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A Paler Shade of Green	By : Rina76 Category: Angel the Series > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3526 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Angel fandom or any of the characters from the show. I am not making money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
A/N: Much thanks to Kuragari for the support! Hope this chapter pleases you :)

Part 16. Hero
As he exits the portal Lorne is prepared and does a cool-looking somersault roll out of it and along the ground. Okay, that’s not true; he falls flat on his face. Fortunately, nobody is around to see it except a startled-looking demon-cow whose paddock Lorne unceremoniously drops into. The cow blinks at him, makes a low bleating sound and then continues grazing, chewing up vegetation with blunt square teeth, drool trickling out of the sides of its mouth. Wrinkling his nose at the vile stink of the shaggy creature, Lorne mutters as he get up, “There’s one smell I didn’t miss.” Brushing grass off his suit, the green-skinned man looks around, scanning the fields to get his bearings. There’s smoke coming from over the hill and in the near distance he can see a collection of roughly-built huts and shacks. A village. Possibly even Lorne’s own village, the one he grew up in and barely survived escaping from. If he hadn’t come to Los Angeles Lorne has no doubt that he’d be dead by now, potentially killed by Pylean warriors for being so different or he might have even hanged himself just to end the misery of living in a world without music or gentleness. This dimension gives him all kinds of unpleasant feelings and being back in it really upsets his psyche but it’s only going to be a short trip. All he has to do is find Kylar, rescue him and take the kid back to his REAL home.
Closing his eyes and placing his fingertips on his temples, Lorne tries to connect with Kylar using his empathic skills but he can’t sense anything from the boy. Hopefully he’s all right and is just hiding in a cave somewhere but Lorne has to steel himself for the possibility that Kylar could have been captured and may even be injured, particularly if his family got their hands on him. Knowing his own race and the penchant they have for barbaric vindictiveness, Lorne is convinced that Kylar is still alive because if he has been caught by his clan, they’d want to punish him for his disobedience and see him suffer for a while. Either way, the faster Lorne finds him, the less badly Kylar will be hurt.
Arming himself with the large knife Connor gave him, Lorne jumps over the paddock fence and jogs along a dirt track towards the village. Up ahead he sees a farmer pushing a wheelbarrow full of pumpkin-like vegetables. Jogging over, Lorne grabs the other Pylean by the arm. The farmer stops in surprise, glancing up with cloudy red eyes. He’s chubby in the face, has a round belly, short stubbly horns and the same dirty-looking stringy brown hair that most of the locals around here have. Lorne vaguely recognises the man’s portly features but he can’t place a name. Probably one of his father’s neighbours/ale-drinking buddies judging by the extended network of veins in the man’s inflamed green nose.
“What’s the name of that village?” Lorne demands, gesturing towards the cluster of thatched-roofed huts. Most of the villages in Pylea look the same so he wants to be sure he’s in the right place before charging in and tearing everything apart.
Evidently Lorne was right about the man being familiar because he looks Lorne up and down, recognising the younger male by his spiked hair and brightly coloured suit.
“Krevlornswath of the Deathwok clan,” the farmer says scornfully. “You got some nerve showing up here again after what you did last time, you excrement-eating traitor. The shame you brought your parents will never be forgotten, no matter how many pigs they slaughter in your name.”
Pissed off and not in the mood for this shit, Lorne pulls the farmer up by the front of his mud-stained smock, pressing the jagged blade against the soft flesh of the man’s double chin. Growling, Lorne says, “Where can I find the Muthwok clan? Answer me right fucking now or the end of this knife comes out of your nasal passage.”
Gulping, the demon points with a fat quivering finger. “Over the hill. Fourth hut on the right.”
“Thank you,” Lorne replies with sarcastic politeness. Then in a swift, savage motion, he brings the handle of the knife down hard against the demon’s thick skull, knocking him out cold so he can’t raise any alarms over Lorne’s return. Leaving the second Pylean slumped unconscious on the ground like a sack of meat, Lorne glances around him to make sure nobody saw that (just the unimpressed cow) and then runs towards the hill, only one thing on his mind.
Saving Kylar.
When he reaches the hut Lorne knows he’s in the right place because he can hear children screaming at each other inside. Kylar told him he has seven brothers and sisters. Marching up, Lorne bangs on the door. A demon girl answers, about six years of age, flanked by two smaller toddlers only wearing diapers, food smeared all over their faces and bare feet covered in dirt. Their undeveloped horns are mere stubs.
Addressing the older girl, Lorne questions, “Where’s Kylar?”
Stuffing a finger up her nose, the girl replies rudely, “Who?”
“Kylarkmar. Your brother.” Lorne grits his jaws, trying to stay patient. “Where is he? Have you seen him?”
“Oh, that worthless bucket of pig-vomit.” The girl lazily flicks away a bit of snot. “I know where he is. Why do you care?”
“Because I’m here to take him home.”
“He IS home. We’ve got him chained up in the basement, just like the manure-shovelling cow-slave he is.”
“Cow-slave,” one of the littler brats parrots.
The girl giggles maliciously, showing rotting teeth. “He’s being punished for running away like he did. We can kick him whenever we want. It’s fun.”
Hearing this, Lorne almost punches her in the face but manages to refrain since she’s only a kid. A revolting, nasty kid but a kid, nonetheless.
“Take me to him,” Lorne orders.
“You wanna buy him? He’s not much to look at but he’ll do whatever you want, once you whip him hard enough.” There’s a greedy gleam in her eye as she says this.
Money seems to be the only motivation that drives these people, Lorne decides. Money and cruelty.
“Yes,” he forces out, attempting to hide his increasing anger. “I want to buy him.”
“Mother!” The girl bellows over her shoulder. “Somebody wants to buy Kylarkmar!”
A hideous she-demon comes to the door, wiping her gnarled hands on an apron. She’s horrid, just like Lorne pictured, with a face like a sun-dried prune, eyes like hard little red stones and a sour, constantly-pursed mouth, like she’s sucking on a piece of lemon. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun and there’s no hint of warmth and kindness in her glinting gaze whatsoever. Swatting at the kids, she shoos them away and then squints those stony eyes at Lorne’s figure, clearly disapproving of what she sees.
“Who are you?” she snaps.
“An interested buyer. I wish to purchase your spawn.”
“Why should I sell it to you?”
She uses the word ‘it’, like Kylar is so far beneath her he’s not even worthy of a gender, let alone a name. It takes all of Lorne’s willpower not to Hulk-out and explode.
“Because I require a slave,” he returns stiffly, “and I heard you had one available.”
“There are plenty of other slaves for sale around here. Go somewhere else.” Disinterested, the woman starts to turn aside and shut the door but Lorne shoves his hand against the wooden surface and stops her.
“Well, I want this one.”
She frowns in puzzlement at his firm tone. “It’s ugly and useless and should have been eaten at birth. Why do you want it so much?”
Using the same non-gendered term as she, Lorne replies, “I heard what it did, how it killed its last master. I enjoy a slave with a bit of resistance to them. I enjoy extinguishing that fire, breaking them down and making them crawl at my feet.”
Acting as though he’s eager to inflict some pain onto a lesser being, Lorne continues, masking his true feelings with a hard voice and aloof expression. “I can guarantee that if you sell your spawn to me, I’ll make sure it gets what it deserves.”
After this speech, Kylar’s mother starts to think her son is more valuable than she first thought and that she can get more money for him. Lorne can practically see the dollar signs flashing in her eyes.
Pursing her lips, she commands, “I want double.”
“Agreed.” Lorne waves a careless hand. “Money is of no concern to me. I have plenty.”
The woman cocks her head, appearing sceptical.
“Look at my clothes. My jewellery. Do I look as if I live in a shitty little village like this in a shitty little shack like yours?” Lorne says arrogantly, pointing to the rings on his fingers. “I’m from another dimension. A wealthy dimension. Now, let me see what I’m buying. I want to know what condition it’s in. If it’s too damaged it won’t be of any use to me.”
The mother snorts as she turns down the hallway. “It probably won’t be of any use to you anyway.”
Lorne is taken though a house full of scratched furniture, broken wooden toys, strewn clothing and half-eaten food. He doesn’t see Kylar’s father anywhere. The old man must be down at the local tavern, up to his eyeballs in ale and lamenting how his unwanted, misbehaving boy-spawn has returned to dishonour the family name once again. For people who claim to value their own clan so much, they sure do treat their kids like shit. A gaggle of neglected children follow Lorne down a set of flagstone stairs, including Kylar’s older brother, the one who knocked Kylar out with a rock and dragged him back here. They emerge in a damp cellar.
The slender young Empath is lying on the stone floor on his side, his wrists bound with rusted chains that attach to the wall. He’s a mess, his pale skin smeared with mud and cow dung, his once beautiful hair tangled and matted with blood, his jeans and T-shirt tattered and filthy. His sneakers are gone, probably stolen by one of the other siblings. Kylar’s little sister strides over and gleefully kicks him in the ribs. Kylar doesn’t even react, curled up like a beaten animal used to abuse. Witnessing such an unnecessary show of nastiness, Lorne longs so badly to take hold of the girl and smash her spiteful face into the wall until all her rotten teeth fall out but he restrains himself from moving, silent fury seething through his veins.
“Mordwan - get it up,” the mother harshly orders. The older brother snarls, showing missing front teeth. He grabs Kylar by the hair and hauls the teen to his knees, yanking his head back with a cruel fist. Though every instinct screams at Lorne to throw Mordwan off and enclose Kylar protectively in his arms, he instead goes over and leans down to the captive boy, pretending to inspect him as a master would inspect a potential slave. Kylar’s delicate face is battered, nose possibly broken for what would be the umpteenth time. Three are scratches and grazes all over him and blood has ran down the side of his head. His lip-ring has been torn out and his mouth is bloated and bruised. Even though Kylar is awake, he stares up dully with blank, defeated eyes, like he can’t even see Lorne, as if he’s resigned himself to his fate.
Keeping up the uncaring pretence, Lorne mutters, “It’s bone-skinny and looks like the back end of a miscarrying sow but I suppose it will do. Unchain it.”
Pulling a key out of her apron, the mother tosses it to Mordwan, brusquely instructing her elder son to unfasten the locks. Once the chains are undone, Kylar’s limp arms fall to his sides, raw chafing marks around both wrists. He stays there on the floor in a kneeling position. When Mordwan backs away, as if disgusted by being related to such a pitiful creature, Lorne moves in to scoop Kylar up. The teenager hardly weighs anything.
“Excuse me! You can’t take it without paying!” The mother screeches in outrage as Lorne begins to walk up the basement stairs. “Where’s my money?”
Halting, Lorne shields Kylar, pressing him against his chest, one hand over his other ear. The club-owner and singer draws in a deep breath and then lets out an inhumanly high musical note, watching all the Muthwok family members drop like flies at the sound, clutching at their vibrating eardrums and writhing on the ground in pain.
“It hurts!” The little girl screams. “Make it stop!”
Lorne doesn’t, not even when blood starts pouring from their ears and all the jam-jars and crockery in the hut shatters into pieces. Mouth open, he keeps producing that same brain-piercing shriek until he’s sure that the evil mother and all her vengeful spawn are completely incapacitated and unable to prevent him from leaving. When he finally ceases the noise, the resulting silence in the basement is nearly overpowering. Mordwan is rolled up into a helpless ball, sobbing like a girl and the smaller children have passed clean out, including the mean sister. They’ll all recover.
“There’s your payment, bitch,” Lorne coldly tells the groaning elder female on the ground. “By the way, HIS name is Kylar and you are not worthy to be his mother. I love him more than you ever did, you dried-up old coynt.”
Climbing the stairway, the short-haired Empath cuts through the messy shack and emerges outside carrying Kylar in his arms like a romance novel hero. As soon as the warm light from the two suns touches Kylar’s skin, the boy stirs and looks up, a faint whisper coming from his dry throat. “Lorne?”
“I’m here, sweetheart.” Almost crying, Lorne kisses Kylar’s forehead in overwhelmed relief. “I’m right here.”
Weakly, Kylar says, “I would like to go home now, please.”
“That’s what I’m doing, honeycake. I’m taking you out of here and back to where you belong.”
A feeble but grateful smile touches Kylar’s swollen lips. Then he puts his head on Lorne’s chest and closes his eyes, breathing softly but steadily.
Apparently the word of Lorne’s return has spread around all the neighbouring villages like a bad case of herpes and an angry chanting mob shows up with pitchforks, sticks, clubs and shovels. In the crowd are Numfar and Lorne’s mother, clomping towards him and yelling, “There’s the traitorous festering groin-scab! Get him! Cut off his head and mutilate his body!”
“Aw, shit. I really HATE this place!” Lorne despairs, looking wildly around him for a quick exit route. “Where the Groosalugg when you need him?”
Since the powerful and honourable half-human ruler of this world – and Cordy’s former blue-eyed hunk of a boyfriend - isn’t around to save him, Lorne is unfortunately on his own. It’s up to him to protect Kylar, escape the bloodthirsty mob, open a portal and get them safely home.
Yeah. Right. How the fuck is he gonna do all that? He’s just a demon, not a magician.
Suddenly, there’s the foreign sound of a motor engine. Angel, Wes, Gunn and Connor show up in the car, not bothering to hide it with branches this time, the Ho’kio brothers soaring overhead with broad black wings. The crudely-dressed villagers halt in astonishment and fear, pointing and yabbering about flying devils.
“Guys!” Lorne exclaims happily. “Fabulous timing as per usual.”
Angel pulls the Plymouth up beside Lorne, the vampire looking apologetic.
“Sorry we’re late.”
Gunn jumps out with athletic ease. “We had to fight some horn-heads first. They wouldn’t get out of the damn way,” the dark-skinned man explains, levelling a loaded crossbow and squinting at the crowd. “Hey, Lorne - is that your mom? The one with the beard?”
“Yeah.” Lorne grunts, lifting Kylar over the back passenger door. “Feel free to kill her first.”
“All right, you big, green uglies,” Gunn yells threateningly. “Anyone moves and they get shot in the eyeball. Got it?”
The crowd roars and shakes their weapons. Wings spread wide and menacingly, the Ho’kio twins land in front of the car, hissing loudly and flicking their tongues in and out of their fanged mouths like snakes, scaring the mob into staying back. For once, Lorne is glad they’re here.
With Gunn firing off the odd arrow to keep the maddened villagers at a safe distance, the older Pylean carefully lowers Kylar into the back seat of the Plymouth. Helping Lorne with the injured boy, Connor gazes into Kylar’s bruised face and asks worriedly, “Is he all right?”
“He will be once we get him home.”
Now that everyone is here, Wesley starts reciting the bizarre phrases from the book back in LA, the short, strange words soon creating a big black whirlpool in the air in front of the vehicle, the paranormal doorway howling with the sound of wind and crackling with mystical electricity.
The simple-minded villagers scramble backwards, exclaiming with terror, not game to go any further towards what must look like a giant monster’s sucking mouth to them.
Gunn leaps back into the car, beckoning for the twins to follow him. “C’mon, you guys. Let’s get the hell outta here.”
Squeezing themselves back into the vehicle the two Ho’kio brothers find spots to sit, the bigger one next to Gunn and the prettier one plonking right down in Wesley’s lap on the front passenger seat, slinging slim arms around Wes’s neck and flustering the normally unflappable English gent.
As Angel puts the overloaded convertible in gear and prepares to drive off, Lorne blurts out, “Wait! Something I gotta do first.”
“Be quick, Lorne,” Angel warns him, shooting the demonic crowd behind them a cautious look. “Portal won’t stay open forever.”
“One minute,” Lorne hurriedly promises, gently letting Kylar go into Connor’s safekeeping, the wounded demon-child slumping silently against his concerned teenage friend, eyes still closed. “Watch him, Connor.”
Connor nods, slipping a guarding arm around the exhausted Pylean youth while Lorne determinedly heads back to where his mother is. She’s next to his pudding-headed brother Numfar. They are staying back in a cluster with the other village folk, all of them wanting to attack Lorne and beat him with sticks but too afraid of the whirling portal to get any closer.
“Hello, mother dearest,” Lorne says casually as he saunters up to the unattractively masculine woman. “You’re looking stunning, as always.”
She spits rudely onto the ground, sneering through her straggly beard. “Foul fruit of my loins. How I despise the sight of your face. I should have left you on the maggot pile to rot, you pig-rutting disgrace.”
“Missed you too, mom,” Lorne drones sarcastically. “Oh, and pigs don’t interest me. I’d rather rut with boys. How do ya like them apples?”
His mother’s eyes just about bulge out of her big, plump face, her jowls quivering with shock. He then turns to his dopey, dim-witted brother Numfar, standing there with his mouth hanging open like he’s waiting for bugs to fly in. All Lorne can think of is how much this moron has celebrated Lorne’s disappearance, frolicking with glee around the yard. How can someone so stupid be the favourite son?
“Hey, Dumbfar,” Lorne nastily greets him, delivering a sharp, hard kick to the boy’s groin. “Do the dance of pain.”
Numfar’s eyes go crossed and he gives a squeaky breath of agony. Yet, even as he clutches at his damaged balls with both hands, he starts to shuffle from side to side in a ridiculous, crab-like manner which can hardly be called dancing – but he attempts it anyway because he’s an idiot who does whatever he’s told to.
“You shame our entire clan, Krevlornswath the Traitor,” his mother shouts in disgust, pointing a hairy, knobbed finger in his direction. “I knew I should have eaten you at birth. Leave this place at once! Go back to the slime-pit you crawled out of and don’t ever return!”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t,” Lorne gaily answers. The other villagers join in with various taunts and jeers, jabbing their pitchforks and other crude weapons at Lorne and the rest of the gang waiting in the car but the ignorant green-skinned demons keep their distance, superstitiously wary of the opened gateway to another dimension, not understanding what it is or where it leads to.
“Lorne – move it, man!” Gunn yells, uneasily eyeing the unpredictable portal in front of them. “If this thing closes on us, I’m kicking your lime-green ass and handing you over to your cannibal momma myself!”
“I agree,” Wesley calls out urgently, gulping as the pretty Ho’kio twin nuzzles against his rough stubble like a purring kitten. “Time is of the essence here!”
Feeling satisfied with that family farewell, Lorne rushes back to the convertible and leaps into the back seat. Pulling Kylar’s fragile figure into his lap, Lorne holds onto him protectively, shooting Angel a glance.
“Go.”
Not needing to be told twice, Angel floors the accelerator, the car lurching forward with wheels spinning on the grass, speeding them all through the swirling dimensional exit and out the other side, leaving Pylea and all its nightmarish hostility behind.
.........
- 15
- 16
- 17
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A Paler Shade of Green