Enjoy, this has been fun to do. A complete rework of the original chapter.

Chapter Ten

Soft, it was what he felt when he shifted eyes peering through the cracks, with hints of firmness that was beyond him. Michelangelo tried to put together what it meant in his head but it didn't fully appeal to him-not yet though. All he knew was that whatever his head was on it was soft and while he nuzzled his beak into it thinking of Charles's fur and how the damn wolf had a habit of grooming it after Michelangelo's comments on how he loved to feel the fullness, the thickness, the soft texture under his scales, under his body, and rubbing between his legs this soft texture was not Charles's fur.

Michelangelo opened his eyes wider slowly adjusting his vision from the white fluff of the pillow, a normal for him as a black to have such a pristine color pillow and his blankets would be a brown muckish color, that when he rolled over to greet Charles, for who else in his bed could it be, did he smile but the name that fell from his lips was not his lovers or the soon-to-be mates stating they had made up with kissing and hugs and words of love and devotion to one another that would transcend this battle ground scared by blood and enemies, "Leonardo, why are you in my bed again, bro?"

Michelangelo's blood ran cold as he stared into brown eyes, almost honey-tempting color but they held a mischievous nature that had Michelangelo's skin running cold and the hands, god Michelangelo wished the hands had not been felt upon the scaley under sides, wait now inner thighs, and the shiver was one that had the magical turtle arching as much as any turtle could. Not that much, Not any arch period but the meaning still implies. The straining of muscles under the shell as they attempt the pleasurable act, the thighs tightening, the feet straight until they are locked and the muscles cramping. Michelangelo's arms grip Leonardo's arms pulling Leonardo forward into a dominating kiss and he only pulls back when there is a loud bang from outside.

"Mikey?" Leonardo pulls back feeling Michelangelo flinch as there is another loud head splintering sound that knocks his body flat on the bed as if tossed like a rag doll, "MIKEY!"

Michelangelo just blinks heavy breathing and he stares up for a few short moments he is in aw, eternal aw because he can move! His hand lifts up and he touches Leonardo's cheek the blue wearing mask turtle blinks eyes growing wide like melons before the hand comes up, "Michelangelo, what is wrong?"

"You know, I sometimes wish my brother was like you." Michelangelo whispered weakly, "Though at others I fear you're far too much what I dream I want from him to show to me." The hand dropped to his thigh and he frowned, "Dusks... Damn them... I was having a very ..." Michelangelo felt his world slipping, the dream vanishing, "Very good dream."

"Donnie! Michelangelo, don't worry, Do-." Leonardo's worried frantic voice tapered off at the words forming and Michelangelo wanted to push and swim back up to hear the rest.

Though could he really when he woke up in the tree looking down at his camp and then into the arms of a blue healing him as best as they could a whole in their lower stomach and one leg missing. A smile though was plastered on their face and they looked up at Michelangelo's face, "Oh thank god you're alright... I... thought I didn't make it in time. You were so..." The blue coughed blood dribbling down his chest and onto Michelangelo's own black uniform, "Still."

Michelangelo moved to grip the blues body eyes wide with fear and worry for the other, "What happened?"

"We have been attacked." The blues eyes were sadly looking away, "We are dwindling in numbers and people have been in a panic, Michelangelo, since both those two bastards went missing! Then... Charles realized you were gone. We had a few of us searching for you. My group was wiped out protecting me in keeping you safe while I healed you. You were hurt."

Michelangelo felt his eyes grow wide and he looked down at his body seeing that there was blood on his clothing where it was ripped or in sections almost ripped off. He shivered fearful to think how far deep he must have been in the world and without the link that Charles had provided in the morning it was as if he could not have woken up when he did by this blues sacrifice, "I'll get you to the medical tent or anyone who can help you, just stay with me, alright." Michelangelo moved to lift the other up into his arms or to have them onto his back. Though the male blue shifted shaking his head leaning against the spot, "No, please, I am fine. I don't need it. I gladly accept death that is on my corner of my vision. Go, please, lead our battalion and take us to victory or to safety. Please, Michelangelo!?"

Surging fear was growing into Michelangelo's eyes before he was slightly cursing the males hand dropped to his lap and another to his side off the tree. Dead. Dead from saving Michelangelo's useless pathetic ass. The orange eyed turtle felt so pathetic that he was in another world sexualy taking 'pleasure' and 'comfort' from another form of his brother while his friends were left here to suffer. What type of person was he? A cruel, sick, demented bastard obviously to be a friend.

Moving to stand up Michelangelo giving the body one last look wishing he could bring peace or at least say goodbye by using the persons name jumped down into the forest surroundings below into unknown peril that fell upon the battalion. The glowing orange eyes scanned the broken tents, the upturned pots and pans, the thrown around clothes, and the few bodies of his men lying there on the ground dying or dead.

There were dusks of course fallen around dead from the fight but he gave them no bother as they were not the issue that took deep and firm root in Michelangelo's mind. He rushed out looking and calling for a moment before stilling. Why ... Why were there so few? Why had that blue found him and not ran away? What was the meaning of this all and there was one, of course, but he had been stripped of its meaning by an icey clock of death with ticking hands. When Michelangelo found the two useless black leaders he would drill and beat and abuse the information out of them because this, the death, the loss, the damn chiseled gruesomely into his brain Michelangelo had been teetering on for so long he had just slipped off of and into some murky depth where there was light but it was so far away. For now he would take all his rage out upon the two bastards who caused hell for those he loved in this group that became family: the so called leaders.

It was a challenging run as Michelangelo dodged through trees following wisps of magic from people he knew, marks in the ground and trees from battles that were not that long ago, and to the most horrifying scene in a grassy field that had his eyes so wide that he knew if he didn't blink they would fall out. His men were pushed to the ground tangled and screaming out in pain and horror. His people were calling desperately for help their sounds like animals wailing for relief or in sheer desperation for someone, anyone, to be there for them like they were still infants wanting their mother after a terrifying monster in their closet sprang forward and scared them.

The steps as Michelangelo's flower had moved along the breeze created magically from where it perched in his bandana over his eyes now was in his hands as he ran petals falling from it as Michelangelo screamings out his incantation. The enraged, fearing for those he loved safety, turtle would not let his men fall to the Dusks. He would not let his failure to see around him, to pull from the brink of that world and to realize his surroundings be the downfall of his battalion.[i] He would not lose his family again![/i]

He watched as his petals floated in the air the sound a buzzing noise before screaming not from his men to stop, for saving, but of agony, death, and blood from the cuts to impacts of each petal hitting their target while they were imbedding into their bodies and each one exploding.

"GET UP!" Michelangelo screamed at the top of his lungs, "You will not fall today!" There was silence as the few Dusks that were still alive stood hesitantly moving away from the ripped and tattered clothing of their prey they were about to be their dining pleasure of pound to pound of flesh from. The Dawns'looked to each other nervousness etched clear as those near, free, when their captors exploded moved scrambling to their feet eyes falling onto Michelangelo.

The turtle in black allowed their emotions to sink into him but not effect the air he let sour out high and wide around him. He did not let the petals of his that fell from his rejuvenating flower fall as they hummed around him and those of his 'family' form close to his side. He was, at this moment, their leader and head of house so he would do everything to act accordingly. Michelangelo moved forward and the Dusks moved back fear seeming to swim around them as they realized Michelangelo wasn't their typical Black with an inflated ego or a messed up psyche, at least not yet on the last part. Michelangelo was a force to be reckoned with and he would use every inch of his power, his status, and his magic to save his fighters.

"Red, take weapons! Blues, take place!" Michelangelo called as he took his stance, "Greens hold a strong formation! Watch each other's back. This is our bond, We are family, friends, they will never break that: THIS will be what keeps us alive!" and he watched as more of his kind, Dawns, rushed to his side taking positions able to fight off the enemy.

So to the green turtle his words as he watched his men, felt them at his side and back, were what made him finally feel like he had a reason to be a leader. They needed him to be pure, to be strong, but most of all to be him, "CHARGE!" Thus began the second battle upon the grassy field some animals most likely treaded upon to graze, migrate, or wonder. The fiend of life that struck down everything but it was the changing point in Michelangelo's life. The open space, the slight greys to the honey oat hay-like plant that sprung from the ground spreading as far as his eye could see into another three thicket. The sounds of war on all four sides of him as he weaved like water striking down all those who were in front of him that were Dusks, people who could have been like him if not for a sin as simple as pride, lust, envy, and anger, and Michelangelo didn't hear the sounds of silent feet because the Dusks that were being fought were fodder just like the Dawns under his jurisdiction now. Soldiers of war not meant to ever return.

These were dead men standing.

Soon Michelangelo was screaming in pain as his arm was yanked high over his head a shrill laugh meeting his ears as his flower ripped from his hand and thrown to a pair of boots who stepped upon the petals and pollen crushing it with three turns of their heel and a raised foot before stomping hard enough to dig it into a ground, "We missed one. This ones strong. Very strong, well... It WAS strong."

"Sadly. We'll see if it's like all the others we killed. The blacks are so much fun. Such great Dusks in training! Oh, this one had a pretty face... Can I, please... CAN I... Can I please?"

Michelangelo yanked his head around struggling before he was in shock before he froze in horror. He remembered a mention in a report on two brothers, wait not brothers...What... were they? His eyes were glued to the faces before he knew then: Hun and Stockman. They were enemies in the Dawns but when one turned the other turned as well. Some had assumed they were lovers behind walls and that was their sin, some assumed their hate was just that deep, but Michelangelo didn't know as he just looked at them and their seemingly easy co-dependency on each other. He could feel it around them but more so feel it inside him as Hun raised Michelangelo off the ground and Stockman quickly went to work removing the weapons, few he had, and tossing them to the side.

"Go a head, Hun, have your fun. I have other people to attend to. I will see you at the compound. Don't take too long, I hate it when you do. You know they'll hate it as... Don't GLARE you oaf!" Stockman snarled, "God you're nothing but a rotten ring-wormed, parasitic, rotten meat of a thug Dusk! Get your killing over with! Toy with your mouse! Toy with this field of damn rodents I just want to get back to slicing your hide since I was winning."

"If you assume you were, you are far more deluded, Bax-stabman." Hun huffed.

"Even your comebacks are lacking in intelligent remarks. How you've survived I'm still unconditionally confused." And with that Michelangelo watched the end of the exchange as they both seemed to smile friendly as i this was not enemy warfare but just a game between friends and the chilling thought was: his brothers acted like this. How much mentally did you change as a DUSK? He never wanted to know.