn't invited Goebbels to join them, if only he didn't think having a third chance to win a raffle at Justin's birthday party was so important.

All of that felt like a lifetime ago.

Brian, Pinecone of Secrets clutched tightly to his chest, was watching. His heart sank as he saw Chris draped over Tim's wounded form, the boy had eventually begun sobbing out loudly, prepubescent groaning wails of pain rising and falling through saliva and puke coated lips.

Whatever Tim was before, he was now a tomato faced, scrunched up sobbing mess of a boy with his tender undropped balls swelling and stretching his hairless pouch until it was bright and shiny.

Chris’ teeth clenched as his face reddened, feeling an anger surging up in him that had been lingering behind a materialistic desperation. He grabbed his spear, standing up and shouting at the other boys.

“Get my brother out of here!”

A handful of the boys scampered forward, stepping in Tim's puke, gagging and retching as they did so before pulling him away towards the SS Booger and Fart.

Goebbels stood there, observing Tim, deep void-like eyes settled on the trembling boy as he watched him with an emotionless gaze writhe and weep in gut wrenching testicular ruin, almost as if he were absorbing something from the experience, not even noticing Chris, brimming with a fury that was quite a shift from his typical lazy disposition, had turned to face him.

“You kicked my little brother in the balls! He's just a kid! I'm gonna fuck you up, New Kid!” Without hesitating, Chris would flex his lean arms, widen his stance and with a violent scream, would swing his spear into the side of Goebbels head as a loud and deafening *crack!* echoed across the playground, bat wings on his wrestling headgear flapping.

A collection of “oooooh” would rise from the onlooking crew members as Goebbels head would jolt to the side, choppy black bangs shifting and his hood dropped back from the crown of his head, exposing his jet black emo hair. The ghostly pale gothic boy gave no reaction besides that. No stagger, no cry of pain, no expression as he stood upright again, eyes settling now on Chris, almost as if the two were in a standoff.

Brian's eyes widened, he took a few steps forward, wanting to rush to help but found himself afraid. Chris was always much tougher than him. “... Chris.” He'd say quietly to himself, worried expression crossing his handsome young face, fearful for his friend but afraid to help.

Suddenly, a figure would leap from the bushes they had been taking cover in moments ago. Brian would blink, seeing Justin rushing up, red rayon cape flowing behind him, a post pubescent cracking war cry bursting from the older boy.

“Raaaaaah!”

Brian opened his mouth, before seeing Justin throw an awkwardly amateur punch in his direction. It had no training or skill behind it, but the blow landed against his nose, stunning him enough to stagger him, and as it did, the older boy jumped on top of him and pinned him to the ground, straddling his waist as he began raining blows down on him.

Brian, clutching the Pinecone of Secrets in one hand, lifted his arms to cross over his face, absorbing the clumsy but strong punches Justin was delivering to him.

“Gimme my Pinecone you half breed bitch!”

“Get off me, Justin!” Brian would gather his strength, seeing a short window in between blows to tighten his free hand into a fist and bury it into Justin's soft belly, causing the older boy to wheeze and lean forward as Brian's fist collided with his stomach, as Brian pushed him off and scrambled to his feet, shoving the Pinecone of Secrets into his gym shorts pocket.

Justin would growl, sucking air and spittle in through his dental braced teeth, before crawling to his feet, that yellow painted cardboard crown slipping off his head in the struggle. He didn't give Brian a chance to collect himself and rushed the boy again, grabbing a handful of his blonde afro and aluminum foil circlet, jerking his head back and forth, gripping and tearing at the boy's kinky hair.

“Give me that fucking Pinecone, Brian!”

Using his free hand, Justin would open palm slap Brian across the side of the face with a loud *smack!*

Brian's head was getting ripped side to side, his vision flailing all around. Hearing Justin, seeing Justin, was making him boil inside. A festering rage had built up and was about to reach its peak as soon as the stinging slap landed. He began seeing red, eyes darting around for something, anything, his sword and shield uselessly strapped to his back, but noticed now Justin's wide spread legs.

Brian would collect his strength, attempting to gather his footing, slipping out of his black slides in the tussle and leaving him in his grey socks as he flexed his lean, smooth legs, eyes locking onto the shapely mound between Justin's thigh gap in those thin blue fleece joggers. All the rules were out the window today.

“Fuck you, Justin!” Brian would scream, before putting all his weight on one leg, swinging the other one up into a snap kick that launched his foot up and between the older boy's thighs.

*smack!*

The kick slapped against Justin's inner thigh, missing his ballsack by an inch, causing the older boy to grow furious, devilishly handsome young face painted in anger as he released Brian's hair, balled a fist and swung as hard and fast as he could, striking Brian in the face again, staggering the boy once more and causing him to fall onto his back, head hitting the ground, black eye to surface soon thereafter.

“Ugh! Uuuh..” He'd groan out, face throbbing from the blows, eyes shutting tightly. He always thought Justin was a sissy crybaby, but it turned out the self proclaimed King of the neighborhoods could actually scrap.

Justin would stomp over to Brian, hiking a leg up. “This is for trying to kick me in the nards, faggot.” Before driving his red and white sneakered foot down into Brian's soft belly, stomping him hard. The blonde afro, toasted coconut skinned lad would groan out, wheezing as the air was blasted out of him, body jerking as his arms crossed over his stomach and he rolled to his side in the cool park grass, groaning and coughing in pain as a fiery ache throbbed in his abdomen.

“...Uuuugh.”

Justin then reached down, shoving a hand in Brian's pocket, fishing around roughly as he wrapped his fingers around what he'd been seeking, deceptively captivating copper green eyes lighting up. He felt it, its plastic gems and pokey plates. Ripping the Pinecone of Secrets free from Brian's pocket, Justin would step back, lifting it to the light and watching it glitter and gleam.

“Finally.” A conceited smile crossed his face, braced teeth on full display, before looking down to the curled up Brian.

“Guess I didn't need you guys after all. Pfft, and to think, all I ever did was try to be your friend. You suck, Brian. I'm gonna make you and your gaywad friend's lives hell this summer.”

Brian would tilt his head, brows furrowing as he settled his soft brown eyes on Chris, who was circling Goebbels, looking back to Justin, coughing.

“..N-no.. *cough* no one likes you, Justin. Y-You're a piece of crap, dude.. and no title will *coughwheeze* no title will change that.”

Shoving the Pinecone of Secrets into his pockets, Justin would move towards Brian, picking up the cardboard yellow painted crown along the way, placing it back onto his head, before flexing his fingers, knuckles a bit red as he balled a fist.

“Newsflash, albino porch monkey. I don't care. Long live the King. Me.” 

And he'd punch down, hammering Brian in the side of the head, causing a bolt of pain to strike through him as his face clenched and he cried out in pain, vision blurry for a moment, watching Justin walking backwards, flipping him off with both hands, before turning and jogging off in the direction of his super secret hideout, that red rayon cape fluttering behind him.

Brian grunted and moaned in discomfort as he began forcing himself to stand, never really having gotten beaten up before, those soft brown eyes instinctively shifting toward the playground, seeing Chris still there pacing around the scrawny, cloaked emo figure. “Chris.. “ Brian said worriedly, fingers digging into the cool grass as he slowly crawled to his feet, grey socks stained with dirt and grass as he staggered towards the playground.

Chris held his spear in both hands, assuming a defensive posture. His coach always told him he acted too rash on the wrestling mat, and now eleven year old Chris was letting that reminder ring loud in his head. Don't act rash. Wait for an opening.

Goebbels stood watching, shifting to meet Chris’ eyes as the two boys would let the air between them grow more and more tense. The crew of Boogers and Farts were watching, a few tending to Tim. His little cries echoing in the background, filling Chris with anger.

“Just you and me, New Kid. No more stupid tournament rules. That's all over now. I don't know what you want, or what you're trying to do, but it ends now. I'm not letting you get away with this. I'm gonna kick your ass!” Chris screamed, vocal fry flaring, brows furrowing, rage in his eyes as his stare burned through the scrawny emo boy after faking out a strike forward.

Goebbels would shift to the side, almost as if a shadow were carrying him. His form moved without him moving at all, that dark cloak billowing behind him, before extending his hands out to slam a fist into his open palm, void-like eyes locking with Chris's.

Rock, paper, scissors. Rock, paper, scissors. The crew of Boogers and Farts would begin gasping, but Chris narrowed his eyes, making sure to avoid eye contact with both Goebbels and his hands, only watching the ghoulish emo boy's feet. 

Then, without warning, he'd hike back his right leg, shifting those eyes to focus on the lump in front of Chris’ thin blue running shorts. Chris slid to shift, not aware of the trap that he'd just fallen into. Goebbels would then swing that right leg forward, slamming it down, before swinging his left foot out into a snap kick that would sail wildly towards Chris' crotch.

*CRACK!*

Chris’ eyes widened, unkempt brown hair fluttering, heart leaping into his throat. The pieces of his splintering cardboard and pool cue spear showered into the air as he clutched the fractured ends in his hands. His bare feet sweaty in his shoes, toes clenching, whole body tense. If he hadn't been watching the emo boy's feet, he wouldn't have been able to shift his spear in the way of taking that blow.

He let the two pieces drop to the floor, breathing heavily as he balled his fists, squaring up to Goebbels now, eyes filled with determination as young Chris bounced on the balls of his feet.

“C'mon, fight me like a man! No more of this stupid kicking guys in the nards shit! ”

Brian would enter the playground, soft brown eyes watching the scene unfolding.

“Chris, get away from him! It's not worth it! Let's take Tim and get out of here!”

“He's not getting away with this.” Chris rebuked through clenched teeth, eyes unwavering from Goebbels as he rolled his football shouldered padding. 

“Chris! Justin took the Pinecone!”

Brian shouted as he ran towards the playground, now feeling the need to rush to help his friend, causing Chris’ eyes to shift to the side to see the blonde afro, toasted coconut skinned boy drawing near as he spoke, struggling to focus on Goebbels as well.

“Brian, I got this!” Chris said, pubescent cracking in his tone shifted and his voice deepened. The idea of Brian getting close and getting hurt too panicked the noble young Dragoon, distracting him for a mere split second.

But that was all it took.

Goebbels would shift on his booted heels, dark cloak blown back in a hasty ruffle, almost as if he had shadowy wings that had fanned out behind him in a darkened crest, blocking out a ray of sunlight which was cast upon them.

Goebbels' scrawny frame exuded a nightmarish aura, long arms fanning out and flexing as he drew on a deeper, ominous gravity, voice cold, sharp, loud.

“ROCK, PAPER, NUTS! YOU LOSE!”

Chris’ brown eyes shifted back to his opponent the moment the words sank into his ear holes. But it was far, far too late. His heart dropped, breath catching in his chest.

The hard toes of Goebbels boot had sailed between Chris' widespread, long lean legs, speeding towards its destination, connecting with the center mass of the athletic cup tucked into his briefs, a loud and violent *CRACK!* was heard as the emo boys boot broke through Chris’ ballsack barrier, cracking it in thirds like an oil drill busting through a layer of rock.

The boy's brown eyes squinted tightly, teeth clenching as he grunted from the impact that rippled through his tender balls, waves of pain flaring through them, hammered so hard his thin shorts clad pudgy buttcheeks popped out. He could feel the pressure in his groin immensely.

The central split in the plastic would open and bite down hard on the tip of Chris’ fleshy foreskin, pinching it, sending a fiery, stabbing pain through his worm that caused him to seize, eyes opening wide as he craned his head back, belting out a high pitched and blood curdling scream.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!!”

Brian watched in horror as Chris' legs would bow further, wider as his knees started rattling. The reawakened pain pulsing through his veiny, egg-shaped testicles was consuming his stamina, hands scrambling to reach his cup, the sharpening burning in his pinched foreskin sending a spear of pain through his weiner and abdomen.

Goebbels, blank expression consuming Chris as he drew back his leg a second time. Taut and tight, that long scrawny leg reeling so far back the heel nearly touched his head. Brian's eyes grew, watching Goebbels appear to draw on some unseen but deeply felt gravitational force as he listened to the sound of his best friend screaming from having his boy parts brutalized.

That booted foot would slice through the air a second time, sweeping up and in-between Chris’ trembling legs. The unkempt brown haired boy would shriek in agony, his pinched foreskin going from a white hot burning to nearly numb, tender, aching boy oysters heavy with pain, as the boot collided into the center of the already compromised athletic cup.

*CRAAAAAAAACK!*

The piece of equipment fragmented, collapsing inward. The split second relief of his foreskin being released was merely a tease, as the dense toe of Goebbels black boot would gather up Chris’ already aching testicles in his hairless ballsack, hammering them flat against his pelvis, chunks of broken plastic being driven into his tender nut meat, punching into the layers of his veiny, developing reproductive organs and straining the durability of his testicular membranes.

“UGH!” A deep pubescent cracking groan pushed out of Chris’ throat as he felt the most intense physical pain he'd ever experienced in his young life erupting in his small egg shaped nuts. His eyes jolted wide, jaw dropped, brows arching.

Goebbels would stare dead into Chris’ eyes as he dislodged his boot like an axe from a stump, jerking the boy forward, a crumbling crunching plastic sound followed. He staggered, shaking, fighting desperately to stay upright before the pain became unbearable, collapsing to his knees, bits and pieces of that broken cup spilling out of his shorts legs as his hands, trembling, would instinctively cradle his swelling broken nuts, croaking, rolling groans poured out of his throat.

His head tilted upwards towards Goebbels, guts wrenching, butthole clenching as he fought the urge to shit himself and felt a flood of nausea crashing through his stomach.

“U-ugh.. *inhale* ugh… Uh..”

Pearls of sweat dotting his forehead, trickling down his face. Chris' face painted in bewilderment, tears pooling in his eyes as a fiery, agonizing pain continued to swell and pound his young maturing testicles.

His hairless scrotum stretching, tightening, mouth shutting, teeth clenching as he felt the puke launch up through his sternum, splashing against the back of his teeth and spilling through the gaps in them, before he lurched forward, straining as he let loose his hot and chunky bucket load of digested breakfast. Chris blew his warm boy barf in three ropey loads that splattered against the sand, chunks gathering as the liquid drained through it.

“Uuuugh….! *gulp* uuugh.. *gulp* uuugh..”

Snot bubbles had beaded in his nostrils, sweat mixing with tears as Chris’ handsome, maturing face was red and awash with horrifying agony, mouth open, puke and saliva saturated plump lips, eyes puffy and tear soaked.

Brian would feel his heart ache, watching as Chris folded in on himself, lurching again only to heave a loud and long belching retch, before another huge load of hot chunky boy barf would pour out of his throat and splatter against the coarse sand again. Finally, Chris’ sobbing would reach a pitch, his shivering form shrank down as the long limbed kid would collapse onto his side, legs curling up, hands buried deep into his crotch, gently covering the bludgeoned remains of his developing manhood.

A gentle breeze drifted across Maple Park. Budded leaves rustled on early Spring branches, birds chirping. A handful of mixed and hushed whispers coming from the crew of Boogers and Farts, the quiet rattling inhale, exhale and sobbing from Chris. Tim had succumbed to unconsciousness, his older brothers crying filling the void left by him now.

Brian stood there, black eye now, shiny, fresh, watching Goebbels, watching Chris. He'd never seen or heard his friend in so much pain. He'd never seen or heard anyone in so much pain until today.

Fear kept him in place for but a moment, as his feet dressed in those grey socks fidgeted. Though it was soon too much to bear and Brian approached Chris, kneeling down beside him, putting a hand on his back- Terrified knowing that Goebbels was right there, but he'd rub and caress his trembling, sobbing friend.

“My b-balls… *sobbinginhale* my..balls.”

Chris was a deflated, shambling shell of his former self in this moment. All that gusto and fight was gone after having his eleven year old gonads absolutely fucking wrecked. Brian watched Goebbels begin to shift his deep, void-like gaze from the boys and up ahead. He wanted to say something, but did it matter? Did the emo boy even understand them? 

He thought back to that feeling he got from touching Goebbels shoulder back at Justin's. How his whole aura felt cold, grave like. There was nothing there to speak to. No deals to be made or compassion or understanding. Goebbels was not like them. He was not a boy, in Brian's mind. He was a cold, indiscriminate and impartial universal force of nature.

Their only mistake, he was sure of it now, was getting in front of him on his path of destruction. 

That scrawny, ghostly silhouette of his would turn, black choppy bangs shifting across his pale face, hands holstering back into the pockets of those holey skinny jeans. Goebbels boots, the pair that had claimed at least twenty four sets of testicles today, grinded against the coarse playground sand as began walking in the direction he'd been moving before entering the playground, dark cloak flowing behind him in that breeze.

Brian watched his form shrink into the distance, looking back to Chris then, disbelief smeared across his face.

“... Chris.. I tried to...” His hands would gently brush up and down the other boys back, at a loss for words, feeling the trembling, his own guilt, smelling the puke, eyes drifting to the broken fragments of the cup which were scattered below his friend.

Chris sobbed incoherently, taking in shaky breaths, the agony in his bruised, lumpy testicles, now twice their size in his stretched hairless sack, was overwhelming. Brian fought back a few tears, Chris’ pain bringing him to a deep sadness.

“I'm so sorry. I should have done something.. I was scared..”

Brian glanced up through the trees, seeing the colors in the sky beginning to bleed and transition from blue, to burnt orange. Sundown was nearly here, on the horizon. The tears that had threatened to fall subsided as glow from the dusk illuminated his face a moment before he looked back down at his quivering friend.

“You're so brave, Chris.. and all I did was watch.”

The blonde afro, toasted coconut skinned boy would let his hand set on Chris’ shoulder a moment longer, not knowing what to do to help him, sadness in his eyes. It hurt him to see Chris in this much  pain.

Brian would inhale, the day's events passing through his mind, then exhale. Seeing something ahead of him, something he realized he had to do, and so, reluctantly, he would pass one last hand over his friend's side, before standing.

“I'm gonna finish this, Chris. Don't worry.”

Chris would lift his handsome, maturing young face up towards Brian. Breathing slowly, painfully. Face awash with agony and sickness.

“B-Brian.. don't.. Ugh… don't do it, man.. Mmmph…” He would manage through a strained, pubescent groan, before shrinking inward again, gasping, teeth clenching as he trembled, fingers clutching his massacred, aching boy parts.

Brian reached behind his back to draw his plastic sword and tin trash can lid shield, eyes closing, heart hardening in his chest. Thinking back now to waking up in a sleeping bag in Chris’ living room with him this morning, seeing his messy hair and thinking about what a chaotic friend he was.

They'd stayed up late watching movies, Brian admittedly liked everything Chris picked even though he would pretend he didn't, they were supposed to spend the day hanging out and making sure Justin kept his Pinecone. It was supposed to be stupid easy, Chris said.

Shit went south, all because Chris had a half cooked scheme to get a gaming console. Brian didn't understand where to put that feeling of resentment, but he channeled it into a new desire, one Brian hadn't yet felt. Revenge. Justin started all of this the day he decided to dangle a shiny object in front of a lower middle class kid.

“I'm gonna make this right, dude.. Just wait and see.” Brian said in a soft, yet stern tone as his soft brown eyes met with Chris’ a moment, now pitying his best friend.

This was not the day any of them had planned, but it was the day they were given. Now looking towards the crew of Boogers and Farts, he'd clear his throat.

“Take Tim and Chris home. Tell their parents what happened. Tell all the parents what's happened here… and tell them it's Justin Kraemer's fault and that he's in the old abandoned church behind the Well Right Pharmacy.” Brian said, nodding to them to come help Chris, before he took one last look at his broken best friend and started moving in the direction Goebbels had gone.

A boy from the crew that had stepped over to begin attempting to get Chris to his hands and knees, would call after Brian.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

Brian stopped, grey socked feet shifting in the cool grass as he looked over his shoulder at the playground and the boys, soft brown eyes hardened a bit now, brows furrowed not out of anger, or frustration, but of determination.

“To make sure someone gets what's coming to them.”

And with that, Paladin Brian would move through the collection of trees just past the playground, following in the footsteps of Goebbels towards the only place he could imagine the scrawny emo boy would be going to as sundown consumed the town of Sunnyside.

                          Chapter V

                    The Fallen Crown

                                And

               The Pinecone of Secrets 

                              Justin thrust open the door to the now abandoned church, panting, face flushed. He'd shove his back against the door, wincing as it slammed shut, knocking his crown loose. The nearly thirteen year old boy would grunt, and adjust it. Not even bothering to tuck his perfectly cut hair under it. He was in quite a hurry.

“Alright, got it. Heheh..” He'd smirk menacingly at the glittering Pinecone of Secrets in his one hand, as he fumbled with the handle with his other hand, making sure to secure the lock and then check it three times. It was held. The door was sturdy, the lock tight. Justin would heave a sigh of relief, copper green eyes shifted across the building's interior.

It was a fairly large abandoned church. Everything was weathered and worn with decades of abandonment, littered with newer things like crates of building supplies and what appeared to be a large collection of a child's belongings. It was where a large collection of more of Justin's toys, trinkets and baubles was gathered.

It was all illuminated quite adequately by a series of flood lights left behind by a construction crew, and had a second story with old creaky rafters perfect for hiding and storage. It was supposed to be turned into a soup kitchen, but Justin's father cut funding to it in favor of a strip mall he was overseeing.

The boy would step forward into the building, tucking the Pinecone back in the pockets of his thin blue fleece joggers, exhaling heavily as he stretched upwards, that slightly loose, short white football jersey with #1 on it would hike up to expose a bit of his belly. Reaching an ascending spiral staircase while lazily scratching in his arm pits at the four hairs between them.

“What a day. Shit. But I pulled out a win. And that's why I'm number one.” He said with a smug smile now. It had been quite a day, patting his pocket, content with his prize possession of the moment. 

The old building would seem to breathe slowly, aged wood groaning and straining. As Justin reached the second floor rafters he passed a long table of toys, electronic devices, clothes- Anything you could imagine a boy wanting.

He'd stop a moment at an empty spot on the table, gesturing to it with his hands as he'd speaking in a mocking tone.

“Hey Christopher, thanks for nothing, here's your Prime Minus Blackout you were never really gonna get anyway.”

The boy would wear a dental braced smile, shaking his head as he continued. And that's why no one likes you. He would hear Brian's voice in his head, that smile fading into a grimace. He'd finally get to the rafters and cautiously stretch his legs out to step across the boards towards a big plastic barrel.

“Just in case..” Justin said in a hushed tone, before removing the lid, and pushing the huge barrel with a grunt. After a small struggle and the boost from his blooming testosterone, he toppled it. Thick waves of a white, glossy, gloopy, sticky glue material splashed down to the floor by the front door, spreading out slowly as to create a barrier.

Justin's brows arched, copper green eyes glinting as his devilishly handsome young face twisted into a smile. “Crazy, I didn't think that would work.” He said as he was once again thoroughly impressed with himself. For real man, I'd love to beat that Justin's ass. Boy he'd be crying real quick, I just know he's gotta be a huge pussy.

He'd hear Billy's voice in his head then, face souring, moving further down the rafters.

He stood before a huge topless wooden crate filled with thousands of small red Lego bricks. Crouching down into a squat, his buttcheeks eating a bit of his thin fleece joggers, Justin would hook his hands under the crate, grunting, groaning, straining as he began slowly tilting it over.

The crate toppled and those thousands of Lego bricks spilled out of the rafters and onto the church floor, some spilling into the glue substance. Justin would grin again, before reaching down with an annoyed expression as he shifted his briefs a bit, his testicles, which were larger than most boys his age, had become uncomfortable.

Finally, he'd approach a collection of four sand bags knotted together and attached to a pulley rope, glancing down at the ground and a small red X painted on it. He'd throw the long end of the rope down to the ground level.

“Alright, I should be good until sundown. Mom better remember to send the driver here after it gets dark to pick me up. God I wish dad would dump her and get me a better one.” He said with a grumble, passing back by that table filled with toys as he grabbed an air rifle from it and started loading it with ammunition, making his way back down that spiraling staircase.

“Anyone gets in here and they're gonna be swiss cheese, haha.” The nearly thirteen year old boy would say in a tone that was dangerously confident, floodlights hitting him as he reached the first floor, casting a large crowned shadow on the wall.

The sun hung so low in the sky now that street lights lining the roads which Well Right Pharmacy set in along with other shops would begin to light up soon. Just a few hundred feet behind the lot, past where the street lights became a glow in the distance, the old two story church sat.

Surrounded by overgrown trees and shrubs, a soft and gentle breeze blowing through them, this place felt like it muted the outside world around it and kept itself separated from society. Its windows are barred, every entrance and exit boarded up. Front entrance locked.

Goebbels stood there, at the door to the church, void-like eyes staring straight ahead and through the structure. Hand on the knob. He twisted and turned it slowly, the resistant clicking of the lock at every turn. He'd push and pull, not forcefully but as if testing something. It did not yield.

His booted feet thumped against the wooden deck outside the front of the old church as he took a few steps away, turning to glance over his shoulder, hands tucked into his pockets, shadowy cloak flowing in the passing breeze. Dark eyes settled on the building, as if looking through it, into it. His emotionless pale face and now motionless body was almost statuesque.

His void-like eyes glanced over to the edge of the deck, muffled and light footsteps growing nearer, as Brian came into view. Goebbels would turn his gaze to the toasted coconut skinned boy, his blonde afro capturing a bit of fading sunlight, black eye now quite the shiner.

“Don't leave, New Kid, Warlock.. whatever you are...”

Brian would clear his throat, pointing his plastic sword back at the large old wooden church, before moving towards it, keeping his shield held at his side. The eleven year old would keep space between him and the ominous emo boy. Goebbels head would slowly turn, watching Brian, pale expressionless face leveling the atmosphere with a heavy sense of unnatural foreboding.

As Brian reached the front door, he sheathed his sword. Slipping his hand into one of the pockets of his white gym shorts, the pocket Justin wasn't in, he would produce a single key with a blue string attached to it, thinking back now on how glad he was that he hadn't given it back to Justin after disbanding from the party at his house.

Inserting the key, Brian would turn it, lock clicking as the knob twisted freely. He'd push the door open with wary determination, soft brown eyes looking back towards Goebbels, inhaling deeply, before stepping back to make himself as non threatening as possible.

“... He's in there.”

The hunched over scrawny frame would turn, facing the church once more. Heavy booted feet taking long, drifting strides. Deep dark gaze shifting to take Brian in a moment, seeking his eyes. The boy would return the look, suddenly feeling a small heaviness over him. As if he couldn't move, as if a weighted blanket were draping over his frame..

What was it, Brian wondered as his heart beat spiked a moment. Was this what the other boys felt? Could none of them move much or at all?

Then a release for the boy, and he took in a breath as Goebbels broke eye contact and pushed inside the church slowly, coldly penetrating Justin's stronghold. Brian took inventory of his constitution, lips parting.

“ What… was that..?”

As he would cautiously trail behind Goebbels and into the church, keeping far enough away to not make himself a target but wanting to be close enough to see someone else be one.

The two boys would breach the cathedral, floodlights casting large shadows against the walls around them, filling the place with dark and mysterious shapes and filling what would otherwise be a large empty space, almost creating a claustrophobic atmosphere. 

Brian felt something sticky and thick, like runny egg yolk, sapping into his socks. He winced, the cold surprising him as he yanked his foot back, sock being pulled off and left behind in the goop, same for other, leaving bare foot, realizing now there was a large spread out pool of slowly congealing, cold, white adhesive slime, which lead to a floor wide coverage of those red Lego bricks just beyond it.

“..H-hey.. What kind of shit is this?”

Brian said aloud, brows furrowing.

Goebbels had come to a stop, boots teetering at the edge of the gelatinous adhesive pool, cloak draped around him, head lowering. Brian would become confused. Was this a trap of some kind? 

“Pretty cool, huh?” Justin's voice echoed through the church. Cocky, bold, condescending. A large crowned shadow would appear against the wall before them, shifting and moving as it descended the spiral staircase. Justin would eventually emerge into view, standing on the other side of the obstacles, air rifle in hand. “I cooked this up after watching a movie about panic rooms. Didn't trust anyone not to turn on me at the end of today when you all would have gotten here, not even Carson.”

Brian shook his head, frustration sweeping his face. Justin ran from everything. From responsibility, from morality, from kindness. This juvenile barricade was a manifestation of his reluctance to accept responsibility for his cruel behavior.

“You're a coward, Justin! A damn scaredy cat!”

The older boy would laugh menacingly, dental braced teeth flashing, cardboard yellow painted crown on his head making him appear taller. “Me?? No dude you are. You've just been going around all day watching this stupid New Kid beat the crap out of other guys. You're a Paladin? Hah!”

The older boy mocked Brian.

“At least your boyfriend Chris tried to stick up for himself and his dumb little brother. And then you let him get his ass kicked too. You think I didn't see that shit? Haha! Fucking crazy bro.”

Justin continued to laugh aloud, sucking air and saliva between his braced teeth, spitting at the ground, devilishly handsome young face grinning ear to ear, red rayon cape almost aglow before the floodlights.

Brian felt a sharp tug in his chest, one of anger. The same anger he felt building whenever he and Justin fought at the park.

“I fought you once! I'll fight you again! Or are you just gonna shoot us like the pussy crybaby you are?!” Brian's soft, toasted coconut face would flush red as he fumed, black eye throbbing a bit, fists clenching, bare feet slapping against the old church floor as he paced the edge of the adhesive slime.

Goebbels slouched form would shift, head lifting finally as he stared ahead at Justin, extending one foot to place it into the thick sticky substance, it pooled around the edges of his well traveled black boot. Like a shadowy apparition, he began making very, very slow moves across the substance.

Justin would sneer, full lips curling, raising the air rifle and aiming down the sights at Brian, squinting as his post pubescent tone cracked.

“I'll shoot your fucking eye out if you keep flapping your big lips, chocolate milk baby.”

Brian would stomp, pacing, vision swinging about before noticing a box of sports equipment nearby. Reaching into it blindly he grabbed the first thing he felt, a baseball, and screamed, hauling back and flexing his lean arm before rocketing it towards the older boy. 

“Fuck you, Justin!!”

Justin's eyes widened, not noticing what was happening until that baseball had already cut through the air, sailing over the adhesive slime and Lego bricks, beaming him right in the forehead as he shouted in pain, staggering with an angry whimper, that cardboard yellow painted crown with Justin scribbled on it toppled off his head and fell to the ground, leaving the boy in a momentary daze. He'd growl and lift the air rifle again, taking aim at Brian and pulling the trigger. “I'll freaking kill you!”

The pellet would blast out of the barrel, piercing though the air as Brian lifted his tin shield, blocking that first shot with a *ping*.

Justin cocked the air rifle once more, aiming down the sights and waiting for Brian to shift, before taking aim at the other boys unguarded, smooth lean legs in those white gym shorts. He'd pull the trigger again, this time a pellet cut straight to Brian and grazed his thigh above his knee.

Brian screamed in pain, feeling the metal pellet tear into the skin on his thigh, looking down to see the red mark, before a bit of blood began pooling at the wound. Angry and scared, Brian clenched his fists, holding his shield as closely to his lean frame as he could, trying to shrink himself.

“JUSTIN!” Brian screamed out in shock and rising fear “You fucking shot me!”

“Duh! I said I would, asshole!” Justin snapped, pumping the rifle with air once again, taking aim at Brian. Goebbels had lifted his boot from the slimy glue, strings of drying adhesive dangling from the bottom of it like tassels, planting it back down again as his scrawny leg strained, bringing his other booted foot up and across the rich, heavy, cold, drying ooze.

Justin aimed down his sights again, pulling the trigger as another metal pellet pierced through the air and towards Brian, this time the boy couldn't block it, the pellet punching through his purple jersey, burying itself just barely into the skin of Brian's stomach.

The hot sting of the shot burned him and the boy screamed, staggering back and falling onto his butt, before he dropped his shield and scrambled behind a pew, fighting back tears as the pain was turning his anger into more fear.

“Justin! S-stop! Please!”

Justin smirked, hearing Brian begging and pleading in pain. Pumping that air rifle again, seeing now that Goebbels had already made it across that adhesive ooze pool and was now at the edge, straining, though that pale, hooded face remained expressionless, cloak billowing behind each thrust of motion the scrawny emo boys frame would make.

Those boots lifted from the sticky cold slime one last time, stomping into the small red Lego bricks, Goebbels unaffected by this trap as he managed to retain his boots, the slimy glue that had pooled around the edges of his boots encrusted them with clumps of those little red Lego bricks. Around the heels, the sides, and packed into their dense toes.

Justin would aim the rifle at Goebbels now and without hesitation, pulled the trigger. The metal pellet ripped through the air and Goebbels shirt, piercing the cardboard star shaped “Crit +” badge and embedding itself in his skin. Goebbels' face remained expressionless, emotionless, those deep, dark wells on his face staring at the nearly thirteen year old petulant boy.

His once slow and languid steps gained momentum again after passing through the glue and legos, obscenely long and scrawny legs carried him forward.

Justin grunted, pumping his air rifle up again, five times more than he had before. A post pubescent grunt in his throat with each quick jerk. Eyes squinting, braced teeth clenching, he'd taken aim at Goebbels again, fear beginning to mount within him.

Copper greens noticing a little blood then below the cardboard star, the lack of response from the emo kid dragged Justin's mind into a place of fear and captivity.

“... What the f-... what the fuck are you?”

Justin's eyes widened, locked with Goebbels, and in a moment, he remembered. He was taken back to that day one week ago, at Pizza Kingdom. To the kid who bumped into him, the kid he shoulder checked and called a name.

“It's you, I saw you at the restaurant-”

Justin's words were cut short, as Goebbels hands unholstered from the pockets of his skinny jeans and at a frightening speed grabbed onto the barrel of Justin's air rifle, hands squeezing it, fingers gripping Justin's rifle so hard it began making the older boy's hands tremble. Ripping it so violently from his hands he staggered a moment, red rayon cape jerking with him. Brian peered from behind his hiding pew, watching intently.

“...Stop! Get away from me!” But his post-pubescent cry of defiance was ignored, as Goebbels tossed the weapon into the pool of congealing ooze. Taking steps towards Justin, who was backing up now, hands held up to his chest with palms out, devilishly handsome young face painted with what now appeared to be a genuine fear and anxiousness.

“Listen dude, I- I'm.. I'm sorry, okay?” Justin would sink down, hands pushed out towards Goebbels “I remember you now. Pizza Kingdom. I shoulder checked you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I swear. I was just planning my birthday party!”

Goebbels would draw nearer to Justin, the closer he got the heavier the air became. Justin could feel his smooth, three blonde hair sprinkled scrotum itching a bit, a gentle, caressing tingle in his balls, which were larger than most boys his age.

Justin's eyes shifted, glancing at the ground, as if noticing and remembering something, growing closer to a rope hanging behind him. Their shadows danced along the walls surrounding them, Brian was digging the pellet out of the skin of his stomach, wincing as he watched with desperation and hunger in his soft brown eyes, speaking in a hushed tone as he felt an anxiousness building in him now.

“... C'mon New Kid, drop him.”

“Hear me out, New Kid.. Please.” Justin's brows furrowed, post pubescent cracking tone, as he shoved a hand into his pocket, fumbling desperately in it before withdrawing the Pinecone of Secrets, flecks of golden glitter chipping off its worn shape, dots of dried glue where a few gems had fallen off, holding it out.

“You can take it, you can have the Pinecone of Secrets, okay? Listen, you'll get to be the King of the neighborhood, okay? That's perfect for a new guy.”

The scrawny emo boy's head tilted to the side, those dark void-like eyes glazing over the Pinecone of Secrets for a moment, before looking back to Justin. Nostrils flaring a bit, inhaling deeply, slowly, as if he were taking in the other boy's body odor. Justin swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I'll do anything, anything you want man I swear!”

Justin's perfectly cut sandy blonde hair was a bit disheveled now in this moment, feeling like a lion was at his throat as the shadowy, ominous heaviness grew around him and Goebbels.

The self proclaimed King of the neighborhoods eyed the painted red X on the ground then, struggling to seize his fear and act. There was a glint in his eye, taking just another slow step back, as Goebbels followed suit to keep right upon him like an overcast. The moment the scrawny emo boys Lego brick encrusted boots landed on that X.

Justin's worried expression was abandoned in a way that would take years of playing opossum, a smug expression rising upon his devilishly handsome young features, dental braced teeth showing as he quickly snagged that dangling rope, gripping it tightly, Pinecone of Secrets still in the other.

“Psyche!” Said with a sharp post pubescent vocal fry, before he flexed his lean arm with a fervor.

Brian would look up into the rafters, seeing now what was connected to that rope that Justin had grabbed onto, brows spiking as he hopped to his feet, stinging in his smooth thigh and belly from the pellet shot wounds,hands cupping around his mouth as he screamed towards Goebbels.

“New Kid! Look out, it's a trap!!”

“I summon the King's Meteor Shower!!”

Justin shouted, in a post pubescent cracking tone and with one quick tug that jolted up the rope, it loosened the fastened knots supporting those four sand bags in the rafters, immediately causing them to spillover the wooden beams as they began crashing down towards the red painted X on the floor, right where Goebbels stood, facing Justin.

*BOOMCRASHBOOMCRASHBOOM!*

The sound of wood shattering, cracking and splintering echoed through the large, spacious, shadowy halls of the church turned storage unit. Dust and debris had burst into the air, erupting from the spot those sandbags had crashed through. Brian tumbled back against a wall out of pure shock, heart racing as he was sure he saw those sandbags crush Goebbels.

Justin staggered backwards as well, red rayon cape catching on a jagged piece of lumber and tearing away as the nearly thirteen year old boy tightened his grip on the Pinecone of Secrets, getting his footing, his own heart rate climbing a bit. The sandbags had been so close they almost hit him, though he was sure they'd crushed the scrawny emo boy.

All was quiet and still, as the reality of what he had probably done began to set it. Justin would blink, slowly. He knew what had happened, it was sinking into his brain, shackling him. Justin suddenly began to feel what he hated the most. GuiIt.

“.. it was just supposed to be for fun.”

Justin said quietly, eyes and brows heavy.

It was supposed to be a game. All of this was just supposed to be a game. He was supposed to rile up all the other kids for invitations to his birthday, dangle shiny things in front of them teasingly, make them feel like they had a shot at winning a game and becoming a “king”, while he played with their hopes as a joke and cheated for fun. For fun. All for fun.

The dust lazily ebbed away, settling lower and lower to the ground until everything was visible once more, a huge hole in the wooden floor where Goebbels once stood, now nothing but shattered, busted, broken planks stuck out of that hole.

“... I.. I..” Justin stammered, eyes widening, that loose, short white football jersey ruffling as he looked side to side rapidly, as if expecting to see something that would make what he just did less horrifying.

Brian shuffled towards a pew, hands clasping over the back of it, a grave expression had settled upon his handsome young face as he spoke quietly to himself. 

“.... He.. he.. killed him.”

An almost deafening silence filled the building. The particular groaning and shifting of the large, breathing, abandoned church seemed to come to a slow halt. The wood had stopped creaking, the breeze outside had stopped whistling through the gaps in old windows. Brian felt a dense knot in his stomach, unable to grasp the concept of having just seen another kid get smashed to death.

Justin held the Pinecone of Secrets in one hand, releasing the rope in the other, handsome face sinking. The nearly thirteen year old boy's gaze would drift out past the crater in the floor towards Brian, as he spoke in a quiet and observant tone. That guilt had begun to consume him.

“... It was an accident. I didn't mean it.”

Brian shook his head, sliding along the back of the pew as a seed of panic had begun to sprout. Justin had now taken things to a dark place on this early Spring day. Whatever boyish mischief and flights of fancy had existed in this place before in this town, these neighborhoods, this old abandoned church, was gone now at this moment.

Justin had gone too far this time, he had let the kite string go, kicked the ball over the fence. Whatever innocence and whimsy had existed before, felt like it was bleeding out of them at this moment. The air in the room grew heavy suddenly, the wood began breathing, creaking, groaning, straining. As if dozens of invisible feet were putting their weight upon it.

Justin would abruptly feel a heavy, ominous presence behind him, almost as if a shadow had reached out to tap his shoulder. The older boy would spin on the heels of his red and white sneakers, coming face to face with Goebbels.

Hood ripped off, dark cloak in tatters and draping over his scrawny shoulders like shredded streamers, clothes covered in scattered rips and tears, the smudge around his deep, dark, void-like eyes had been smeared and streaked down to the jawline of his pale young dirtied face.

Justin swallowed a lump in his throat, shock pinning his feet in place as he felt a rock sink into the pit of his stomach. Goebbels' presence towered over him, despite being shorter, the air growing so thick and heavy it was hard for Justin to focus. The shadow the ghastly boy was casting on the wall grew, daunting, looming, almost as if some primal force of nature had impregnated the abandoned church.

The emo boys' long, scrawny arms lanced outwards, hands clapping together to form rock. Justin's body felt heavier, heavier now than it did a moment ago, almost as if he were trying to move in the shallow end of a pool. Justin's eyes were pulled into Goebbels deep well gaze, desperately attempting to convince himself to look away.

Goebbels hands slapped together again, moving as a blur. Paper. Justin's lean, long, developing frame stood upright, full lips stretched wide into a strained frown of protest, teeth showing, clenched, dental braces glinting in the light, brows lowering heavily as he attempted to resist the feeling of himself giving in to some hypnotic state.

Scissors. Goebbels hands slapped together one last time, fingers making a scissor motion in his palm as Justin's stance widened, long lean legs spread in those thin faded blue fleece joggers as if against his will. Joggers pulled up roughly in a wedgie by some unseen force, digging into his butt crack, causing Justin to grunt, accentuating his bulge and outlining a pair of larger, plump testicles, a soft little sausage sat over them.

Brian stepped out from behind the pew, moving as close as he possibly could, fists clenching, goosebumps dotting his arms. Justin was the oldest of the boys after all, and he curiously took in the fruitful view with blushing cheeks. He thought the older boy's bigger, fuller nards looked like fantastic targets. He was ready to see Justin get it.

Justin felt that same unseen force slowly push his soft chubby little weiner off to the side then angle it upward, as if moving it out of the way. His perfectly cut sandy blonde hair tussled as he strained to move, pure panicked hysteria setting in.

He knew what was coming.

“N-no.. please..! Please don't!”

Justin's desperate post pubescent cracking protests fell on deaf ears, holding great fear in his copper green eyes as he strained.

“NO! I've never been hit in my nards before, PLEASE! NO!”

Goebbels would reel his long, scrawny leg back as far as it could bend, floodlights catching the glinting of the red plastic bricks that packed the toe of his black boot as his pale thin lips parted to issue forth a blood curdling scream that echoed through the abandoned building.

“ROCK, PAPER, NUTS! YOU LOSE!

His lego encrusted boot blasted forward with a heavy *woosh* up between Justin's legs, speeding up between the older boys thigh gap, the lego brick battering ram striking hard into the bottom of his young testicles, fucking hammering them, pube sprinkled ballsack rippling as Goebbels plastic brick boot tip pounded Justin's maturing, meaty yogurt tanks flat against his pelvis, edged corners and sharp bits of plastic bricks digging into his mature boy oysters during impact with a rich, meaty, juicy *CRUUWNCH!!*

“OOoooffff!”

Justin's devilishly charming copper greens blew wide open as a cracked, sharp, loud post pubescent grunting gasp punched out of his throat, body jerking into a half snap as the most volatile pain exploded in his plump, veiny, maturing bigger boy testicles. Every sharp stabbing corner of those bricks digging into his plump nuts and aggressively reshaping them up into the corners of his inner thighs.

Shocked, horrified face twitching, his grip loosened on the Pinecone of Secrets, it slipped from his hand and fell to the floor, rolling away, a hushed, guttural rattling escaped him.

The older boy's mind and body plunged into crisis mode, his mouth dropped open to chokingly suck in a loud, desperate, rattled breath before suddenly, his breathing stopped. Choking, throat seizing as his brain began to short circuit, the white hot burning pain that flooded his meaty big boy balls spread like a wildfire through his nether regions, growing worse every second, sending a flood of nausea into his guts and causing his body to begin trembling.

Face flushing red, unable to breath. Strained tongue wagging against his braces, feeling like his balls were about to explode in his pube dusted sack, Justin's eyes rolled into the back of his head. Goebbels would rip his booted foot from Justin's crotch, leaving the boys long lean legs trembling.

Wet saliva coated lips flapping, raspy choking being the only sound Justin made, tears forming in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks as he clawed desperately at his throat, bigger boy balls pulsing intensely with obscenely sharp stabbing pains which sent him crashing between the two extremes.

Brian smiled as he saw Goebbels draw back again, blasting his boot up between Justin's thigh gap once more, drilling another kick square into Justin's swelling, pain flooded, blood engorged maturing young balls as the boy's face warped with agonizing horror.

*CRAAAAAAWNCH!!!*

Justin's body jolted, buckling forward further upon impact, still panic choking as the obscenely intensified pain in his nuts from the force of the second kick wrecked him, heart rate spiking rapidly, chest seizing up tight, guts boiling as the sickness in his stomach flooded his intestines.

The plastic brick coated boot tip began mashing hard into his tender boy meats, dozens of sharp plastic corners grinding Justin's warped, maturing, veiny bigger boy testicles against his pelvic floor, forcing his throbbing glands to cross, nut chords twisting together, knotting in the process, Justin's face gripped in unimaginable fucking agony. Pearls of sweat dotted his brow, room spinning, legs trembling as the disgusting mess that was his face began turning purple, veins bulging in his neck like tree roots.

Goebbels would yank his booted foot out of Justin's brutally massacred developing young manhood, causing the sweat soaked older boy to stagger forward, knees buckling as he dropped to them hard on the wooden floor, shoulders caving, lurching forward, lack of oxygen and excruciating pain in his fattening, twisted up, aching big boy nuts to reach a fever pitch that was dragging him towards unconsciousness.

Brian, eyes lit with pleasure, watching as  Goebbels stood there, a dark void-like gaze cast down at the bigger boy on his knees, consuming his defeat. Justin, two devastating blows deep with his maturing testicles knotted together and pressing into one another, was beyond done already.

The scrawny emo boy then bent his arms back at the elbow, reeling back his booted foot a third time, swinging it forward as a wet and meaty *KRAAAWNCH!* echoed through the building, the kick crashing into the misshapen meaty bulge in Justin's thin blue fleece joggers so hard it caused a mass extinction event within his tangled balls, obliterating the developing boy's fledgling sperm count.

The nearly thirteen year old folded upon impact, arms shooting out like wet noodles draping over Goebbels leg as Justin rag dolled, tear soaked blood shot eyes widening, head snapping back as the nausea flooding him reached a boiling point, a fucking bucket load of hot, sticky, chunky, wet digested salt and vinegar chips with bile would blast out of his throat in one, two, three thick ropey wide wads, spraying in an arch across the floor behind Goebbels

“Blaaaaaaaaurgh!”

Puke was raining down in loud wet splatters, as he could feel every corner of those bricks stabbing again into his big, fat, massacred young nards, saliva and puke coated lips quivering. Throat opening after the puke forced through it, a loud rattling inhale came from Justin as air filled his lungs again, gasping, choking, coughing. A thick desperate panting as sweat and tears streaked down his face, color returning to his now clammy palette.

The boy would begin a wounded, throaty groan mixed with sharp low cries of excruciating pain. He sounded like a gravely wounded animal fighting to grasp the concept of inexplicable agony. Goebbels would jerk his foot back.

Justin's slumped frame swayed lazily, head hanging low, eyes now glued to the floor, chunks of puke in his braces as saliva dripped from his quivering lips, shallow breath rattling in his chest as he couldn't even find the strength to cup whatever remained of his big boy wreckage in his briefs. Justin was done.

“.... U-uugh… gugh..”

Brian, a satisfied expression upon his face, watched as Goebbels grabbed Justin by the collar of his white jersey, puke having dribbled all over the “#1” on it, lifting the limp, ballbusted bigger boy up to his limp feet. 

Justin retched, balls bound together, burning with every motion that jiggled them, stomach turning, eyes spinning with the room as he heaved multiple times, throat bulging, lips pursing before spraying another hot rich stream of puke, his second big boy barf load forcing past his lips in thick chunky arches far over Goebbels shoulder, splattering across the ground in one, two, three wet sloppy, wide ropes, before Justin's head rolled lazily aside.

“...Uuugh..”

The scrawny emo Warlock would tilt his head, deep void-like eyes almost seemingly seeking something in Justin, then released him, watching as the older boy staggered, face a sweaty tear and snot soaked mess, copper green eyes vacant, rolling, legs wobbling knees knocking, abruptly tipping backwards like a falling tree, hitting the wood floor hard as his legs kicked up, red and white sneakers in the air a second, then those heels would hit the ground.

*whump*

All was quiet then besides the breathing of the old building. The large ominous shadows that had hung across the walls moments before seemed to shrink back down, the heavy atmosphere had leveled off, gravity lifting, the air thin and breathable again.

Goebbels would stare down at Justin's disheveled form, deep, void-like eyes consuming the wreckage before him. The bulge in front of Justin's thin faded blue fleece joggers was now a misshapen mess, an oily looking patch had formed and spread there. Justin began shifting shakily, legs weakly drawing up as his hands slowly tucked down to clutch his swollen, ground up, three pube sprinkled ballsack, rolling pathetically onto his side as he shriveled  into a fetal position and stayed there.

He wouldn't be adding to his crusty sock pile for quite some time.

Another round of silence as Brian and Goebbels watched the older boy. It was like he was broken. Then, quietly at first, but steadily growing louder, a long drawn out raspy wheezing cry would begin. Building louder, louder, louder, until the hollow building was filled with the pathetic sounds of Justin's coughing, choking, post pubescent sloppy wailing.

Brian moved out from behind the pew, stepping towards and across the now dried pool of adhesive ooze, processing what he'd just seen. It made him feel something he'd never felt before. A kind of pleasant  tickling excitement. One he would remember later. Carefully tip toeing around the plastic bricks to draw nearer, he wanted to see Justin in pain. He needed to.

“... That's what you get, Justin.” He said, looking over the older boy's crippled form. Feeling a mixed sensation of happiness and sympathy “For everything. You use people and hurt people. So you deserved to be hurt too.”

Brian would eye the defeated older boy, his cardboard yellow painted crown laying beside him, crushed. A desperate tug in his chest wanting him to kick Justin in the balls himself.

Brian would scan Justin's trembling, sobbing form, seeing the wedge below his buttcheeks where his fingers were poking out and he'd cram his bare toes into the cranny mercilessly, feeling a big mushy, meaty mess rolling, forcing Justin to shriek as his balls ached and burned brutally upon the touch, his curled form heaving, a coughing groan followed by a strained retch as Justin spewed another thick ropey stream of big boy puke across the ground, drenched in cold sweats, continuing his disgusting sobbing.

Brian would withdraw his toes with a solemn, but fully satisfied expression. Justin's balls were fucked. And that made him happy.

Goebbels would turn to face Brian, eyes moving over him. Feeling the cold gaze, Brian would then let his soft brown eyes settle on the scrawny emo boy, black eye prominent.

“I for sure thought you were a goner, New Kid.. Thanks. For this. I know it sounds weird but if everyone else was gonna pay, so was he. Everyone gets a share.”

The sounds of Justin's choking sobs continued to fill the air as Brian cleared his throat, shaking his hands out and exhaling deeply as if he were getting his nerves loose and attempting to compose himself.

“You better get out of here. Parents should be on their way soon I bet.. I don't even know what to tell them. Besides the truth, I guess.”

The scrawny emo kid, clothing in tatters and his own disheveled form would watch Brian a moment longer, turning on his heels and slouching, hands moving to tuck into his pockets as he started a slow and languid walk, almost drifting as he tended to do towards the door. Stopping just at the entrance, a pale expressionless face tilted over his shoulder, those wells of his pouring over the blonde afro, toasted coconut skinned boy. 

Brian shivered, stepping back, watching as Goebbels slipped into the oncoming darkness that had begun to cover the sleepy town of Sunnyside.

The boy inhaled deeply with a wince, feeling the now subtle stings from the pellet shot wounds, turning to watch Justin sobbing on the floor another moment longer, eyes shifting towards the Pinecone of Secrets that lay abandoned beside him. The smell of the older boy's puke hanging in the air, making him a little sick himself.

Brian had to wonder, if Goebbels didn't care about the Pinecone, then what was all this for?

It was over, he thought. The Pinecone glinted in the floodlights of the church, even having chipped paint and missing plastic gems, it glittered and gleamed. Justin had managed to keep it the last three years. But what did it even mean? Justin was wealthy in materialistic items, it made it easier to accept that idea for other boys. But what if things were different, Brian thought.

“.. Should I take it?” Curiosity filled his eyes, his imagination beginning to wander. He could claim the victory and maybe if the other boys in the neighborhood acknowledged the symbolic nature of the Pinecone of Secrets, Brian could leverage it. Things could be different. He would promote peace, unity. No more rivalries between cliques, no ageism.

Justin's defeated sobs filled his ears, and Brian would pick the Pinecone up off the ground, clasping it in his hands, turning to face Justin's wounded, broken body. Brian took a slow, deep breath, eyes filling with intention, shoulders broadening.

“I'm King of the neighborhoods now, Justin. I claim it. I am the winner of this year's Pinecone of Secrets tournament. And as King, I say no more tournaments, and no more King of the neighborhoods. Things are gonna change around here, and you can either help or get out of the way. Because if you act up anymore, I will personally break what's left of your nards.”

He said, before snorting back loudly and staring at the wreckage of Justin, before hawking a loogie which splattered right next to him. Brian was going to spit right onto him, but he felt like he was better than that. And Justin didn't even deserve his spit.

The older boy continued to sob pathetically.

Brian seemed to have grown quite large by the end of the day. He was true to his role, as a Paladin. Kind, humble and helpful. At least he tried to be. And now young Brian was beginning to feel tougher, braver. Stronger. 

He then turned, bare feet slapping against the old wooden floor of the church as he stepped around the plastic bricks and dried slime, tucking the Pinecone into the pocket of his white gym shorts as he moved towards the door, mind racing with a mixture of thoughts and emotions.

He was preparing himself to have to tell the adults everything, about the New Kid, Justin's plan. All of it. There was a pit of anxiousness seeding in his belly as he moved closer and closer to the door, almost as if the shadows were watching him. The feelings of hope and excitement began to feel like they were being taken from him, as if he needed to be concerned suddenly. 

Brian emerged into the front lawn of the old abandoned church, crisp night air brushing across his toasted coconut skin as he looked around, seeing a street light in the distance that almost began to feel like a beacon of hope, a place of solitude and tranquility after what had been a long, chaotic and cumbersome day. He'd begin jogging towards it, bare feet beating against the cool grass, then the pavement after reaching the sidewalk.

Something was there, in the darkness. He could feel it, a tingle that ran up his spine, tickling his hairless ballsack. Brian's eyes widened and he picked up the pace, heart beginning to beat faster, arms cutting through the air as he approached the light cast by the street lamp. In the distance he saw one set of headlights, then two, then three, then more. They were all moving down the abandoned back road that led towards the church, and Brian.

There was something in the shadows that was growing closer, something that pushed the boy faster and faster. Bare feet slapping against that road in quick succession, the headlights in the distance feeling almost like the light ahead of him in a dream that grew further and further away the faster he ran.

The boy would burst into the safety of the light from the street lamp, panting, arms flailing in an attempt to flag down the approaching vehicles, legs spreading wide as he jumped up and down with his bare feet seemingly being spring loaded.

“Here! Over here!”

The air grew colder, heavier.

Suddenly there was a crunch of gravel behind him and he froze, his heart catching in his chest, eyes filling with fear. Brian clenched his fingers and bare foot toes, feeling the air grow heavier still as Goebbels appeared behind him, street lights casting an almost ethereal glow around the scrawny emo boy, booted foot already drawn back, plastic brick packed dense toes ravenous for another meal.

The fear he felt was not of prey caught in the gaze of a predator- It was the fear you felt from a crashing wave, from a rumbling storm, from the earth moving beneath you. The fear Brian suddenly felt was a fear of a powerful and destructive force of nature that had finally arrived at his door.

Brian's own words flashed in his mind. Everyone gets a share. The blonde afroed boy would swallow a lump in his throat, before he'd hear that cold, pubescent, impactful scream. 

He'd never seen it coming.

“Rock, paper, NUTS! YOU LOSE!”

The sound of Goebbels boot slicing through the cool night air with a *woosh!* was the last thing Brian heard before it all became a blur, as the plastic brick packed toe of that boot sped through, driving up and in-between eleven year old Brian's toasted coconut thighs from behind, hammering into the crotch of his white gym shorts, smashing his hairless, lightly tanned ballsack flat against his pelvic floor with a loud, wet, meaty

*CRUUWNCH!*

Pain erupted immediately and flooding his developing young manhood with a fiery agony he was unable to comprehend.

“Oooooooh!!” Brian's eyes widened further, pupils dilated, mouth stretching in a guttural screaming groan as pubescent cracking shattered his vocals. Pure shock and terror set into his handsome young face, brows twitching. 

Hard plastic brick corners stabbed into the kids veiny, squishy egg shaped testicles, dangerously pushing the durability of their meaty membranes, sharp, deep, brutal pain exploding at every single stab point. Brian's guts flooded with sickness as he felt  his bowels tanking, butthole clenching as the rest of his body felt the explosive pain in his smooth nutsack, trembling now from head to toe, eyes rolling as he felt himself losing his senses and giving in to pure agony

Goebbels boot ripped from the tight space between Brian's thighs, reeling back quickly only to jack knife a second kick, plastic brick coated toes slamming up into Brian's hairless nutsack a second time, mashing the boys already devastatingly pain riddled veiny balls against his pelvis once more, grinding his tender, private, squishy boy meat as Brian's eyes, still in the back of his head watered and the pain, stabbing, violent, flooded his veiny small eggs.

The toasted coconut skinned boy staggered forward as Goebbels boot jerked from his tight gap, gasping for air, before collapsing hard to his hands and knees, plump butt cheeks, hugged tightly in thin white gym shorts protruding as he trembled. 

If only he'd never give Chris his cup back.

“  U-...Ugh… Ugh..” Brian panted heavily, wheezing, choking out spastic coughs through wet and sloppy groans. His eyes were darting left to right, feeling the agonizing pain in his hairless toasted coconut ballsack swelling and mounting, growing worse and worse. His instinct was to flee but he couldn't escape his own testicles. He screamed out, tears welling in his eyes as Goebbels stood there, bathed in the street light, watching.

Brian's chest would rise and fall rapidly, he could feel his now lumpy and misshapen boy oysters enlarging, fattening and stretching his hairless nutsack as he moaned like a wounded young animal. Head hanging low, sweat beading his brow as the headlights of a car illuminated his blonde afro, light reflecting off his aluminum foil circlet, coming to stop before him.

The boy's mouth opened, saliva and spit collecting on his lips in juicy pearls, dripping to the ground below him as he spat, sickness building. One trembling hand would cup his pain riddled, engorged nut meat.

The sound of several footsteps approaching him was heard before he lurched forward, those soft brown, tear soaked eyes widening further, a push of burning liquid blasted from his belly, through his sternum and flooded the back of his throat before he bucked, a hot chunky load of boy barf poured out of Brian's mouth and splattered across the pavement, as he gasped, gagging, his head dropping to the ground, bare foot arches straining, toes curling.

Brian could feel every little nerve ending in his veiny, small egg shaped testicles, stabbing with crippling pain that made his whole body weak and enfeebled. Made him afraid and alone.

And that pain was fucking agonizing.

The sounds of Brian's wounded cries echoed through the night sky as the silhouettes of dozens of adults stood before the collection of bright headlights and parked cars. Goebbels would lift his head to watch them, deep, dark, expressionless eyes set against that pale, emotionless face.

The sound of a woman's voice, Brian's mother, would break through the cool, dark, early Spring evening air, utter shock and horror carrying it far and wide.

“OH GOD BRIAN!”

Brian's body shuddered, pubescent groaning ragged, weakly cupping what felt like a grenade had gone off in his hairless nutsack and left aching carnage in its wake. Lifting his head up to see his own mother rushing towards him. He'd attempt to speak through the paralyzing pain in his maturing boy oysters.

“... M- o..ugh..”

Those soft brown eyes widened, pudgy buttcheeks chewing his white gym shorts as he lurched.

“BLURGH!” Another wave of thick, slimy, hot bile erupted from Brian's mouth, puke and spit soaked lips quivering as the waste splashed loudly against the pavement below him, spreading out around him as he shakily gulped in more air, throat burning, stomach empty.

Brian's vision blurring, shaky hand drifting from his massacred boyhood, he'd collapse, laying flat on his stomach as he groped himself weakly, grotesquely pained groans and sobbing weakly pouring from him.

Understanding fully now that the game, their nightmarish little game, was finally over. The day had started off with an army of boys marching out onto quiet Maple Street, an unassuming block in the unassuming town of Sunnyside.

“...who's kid is that?” A man among the group of onlooking parents would ask, pointing at Goebbels who stood behind Brian, watching them all now. His void-like eyes were unmoving.

It ended quite differently, though. Lives would change, feelings would change, innocence was lost. Nothing would be the same again, not for the boys of Maple Street. At least not until the next catastrophic event would occur as they so often did in the lives of adolescents.

“Brian.. honey..” Brian's mother would say in a shocked, yet hushed tone as she approached her son cautiously, eyes shifting between him and Goebbels as the rest of the parents gathered around quietly.

The night sky above them became less heavy, and more somber. It was the most quiet and eerie it had ever felt in the quiet mountainside town of Sunnyside.

Four months later

The summer had taken over the last few weeks, bringing with it the end of what had been a miserable and turbulent last half of the school year for the kids of Sunnyside Elementary. The tournament of the Pinecone of Secrets has become a wildly scathing topic, something parents were made to be wary about and how it somehow became involved with genitalia mutilation, which was far from the truth but stories changed more and more with each mouth recounting something just a little different.

The boys who had been the victims of the specifically taboo attacks all had different after care experiences, each one healing at their own pace but making full recoveries on their own with patience and care. Justin's journey was a bit different, he wasn't seen for awhile after he was taken to a special care unit for what they understood to be various surgeries, or no surgeries, depending on who was gossiping. Recovery was successful for him too, but took far longer.

Things were a bit quieter for a while, but life would go on for the boys of Maple Street. Carson quit speaking to Justin which was a bizarre dynamic shift considering he'd been perceived to be worshipping him for years. He became a bit more annoying, his own loud and flagrant personality surfacing the more came into his independence. His father had gotten a job in another town and the family moved after the end of the school year.

Collin got to keep Jerky, his parents feeling an overwhelming amount of guilt over what happened to him sealed the deal. He was also, understandly hesitantly, enrolled into a self defense class. The boy had a largely timid nature that needed to be developed and the idea that his big brother's would not always be able to protect him was now a reality.

Billy and Bobby had also enrolled into that same self defense class, the humiliation of their ball breaking defeat only hardened their resolve to be more athletically dominant and focused. The brothers were also already well into training for basketball, with Junior High teams tryouts on the horizon. They were going to build a brand on their imagery as brash and energetic twin athletes.

Justin became a bit reserved, but when he did eventually attempt to socialize again, he was meek and apologetic. His guilt became his path to attempted redemption, especially to those he scorned the most. He had a lot of bad behaviors to unlearn, but with therapy on the weekends, he was coming around, though he lived in recurring anxiety of the world around him getting back at him.

Justin was learning to grapple with the idea that if he wasn't inconsiderate or mean to others, that he wouldn't feel the guilt or shame that came with it and he'd even begin to understand something he'd been oblivious to for most of his adolescence. Empathy.

The other kids reminded him regularly to watch his step, however. Especially Brian, who had become a bit more assertive since everything that happened.

Tim was back to his annoying self as usual, having earned a deeper respect from the members of Boogers and Farts as a battle hardened war veteran, rumors were even spreading that in the void left by the Pinecone of Secrets tournament that a storm was brewing on the high seas and the pirates might have been plotting their own game to arise.

Goebbels? New Kid? No one had seen or heard from him since the Pinecone of Secrets tournament. The police couldn't find his parents, and the boy showed no remorse or response to the day. He was taken into protective juvenile custody, last anyone heard. But, much like anything else, it all depended on who was gossiping about it that day.

As for Chris and Brian, well, they hadn't spoken much since everything happened. Waves and passing conversation at school were occasional, no animosity or misgivings, but it had begun to feel like maybe there was an unspoken distance developing.

The hangouts were infrequent and awkward in the weeks following the tournament, before dwindling to almost nothing. Both boys would cancel plans like they were playing leap frog. Weekend sleepovers had halted and then became non-existent. There hadn't been a falling out, but a shift.

Neither of them successfully navigated life from one another before, and it became evident more than ever that a true rift had begun, when Brian never showed up for Chris’ birthday.

Then the following morning, Brian found a note taped to his bedroom window. It was Chris’ terribly messy penmanship, and only three sentences.

“Meet me at the north fishing spot. I'll be there until the afternoon. Bring your gear.”

A small lake, surface glittering in reflecting sunlight, sat next to a hillside, green grass untamed and tall all around, littered with pinecone trees which were native to the area, the buzzing and chirping of insects filled the warm humid Summer air.

Chris sat on the edge of an old wooden pier that stretched out over the lake, same unkempt brown hair, wearing a blue tank top and some thin neon pink running shorts, bare feet tucked into new white sneakers he'd gotten for his twelfth birthday the week prior, staring out quietly across the lake with a fishing pole in his hands, line in the water. His face expressionless, bored.

He turned his head towards the sound of approaching steps in the grass, seeing Brian walking up casually but cautiously with a fishing rod of his own in hand, wearing a yellow tank top and green gym shorts, feet tucked into his newer black slides,“Catch anything?” he'd ask with a curious half smile, his tone suggesting he was gaging the temperature.

“Nah, nothing so far..” Chris frowned, shifting in a way that created a little more space between them, though when his brown eyes met Brian's, he'd give Brian a hesitant but warming smirk.

“Well I'm here now so your luck is about to change, bro.” Brian said in a joking tone, reaching out with his fishing pole to poke at and tap at the tip of Chris’, brows wriggling, toasted coconut skin glowing in the sun.

The messy brunette haired boy would grin, laughing a bit as he shifted himself away from Brian's shenanigans, feeling the awkward tension easing.

“Dude stop touching poles, are you five?”

There was a light air of humor between them, before Brian exhaled, forcing himself to shuffle up next to Chris and take a seat, clearing his throat as he cast his own line out into the water. Chris went back to staring ahead, before clearing his own throat. A habit he'd picked up, since his voice started changing a little.

“.. Thanks for meeting me here.”

Brian nodded, looking down at his reflection in the water, the sun illuminated his blonde afro, which had grown out a bit more. He then put on a half smile.

“Chris, I know we haven't talked a lot lately, but you're still my friend, man. I feel like I need to say that. Like, I feel that inside.” He paused, eyes squinting in thought. “I think maybe there's just stuff that has to change though, and I-”

“It sucked not having you at my birthday, Brian.” Chris blurted out, eyes ahead.

A silence between them both followed, before he continued. He was now becoming a bit emotional and impetuous, having cut Brian off unintentionally.

“I'm sorry, for everything, about everything. I know you probably blame me for everything that happened and you're probably right. I was selfish, and dumb.” 

He was embarrassed and confused about his feelings and his confessions. He'd been holding it in for quite awhile and wasn't emotionally mature enough to understand why.

“I picked a dumb gaming console over you, my best friend, over Tim, my own brother.. I feel like such an asshole.”

Brian, half smile still upon his handsome young face, would look at Chris.

“You just gotta chill out for real sometimes, bro. That's all. It's fun when you get a crazy idea and you get us into stuff, but dude you don't think all the way before you do something or say something and we get into trouble. A lot.”

Brian could see his words hitting the other boy, knowing this was a two way street and he owed Chris the relief of a shared apology, as they both owned this friendship and the strain it had undergone. “... And I'm sorry too. I could have been around more lately. I should have told you I wasn't mad at you, dude. I just didn't know what to think or say.. And I'm sorry I missed your birthday, I shoulda been there.”

Chris felt a tug in his chest. He knew that, it's why he felt so apologetic himself. He'd frown a bit more, a guilty expression sweeping his handsome, maturing young face.

“Brian, I know dude. I know I gotta get better about being impulsive and reactive.” He sounded the words out, having grasped the idea quite a bit lately with his mother about his behavior and tendencies to be reckless.

“I mean, what happened this Spring..” Brian exhaled deeply, the memories flashing back to him, seeing the pellet rifle scar on his thigh. The dark turn the tournament took. The phantom aches that existed in all their testicles now from time to time.

“That was bad, man.. We almost didn't make it out, at least not as boys anymore. Still gives me the chills thinking about.. him. I heard they put him in an institution.”

Chris nodded, eyes drifting onto the water. Recalling the devastation he'd seen and felt himself. “I heard he got put in an orphanage, couldn't find his parents. Crazy to think of him around more boys.” 

The two boys thought back to the moments their balls had hurt the most they probably ever would. The innocent game that led them there and what it had become. There was a low, awkward silence that grew between them again, which Chris broke when he cleared his throat, now post pubescent voice cracking a bit

“I- I'm sorry.. I know I gotta look before I leap, I'm trying man.” He'd scrunch his face then. “You're my best friend, Brian. It sucks not hanging out with you, and fighting with you and having sleepovers and stuff..and not.. I don't know.. I don't know what else to say besides sorry, dude..” 

Chris’ brown eyes would begin to tear up, turning away, embarrassment rushing over him as a bit of snot bubbled in his nose.

Brian sighed softly, before extending his pole, tapping the tip of Chris’ again with his reassuringly, shifting his soft brown eyes to look the other boy over, noticing he was still going bare foot in sneakers with a smirk. He started to notice something else about him too that he couldn't quite place. An unfamiliar wonder perhaps.

“No crying dude, please.. We're good, man. I just want you to think twice about stuff first from now on..You make me laugh, bro.. you make things cool and fun and exciting. I like that about you and, I dunno.. I like the way you make me feel, I guess. And I want to hang out again, like always, Chris.” Brian's face felt a bit hot, as his own embarrassment draped over him. Chris had left a void in his life the last four months, the kind only a best friend could fill.

Chris blinked, some gentle tears rolled down his cheeks as he turned away to wipe his eyes and now snotty nose as he felt a wash of embarrassment from having done that in front of another boy, even if it was Brian. Looking back with a bashful yet mischievous smile after. “Alright your majesty, alright, I got it. I don't want to piss off the King of the Neighborhoods.” Said in jest as he sniffled.

Brian would roll his eyes at that, returning that bashful smirk. “I told you not to call me that, no one should. There's no more King of the Neighborhoods. We're all just normal kids.. But if you want to act like I'm your  king, that's okay. You can be my loyal Knight, instead of a Dragoon. Hehe.”

Chris laughed a bit, kicking his feet anxiously suddenly at the water, an unfamiliar and fleeting feeling rising in his stomach as he cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders.

“Don’t be gay, dude, heh.”

There was another moment of silence between them, one that almost felt comforting, like the silence the two of them use to be able to share regularly. For the first time in months, the boys could feel the warmth of their friendship filling the spaces where cold distance had grown.

Finally, Chris spoke again.

“But wow, former Paladin now King? In that case, your highness, there's gonna be a spitball contest later behind the old arcade. I was gonna go, see if I still got it.”

Chris would look at their fishing poles again, noticing their lines had entwined and tangled, before looking down at the other boy's hands, then finally his face, one eye squinting. “Wanna go with me?”

One last moment of silence, this one shorter and less awkward, as Chris waited. The same unfamiliar feeling washed over Brian again, one he couldn't place. He'd reach over with his foot, kicking at Chris’ roughly before flashing a grin. “Bet I'll win.”

Chris, elated, mocked him. “Bet I'll win.”

Before kicking back at Brian's foot, with a wiry smirk as he shook his head, unkempt brown hair tussling.

They laughed a bit, exchanging more foot kicking, which led to shoulder punches, which led to poles being tossed aside, the two engaging in a light rough housing session on the pier that lasted a couple of minutes, which Chris typically won, being in wrestling. In no time after the playful dust settled they were arguing about their lines being tangled, who's fault it was and who had the better idea to fix it. 

And with that, things were getting back to normal. The two boys spent the next few hours catching up as the sun sat high in the sky, swinging their legs from the edge of that pier, surrounded by fields of green grass and a large spattering of those pinecone trees, and in the distance, one shadowy, scrawny figure beside a tree, facing their direction in the vast space of hillside, far, far from anyone else.

The end.