Banter

The days turned into weeks following Antonio and Patty's visit. While several hunts occurred back to back, Ulrich heard nothing of the Demon Lord. This had worried Jean, but there was little he could do. He also had a few more conversations with Hamza and managed to secure another, less formal meeting with Antonio around the time of the upcoming Hunter Forum at the Memorraw. This meant an early trip to Michigan was in order so Jean would have ample time to talk to the nephilim.

Alone.

Jean stepped up from the lower-level staircase of the Cellar into the main area, fresh for the day and ready to leave for Michigan. It was still early, and he had just finished breakfast. He was the only one on the ground floor, having left while everyone was still finishing up. He already had his luggage ready for the day, as he packed the night before, which consisted of a single duffel bag and a with change of clothes, toiletries, and some extra weapons inside.

His gaze went to the Cellar's entrance, spotting the dim sky. Light was just turning the autumn heavens blue. A thought came to mind, and he walked outside. Normally, there was a stablehand, Matheen, near at all times. He lived nearby in a small shack, but Jean occasionally visited the man when he had the chance to. Matheen was his cousin, after all.

The reminder made his neutral expression drop into a frown, and he stopped to look up at the sky.

Celezar told him he was looking for the rest of his inhuman family, the Kajut Lowells, but had done so for centuries with no luck. There were so many other worlds within Earth, so many dimensions, and there were so few of them. They could literally be anywhere.

Jean's upper lip twitched, and he softly growled to himself. He recalled telling Halle that he would look hard for a way to break the curse upon them.

But that was five years ago.

Entering the stables, he was greeted by the smell of horses, hay, and wood. It wasn't unpleasant, and he walked down the horse stalls until he reached his horse, a black stallion, Spider.

He was pleasantly surprised when the horse turned his head towards him. "Awake, eh?" he chuckled.

The horse nuzzled him, bringing a smile to his face. Since he became inhuman, animals had become more perceptive to him, and vice versa. He gently brushed Spider's forehead, then glanced at the stable doors upon sensing Matheen appear. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sir. May I be of service?" The glowing golden eyes neared in the darkness.

Shaking his head, he said, "No. I'm only here to visit...and apologize."

"You are doing your best, sir."

His lips tightened. He hated the forced formality his cousins had to use when around him, but now that he was inhuman, he could only order them to do but so much within the limits of their curse. Otherwise, he would tell Matheen to call him by his nickname when alone.

"Still. It's been some time and I'm no closer to finding the end to this..." He trailed off, looking at the orbs that were in actuality the same color as his own, unbeknownst to the rest of the world. "This...blight upon you," he finished with a frustrated exhale.

"Perhaps the nephilim knows something."

"Yes." He lowered his gaze to rest gently against his horse. "I was hoping to speak to Antonio about that, myself. If there's any possibility he has known our family since it's inception...there's a chance he kept up with them after Celezar returned to Hallowed Ground."

At least, that was Jean's hope.

"Very good, sir."

Slowly, he nodded.

After some time of companionable silence, he asked, "Can you please ready Artie's horse?"

"Of course."

As Matheen went to the stall belonging to Brazen, Artie's horse, Jean gave Spider a few more strokes. He then opened the stall, unsurprised when Spider stepped out without him saying anything. "I haven't taken you out in a while, have I?" he said with an apologetic smile. He was bumped by the horse's muzzle as an answer.

He promised the horse he would take him out, then strapped the saddle and bridle on him. Once finished, he gave Spider a gentle pat before leaving the stables, leaving the rest up to Matheen. Artie was already in the main room when he entered the outpost, watching television with Nicholae and Chaco at the bar counter. His cousin was strapped down in full hunter gear, ready to go with a duffel bag near his feet.

Passing by them, Jean went to the armory to gear up. Despite his initial reasons for wanting to go to the Michigan outpost early, he also hoped for some time to catch up with other hunters. Sometimes, that was the only way he could see old friends, and it was nice to interact with them before Holloway ripped their ears off.

He returned to the antechamber where the men were gathering. Upon seeing him, they turned the television off and the three at the bar counter swiveled around.

Crossing his arms, he glanced around the room. "Nothing to say, today, folks." He gave a small smile. "Take care of yourselves. Friedrich, I relinquish command to you."

His uncle saluted. "Sent."

Jean entered his office to grab his bag, then left to follow Artie outside. The horses were outside the stables, their reins held by Matheen. The servant gave Artie a bow as he handed the reins over, but he was ignored. When he bowed at Jean, Jean nodded at him.

"Thank you." He climbed onto Spider and led the horse forward.

They soon rode side-by-side in a canter towards the jet and helicopter hangar. The early morning was cool, but Jean's instinct told him the day was likely to be slightly warmer later, particularly towards the afternoon.

Once they arrived at the hangar, they departed from their horses, leaving them in the care of another servant, and climbed into a jet different from the one they flew in five years prior. It was spacious and spartan with only the basics of a bathroom, at least four small couch-like beds, a basic armory, and seats with straps near the windows. Colored back, grey, and dark blue, it was the Lowell Hunters' very own traveling jet.

Artie placed his bag in a compartment with a strap and Jean followed suit. Then they sat on the left side of the plane, awaiting takeoff. While he wasn't tired, Jean knew he was going to fall asleep anyway from the lull of the plane. And so, he let his eyes close and let nature take its course.

Roughly an hour later, their jet entered the Memorraw's airspace. Artie woke Jean up, allowing him to look at the great open plains that stretched out for a good half mile or so before leading to a dusty paved road that led into the city of Bremen. Their jet passed over the plains and neared what appeared an enormous flat mound of a mountain.

The jet landed on the airstrip within the mountain, the cavern itself at least a quarter of the structure's height. As the jet turned around, Jean took a glance at some of the other planes that were docked in the nearby hangar. He recognized the make of a jet or two, bringing a small smile to his face.

As always, the hangar was heavily guarded, with turrets embedded in the walls and heavily armed hunters walking about. Though he didn't see them, he knew there were also turrets on the exterior of the mountain to protect the entrance.

Once the jet stopped moving, Jean and Artie freed themselves of their seatbelts and grabbed their luggage. Shortly after, the co-pilot emerged from the cockpit and lowered the stairs. Jean left behind Artie, thanking the servant as he exited.

Stepping down the stairs, he inhaled the fresh air. The high elevation made for refreshing scents, and with his inhuman sense of smell, it was even better. As he hit the ground, he watched two men approach them. One carried a tank of holy water on his back and the other carried a rifle.

"If it isn't the Lowells again," said the rifle-carrier with a crooked smile. "We really have to meet on better terms."

Jean nodded at him. "Moore." To the other, taller man, he also inclined his head. "Largo."

While Largo merely handed them cups of water, Moore gave a respectful nod back. "We won't waste your time then, gentlemen."

The cousins took the cups and drank from them. Yellow crystals were then handed to them that they used to show the hunter mark on the backs of their hands. The silvery markings appeared as shimmers on their skin.

Content, Moore spoke into his earpiece, "It's Jean-Luc and Arther Lowell, cleared."

As Jean placed the paper cup into a small bin Largo carried at his waist, he noticed Moore looking at him curiously. He glanced up at him with a questioning gaze.

The man gave his head a small shake. "This is the first time since I've been here that you haven't brought your dog Basker..."

Pursing his lips, Jean nodded.

That was all the indicator Moore needed. "I'm sorry. He seemed like a good companion."

"He was," Artie said softly.

A whirring sound interrupted the somber moment as a transporter approached them. Wordlessly, Moore and Largo went to inspect their jet, leaving Jean and Artie to place their baggage on the transporter and sit in two seats at the back.

The transporter pulled off, moving at a relatively fast pace. Jean wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, leaning somewhat forward and resting an arm on a thigh. He stared towards the ground, briefly thinking of the beloved dog--and what it really was. He hadn't thought of his mate in a while, but he distracted himself from those thoughts as best as he could.

As they passed through the x-ray, he sat upright. He looked into the airport as the rumbling of another jet indicated one landing on the airstrip. He only caught sight of it before the transporter rounded a corner.

The Holloway Hunters had arrived.

* * *

They arrived at the barracks on the basement floor. Activity was mild, but it would pick up once the guests from other countries arrived. For the moment, the majority of the people within the outpost were those who lived there as nomads or were members of the Licht Hunters. There was a long and considerably wide hall leading to other parts of the barracks and the outpost, then a wide entranceway giving way to an open lounge space split in three directions.

They passed through the entranceway and stopped at the operator's desk where two people sat behind. Like everyone in the outpost, they wore hunting gear.

"Names?" asked a man who glanced over them.

"Jean-Luc and Arther Lowell, of the Lowell Hunters," Jean responded.

Keys were tossed at them, easily caught. "You know how it goes," said the other person beside her male counterpart.

"Thanks."

The cousins looked their keys over. Indications of which wings they were in consisted of abbreviations. Both keys had the abbreviation "NO" on them, indicating they were both staying in the north wing. Below the abbreviations were numbers displaying which rooms they were staying in.

They walked past the desk and continued forward. The hall was large with doors leading to rooms on both sides equally spaced apart.

Stopping at the door labeled 124, Jean asked his cousin, "What are you going to do for the rest of the day?"

"Ah...I don't have any plans. Maybe I'll just hang out at the shooting range." Artie shrugged. "And you?"

"The gym." Jean tilted his head. "Maybe. I'm considering exploring. It's like something new is added every year."

"True, that." Artie unlocked his door. "See you around."

Jean unlocked and entered his room. It was a good-sized space that smelled fresh, no different from the other rooms he had occupied in the past. He dropped his bag on the floor near the bed and took his coat off. After hanging it on the coat rack, he sat on the bed. He hadn't caught sight of Hamza's jet, but the Wisk Hunters were around somewhere, as were the Crowley Hunters. He was particularly looking forward to seeing Alister again.

He and the heathen had become good friends, or perhaps better friends, since Jean became inhuman. They were always amiable before, even when the other Lowells thought otherwise.

With a sigh, he exited his room, locking it behind him.

He took the long way through the outpost to get to the gym. Hands in his pockets, he traversed on foot, taking in the sights and meeting the faces of other hunters who were largely unfamiliar. Some nodded respectfully at him, others gave him peculiar looks before going about their way. Briefly, he considered the large scar on his face with his additional discolored eye. Anyone would wonder how he received it--and survived.

Celezar...

He quickly moved his thoughts from his mate and walked around a corner to a wide staircase. He jogged down, passing only a few others. The idea of visiting the gym was an idle one. He had no true reason to visit it except as a destination for him to reach and an excuse for him to travel around on foot, something he didn't do often in the massive outpost.

After roughly ten minutes, he arrived at the gymnasium. It was called a gym but was moreso an an arena full of obstacles, tall structures, and other agility-based structures for hunters to train with. The actual exercise portion of the gym was behind a glass wall to his right. More members of the Licht Hunters and nomads were there, as it was typically only used by them.

The obstacles and courses within the arena aided in training to navigate spaces in pursuit of inhumans or while fighting against them. The purpose was to make one's environment a tool to defeat inhumans. Glancing in, he sensed it was surprisingly empty.

Still not sold on the idea of training or exercising, he considered where his friends could be. The cafeteria was likely the best place to find them...

His eyes widened. Someone, an inhuman, was behind him.

He turned, then looked up at the tall figure of a pale man with a crooked smile on his face. "Oh, don't mind me," he chuckled, his voice unexpectedly velvety, "I was considering going in, myself. Show off a bit. But there's no one here." Reddish brown eyes slanted with humor.

Jean didn't respond, giving him a critical stare.

Appearing to be in his early forties or so, the first and most obvious thing about the man was his height, standing taller than even Celezar; at least 6'11'' with a lean and muscular frame.

"Hmm," He scanned Jean from head to toe from between curled locks that obscured the left side of his face. "It's so...distracting that you smell like him, you know."

Narrowing his eyes, Jean faced him directly. "You know Celezar?"

A long, lithe hand waved carelessly. "Oh, yes. He and I go far...far back. Hmm, maybe eleven thousand years?" He began a slow approach. "Fifteen thousand years...?"

"Nestlings." Jean held his ground.

"Yeah. Nestlings." The man softly chuckled, standing a respectable distance from Jean but still too close for his comfort.

"And?"

Nostrils slightly flared. "You're uneasy. No need." The man raised his hands non-threateningly, eyes slanting further. "I wouldn't dare harm the mate of my dear friend."

"Just because you've known him that long doesn't mean you two are on good terms."

"True...true." Slightly pursing his lips, the man gave his head an acquiescing tilt. "And if he never mentioned me..."

"He didn't."

Humming, a sound that was already grating on Jean's nerves, the man took a step back but didn't move away. "I see..."

Jean caught the twitch of muscle and dodged the lunge at him by a hair's breadth. The man chuckled darkly, his eyes flashing red, as he stood where Jean had been just seconds before. There was a moment's pause between them, causing Jean wondered who would react first. Deciding not to let the man move first, he jumped back into the arena, weaving in his steps.

At the same time, the man hunched over, making himself appear even larger than he was, then shot forward.

Bending back so he nearly touched the floor, Jean watched the man fly over him. Their eyes met in that second, and it was followed by a fanged smirk on the pale face. Spinning from the floor into a standing position, Jean watched the inhuman make his landing on the wall itself, staying attached to it while crouched. Just as Jean took in the sight, as if frozen in time, he saw the man bound off the wall.

They collided, and Jean grunted as he slammed against a wall. He snarled, snapping at the man's face. At first, the man leaned back, but he was grinning. Before Jean's eyes, the man's face split in half like a lid as he roared, revealing rows and rows of lamprey-like teeth down an abyss of darkness. Alarmed, Jean felt a reflexive surge of magic run through him, bursting from his body.

The man didn't screech or cry out, but the energy successfully sent him to the far side of the arena. His head appeared normal again, save for some rips in his skin along the corners of his mouth. For several moments, he didn't move, chuckling with his head lowered.

Without hesitation, Jean slipped Ringe into his hand and pointed it at him. "You dress like a hunter. Are you one?"

Another hum, this one drawn-out, reached Jean's ears. The man finally moved, lifting his head while licking his teeth. "He picked a good mate...Makes me jealous."

"Answer my fucking question."

Red eyes rolled. "Please."

In a single blink, the man was near Jean and had grabbed his right wrist. Before Jean could react, he was once more slammed against the wall, his arms pinned to it by talon-like hands. He lifted himself up to kick, but his legs were also tacked to the wall by black of tentacles around his ankles. He tried to use his magic again, but while it surged through his body, it didn't manifest.

He was thoroughly vulnerable.

A smug smile turned on him, and the man leaned so close, he could smell his earthy scent. "Much as you are indeed a worthy hunter, and a powerful one...there are simply some things you have no chance against." The man's eyes widened, revealing red swirls in place of a typical iris, spiraling out from the center of his pupils. "Sorry. I'm one of them."

Jean didn't move. "So, you are a real hunter. From what group?"

"Curious one, aren't you?" The man chuckled again, moving away and giving Jean his space. "You'll find out. But you can call me Deus."

"Deus."

Humming, causing Jean's eye to twitch, Deus' eyes slanted deeply. "Yes. 'Day-us'. Just like that." The lines at the corners of his mouth healed over, making him look normal again. He pointed to his face. "How did you get that scar?"

Instead of answering, Jean replaced Ringe and moved away, passing the inhuman unintimidated.

"I like you, Jean-Luc," Deus called behind him. "I'll look out for you. You know--for you. For my old friend...Zelezh'arryel."

Jean didn't at all like the way Deus spoke of his mate. It wasn't because he suspected that perhaps Celezar and Deus had a relationship in the past. Ex-partners were normal.

Deus was not normal.