Cuber sat in his iron chair, watching, waiting for the guards to take him away, away, far away...they saw nothing, couldn't believe him, ha, he had laughed at their faces, their features showed their fear, he could kill them in one mighty blow. They were but a pawn to their king's penultimate plan. He wished he could snap his neck off and throw his corpse to the wild-dogs. Cuber laughed silently. He must kill. Kill. KILL!

Small Boss stood in the bushes, near to where his older leader was, well, he thought nothing off the subject, but he had to admit that the queen and his faithful leader must be enjoying themselves. He chuckled, place his hand into his pocket and drawing out a vial of mercury and bronze. He sipped slowly, intranced by the colours before his eyes. So what if it was illegal? He lived his life his own way, a mercenary he was, not a soldier for battle, but a soldier for hire. The sounds behind him grew louder. Not that he could hear them. He only heard vibrations through the Earth's surface. And these were heavy vibrations. Small Boss laughed at his minitature joke, unaware of a new threat.

Having broken his constraints, Cuber rammed the steel door, sending it flying into a guard's head, sending brain cells, blood and bone into the air. Some hit Cuber's face in a demonic shower of death that he loved. The other guard was prepared to attack. Cuber swing his arms together, crushing the guard's head between his fists.

"Stop, fiend! By order of the King of Small Bossia, stop!" Another guard came rushing after the Hellstorm until it was too late. He saw the wreckage. Too bad his little gray cells would soon join the ground in a death embrace. Cuber grabbed the guard by the throat, and tugged, pulling out the man's spine. Cuber feasted on the corpses. He was back, and was hungry!

Curver put his leather coat back on, as well as everything else, for that matter. He must return to camp, must talk to his leader, Mashra the Great. The queen had told him of an upcoming attack, and he must stop it.

Huge Boss hummed and crackled. The new laser cannon was getting rather old. He wanted a better secondary firing weapon. Maybe a sword. He laughed, but with no feelings. He had none to begin with. The fight would be soon.

Corithissons headed into the Ice Monk's healing hut. Potions covered every shelf in the hut, while the frozen statue of their Lord, the First King of Small Bossia, Mashra-mono-ka-lelra, otherwise known as Charles, from Earth. He made Small Bossia into a citadel of power. Too bad his son wasn't too keen on leading his people to glory. Ice Monk was wrapping a potion for a very old Elder, who always seemed too bothered to do anything at all. Figures.

"Now, Gergo told me to tell you that you must just come to our anniversary supper. My, me and Gergo have been married for so long...I cannot wait to see his face when you come! Goodbye, my dear!"

Ice Monk smilied was Mrs. Rufuso left with her healing potion for the ever ailing Gorgo Rufuso. He had caught the flu, not the Earth flu, of course, the Small Bossian one. The possibly deadly one. Shuffling out from his counter to see the King, he set his eyes on a mandolin he kept for special meetings. Today of all days would be special. Suddenly, he halted in front of the love and curse potions near the middle of the store. He knew it. He could feel it. Mashra-mono-ka-lelra. He was back!