Hand in hand, Jean and Celezar made their way through the jungle into a low cave embedded in what was undoubtedly a semi-flat mountain. A large waterfall fell beside it, and as they entered, Jean [was reminded] of the first time he went to Hallowed Ground. It brought a small smile to his face, and he gently squeezed his mate's hand.
"I was just thinking of that," Celezar sighed. "Wonderful memory..."
The cave wasn't dark, and not because of Jean's inhuman eyesight; once the natural light no longer reached the cave's interior, torches lit with blue fire dotted the walls every few steps. Humming with interest, he sensed his mate's signature in the magic.
"Blue fire. Curious," he commented. "Most inhumans that are associated with it are jinni."
"Indeed, Jeanie-boy." Celezar formed a small, floating ball of blue fire in his palm. "Be it that jinni are connected to Inferno, well...something-something, devils can use their abilities." As if that neatly answered Jean's inquiry, he let the fire puff into nothingness with a contented smile.
Jean opted to merely sigh, lips twitching in a smile. "Right."
The further into the cave they went, the cozier it felt. Nostrils twitching, he smelled a fireplace in the distance burning [fresh] wood, felt the heat of an underground sauna...and could not ignore that a powerful presence had left its mark everywhere. It was a contradiction, both familiar and yet not, and immediately bothered him.
Before he even opened his mouth, a tug on his arm brought his attention to the steaming pool of naturally occurring hot water.
Craning his neck back to look at the ceiling, his eyes widened. Somehow, bafflingly, the cave had opened up into a wondrous underground world that once more reminded him of the [massive tree] from Hallowed Ground.
A soft smile, somewhat wistful, spread on his face. Have five years really passed since then?
What did the future hold for him now, as patriarch of the Lowell family? What, exactly, did that even mean? It could have at least two meanings, a mortal one and the other divine. In the eyes of a mortal, his role as patriarch meant every major decision was ultimately left to him. However, he wasn't even sure what a major decision would be in a family. "Mundane" and "contemporary" weren't words associated with Jean-Luc Lowell.
That had been Ulrich and Tristan's jobs.
At the reminder of his brothers, after a moment, his smile faded into a thin line.
"I'm only accustomed to leading a group of fighters--warriors, in some languages. As things are now, I'm...a little lost...and overwhelmed," he admitted, eyes narrowing, "and this feeling is painfully foreign."
He sensed Celezar near, listening quietly.
"I understood my role even when I was young." He scoffed disparagingly. "How could I not; Gwendolyn had reminded me until I was seventeen. I am the ninth generation leader of the Lowell Hunters, I am...the sacrifice. My sole purpose is...was...to die, if need be, for the good of our family and humanity."
He moved idly, keeping his eyes upon the ceiling, and absentmindedly admired its glistening stalactites.
"Now, I find myself without a group to lead. I have a family--one larger than any group I could ever imagine leading." Against his will, he felt tears well in his eyes. "And I am so happy. I didn't think any of this was possible for me.
"It's funny how this all happened just because a devil hybrid fell in love...with my family." Shakily, he exhaled and finally closed his eyes, letting the tears fall. "I don't know what the hell I'm saying, but I'm alright" he assured, wiping them from his cheeks.
While doing so, he turned to look at his mate. Celezar stood hidden in the shadows, the green of his eyes glowing in the dark.
"Yes," he said after a moment of staring, "I did fall in love with your family. I'm not the only one..."
Before Jean could ask what he meant, he disappeared. Despite this, Jean could still sense his presence in the cave with him, moving in the darkness and ether.
"Kajut'ta; he did, too."
Turning to his right, Jean caught a glimpse of Celezar's yellow patterns disappear down another [cavern]. He quickly followed.
Familiar mushrooms, some massive and others small enough to fit in a child's palm, [were] scattered in this new area, filling the cavern with dim light. Celezar stood further inside, his head lowered, while standing in the threshold of a natural upwards staircase made of rock and minerals. Looking up at where it ended, a doorway, Jean realized the wood smell emerged from it.
A soft sigh brought his attention back to his mate.
"That Demon Lord, the one who killed Alan...was an older cousin of Ghralion's."
Jean's lips parted, recalling the threat given to him by the demon's offspring. "A generational grudge," he realized, growling.
"Yeah. On both sides." Celezar took a deep breath. "Several friends, including Kajut'ta, and I killed the Demon Lord...but it had already gotten to Alan."
The familiar, potent sorrow overcame him, and through their link, Jean sensed it as well as his own.
"I should have been with him. I shouldn't have left his side. It was so quick, Jean. One moment, he was alive, and in the next..." He shuddered as he softly sobbed. "In the next...tatters."
He suddenly stood in front of Jean, eyes completely green and wide with fear, dark liquid streaming down his cheeks. "Promise me you'll never take an inhuman for granted," he hissed, baring his teeth and pointing at Jean with a black claw. "Promise me, Jean-Luc!"
Jean didn't respond immediately. He wanted to be shocked at Celezar's frantic behavior, but he wasn't. As an inhuman beyond any normal mortal's years, he knew now that Celezar had only fallen in love twice. He wanted to reassure him, but he knew he couldn't.
"Promise me, you'll treat us like...like wild pets," Celezar spat, a guttural, demonic growl in his voice, "capable of being kind, but never domestic."
Slowly, Jean's head turned to the side, and he looked away.
He wanted to worry, but he knew he didn't need to. As an inhuman born as such, he couldn't fathom how Celezar formulated thoughts, or even how he truly thought at all. He had small window-like glimpses into his mind at times, but this was a reminder of several sad truths.
"Jean-Luc!"
His jaw clenched, yet he shut his eyes. Celezar's voice was completely demonic now.
"Look at me, damn you."
"Zarryel--"
"Look at me!" he snarled, the words ripping from his throat and echoing around them. "Fucking look at me, and promise!"
He knew what he would see, and he didn't want to see it.
But he obeyed, looking up at the hybrid.
And a hybrid he was.
Gazing upon Celezar's [twenty-foot-tall] form, rippling with muscle, carapace, and glowing yellow patterns, he was taken back to that moment in the forest five years ago. That moment he confessed he couldn't leave Celezar, couldn't stop loving him, no matter what he believed or was told to believe--raised to believe.
Several black tentacles, twitchy and irate, splayed behind Celezar's body, and he had yet to reveal his four wings or even his extra two arms. But this wasn't what Jean didn't want to see; he loved seeing Celezar in his truer forms.
Blackness dripped down Celezar's chin, pouring freely from his [undefined] green eyes. The moment he saw it, Jean's lips trembled.
"Celezar..."
Claws clenched. "Jean--"
"I'm going to die one day," he softly reminded, practically mouthing the words as his voice [choked up].
The green hid away, and a strange sound he had never heard before emitted from the large form. To him, it was the sound only a devil hybrid could make, a droning keen that indicated unfathomable pain. The large tentacles shivered, then lowered, dragging on the floor like cords, before going still. Likewise, Celezar hunched back, shriveling, his tail wrapping close to his body.
"You know I can't promise, won't promise that, to treat you or any inhuman friend or family differently." He knew Celezar could still see him even with his eyes closed, so he managed a sad smile. "Alan wouldn't want that, either, and I know you know that."
The sound emitted from Celezar again, echoing and lingering throughout the cave.
"I can't go through that again, Jean," he whispered through their link. "I'm scared. You're scared. I don't know what'll happen from here on out."
"I think only a god would know," Jean admitted, manifesting a magic platform beneath is feet to rise and reach Celezar's face, "and I doubt any would tell us, anyway."
One eye opened to focus on him.
He placed a hand on the curve on Celezar's face where a nose would be, admiring the leathery, [gravelly] sensation against his skin. "But I do promise you one thing."
The green widened, taking up most of his view.
"Unless I am certain they are indeed a friend, [one to whom I could put my life in their hands], I will not take an inhuman's acquaintanceship for granted."
He felt the relief wash through their link, and it settled into his bones. A deep, shaky exhale emitted from him, one he couldn't suppress, and he planted a chaste kiss on Celezar's skin.
"I'd have hoped that was obvious, old man," he teased, flicking a finger on the same spot.
A familiar sound, albeit more demonic, rumbled through his mate's chest: a purr.
"I love you anyway," he chuckled, wiping his tears. "I am tired of crying for today. What's up there?" He motioned to the staircase with his head.
"Our bedroom." The purring continued. "I moved the house here."
"Nice..." Jean glanced into the first space, the one with the sauna, and hummed in thought.
"Naughty, Jeanie-boy."
He sighed patiently, glancing wryly at his mate. Celezar was in his human form again, standing--or hovering--in the air beside him. "That's unsanitary."
"So, you were thinking about it." A rim of black formed around his irises. "I think the others can find their way around the island. We deserve a nice, long time together...alone."
Raising a brow in agreement, Jean couldn't deny that. "But, this is an island, Zarryel."
"No worries, my sister knows the way." A muscular arm snaked around his waist, pulling him flush against Celezar's body, as more black swallowed the green. "Now...I think I owe you...a ride, love."
Looking him up and down, and sensing his own eyes turning black, Jean slowly nodded. He placed his hands on the sides of his face, then brought their foreheads together, mixing red locks with blond. "No more talk about our deaths, Zarryel. Whatever time we have...we'll savor every moment."
The freckled throat bobbed, but Celezar's lower lip only slightly trembled this time. "Together," he murmured, reaching to place one hand around Jean's wrist and the other over his stomach.
"Together." Jean leaned forward into a kiss, one that began chaste, but quickly intensified.
"You two are fuckin' disgusting."
Jean barely heard the chillingly familiar voice before Celezar's wings enveloped his body, casting him in near-darkness save for glowing yellow patterns on the arms around his waist.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Domien?!" Celezar spat the words with palpable venom, and Jean's blood went cold.
"The fuckin' fuck do you think I'm doing here?! Fuckin' old man brought me along to congratulate your family or someshit."
Jean felt the chill run through Celezar's body. Barely audibly, Celezar croaked, "It...It's...upstairs?"
"Oh, yes," Domien said in a painfully faux "heartfelt" voice, "he absolutely left me alone with you jackoffs--fuck no!"
"Then where the fuck is It?!"
"I'unno, in the rest of this fuckin' cave..."
Shakily, Celezar lowered his right wing, meeting Jean's eyes. A strange and terrible look on his mate's expression bore into Jean, causing his heart to jump to his throat. He immediately, tightly grabbed his hand.
"Don't. You fucking dare."
Celezar's mouth moved, but nothing came out, and after a second or two of this, he blinked rapidly. The terrible look was gone. "Y-yes...right." He slightly withered, but he grasped Jean's hand. "Together."
Nodding, Jean finally looked at Domien.
Wearing the most disgusted visage Jean ever had the unpleasant pleasantry [of seeing], the Infernal hybrid stood across the cavern wearing simple baggy black pants, his bare, crossed arms rippling with sinew and patterns on his already dark skin. The patterns seemed to steam with Dark, black and violet energy, and this was Jean's unfortunate, second time to truly take in how terrifying he was. Jean didn't even want to look into his glowing yellow eyes and their uncanny, upside-down cross pupils.
"How beautiful," a velvety, elegant voice spoke from the darkness behind him.
At once, Jean and Celezar froze in place. Jean felt faint from the anticipation of fear alone, but for his mate's sake, he forced himself to stay on his feet.
Groaning deeply, Domien uncrossed his arms and exhaled simmering air from his mouth; Jean saw a hue of orange-red down his throat. "Where. The fuck. Have you been, old fuck!?"
"Now, now--"
"Don't 'now, now' me, you--"
A black tentacle emerged from the darkness and covered his mouth before something pulled him back, removing him entirely from sight. Something told Jean the entirety of the darkness he and Celezar were looking at was the Entity.
A soft sound emitted from the darkness followed by a low moan that made Jean wince, though he wasn't sure why.
Suddenly, Domien reappeared from the black, his cross pupils greatly dilated, giving him an even more inhuman appearance despite his human form. As he breathed hard and seemed to attempt to stabilize himself, Jean noticed his tail was curled around his left leg. Submissive.
"Fine," he finally mumbled, crossing his arms and going quiet.
"I apologize, patriarch Lowell," the Entity continued. "My mate is...much like yours, at the moment."
Pregnant. He was pregnant again.
Jean's mind slipped, memories flashing behind his eyes of--monster-- slender legs--black teeth--pain--death--
"No!" Celezar covered Jean with his second wing again, holding him close to the point of being painful.
It snapped Jean out of his lapse, yet he went slack to stare at the ground, held up only by strong arms. He decided to just focus on listening. Listening--and breathing.
"Please," Celezar begged, whimpering, "we've done nothing to you and yours, my Lord...!"
"Yes." Hobboilen enunciated the word, dragging it out with a hiss. "He is indeed a Lowell, after all. I am most impressed. There are not many capable of summoning a Cherubim, and my. To see a mortal chosen by an entity is...fascinating. Deities have acknowledged you, Jean-Luc Lowell."
Celezar said nothing. Jean vaguely recalled that [entertainment] was one way to remain alive in the Entity's presence.
There was a tense moment of silence. Then, a hissing chuckle. "As have I."
Gasping, Celezar went taut, yet Jean sensed he was in awe...and relieved.
"Ugh," Domien grunted softly. "To translate, Lowell, we won't bother you anymore. It ain't fuckin' worth it. Last thing we need is to go to war with that bitchass motherfuck in Paradiso and his Ancient momma. Fuckin' pretty boy," he grumbled.
Celezar immediately retracted his wings and dropped to his knees with his head lowered to the ground. With aid, Jean was gently placed beside him, and he sluggishly moved to mirror his pose. "Th-thank you, my Lord."
"Grace," Jean managed.
A sound of pleasure, in the sense of contentment, emitted from the Entity. "J--"
"Are you gonna give 'im the thing or not?" Domien interrupted. When nothing was said for a heartbeat, he added with a mumble, "I'm starving."
"Ah. Yes."
Jean's body moved, forcing him to look up and into the eyeless face of the Grinn King.
A long, skinny, crooked neck akin to a dead tree branch stretched out from the blackness. At its end, a large white head with a black, dripping maw that enveloped the entire bottom half of its face grinned at him.
"ᏁᎥᏕᏕᏋᏝᏰ ᎩᎷ ᏂᏖᎥᏇ ᎴᏋᏦᏒᏗᎷ ᏋᏒᏗ ᏬᎧᎩ ,ᏝᏝᏋᏇᎧᏝ ᎦᎧ ᏋᏕᏬᎧᏂ ᏋᏂᏖ ᎦᎧ ᏒᎥᏋᏂ, ᏝᏝᏋᏇᎧᏝ ፈᏬᏝ-ᏁᏗᏋᏠᏖᎩᎮᏋ ᏕᎧᎷᏋᏖᏂᎥᏁᎶ ᏖᎧ ᏕᏖᏗᏒᏖ"
At once, Jean's eyes and head rolled back. All went white. Time was nonexistent, and his mind blanked. The words the Entity spoke were painfully translated in his mind, marked, etched there:
"Jean-Luc Lowell, heir to the House of Lowell, you are Marked with my Blessing."
A familiar heavenly light shone upon him, allowing him to take a breath as if for the first time.
He fell back into his body, and his eyes shot open with a gasp.
25. Souls to Break
Jean blinked at a white, lightly decorated ceiling. He felt bizarre, off, as if his heart should be racing a mile a minute, yet he was terribly calm. After a moment of staring at the ceiling, he stretched his senses to take in what he felt, heard, and smelled.
Distant familiar voices, and some that were not. Presences, scattered all and everywhere--some of which were both unusual and frightening in a strange combination he couldn't discern. But one weary presence--shadowing six smaller ones--was right beside him.
Celezar rested against him in the bed, still as the dead. Curled at his lower right side, Jean spotted faint tear tracks on the freckled face. He smiled tenderly, reaching to comb his fingers through the wavy red locks. This would typically awaken Celezar in moments, but this time, he briefly stirred before going still again. It took a moment of prodding with his perceptions, but it soon became apparent to Jean that his mate was exhausted.
He frowned, but decided to let him be.
Then, he addressed what he could see, realizing he was dressed in a plain white tank top and simple, loose blue pants. The bed he laid in was within what he at first thought was an infirmary room, but then he realized he recognized everything, including the bed: two armoires, two mirrors, a wardrobe, and a small armory on his side of the room.
He was...home in Connecticut?
No, that wasn't right.
What the hell happened?
Placing a hand on his forehead, he tried to recall the last thing that happened to him--or to anyone, for that matter. He felt alright, all things considered. His eyes trailed to Celezar to observe him. The hybrid wore his usual green robe over his bare chest, and it didn't look as if he was wearing anything from his waist down, from what Jean could see.
That was normal, then.
Except...
Celezar bore a beard. A full beard, and while it was appealing to look at, being a fellow beard-bearer, Jean noticed with an intimate eye that it was unkempt. It in fact appeared as if it hadn't been combed in weeks.
Weeks?
He was tempted to touch it...
With a soft hum of contemplation, he quietly moved off the bed from the left side. He truthfully didn't have to be silent if his mate was so tired, but it was out of concern. Putting whatever it was that exhausted him aside, he needed the rest anyway, be it that he was pregnant with six....
...six suspiciously more developed fetuses instead of embryos.
Now that he really poked at Celezar's body and the life he held within, with a steadily pounding heart, Jean realized the fetuses were seven months old.
No fucking way.
"I've been asleep for seven months," he said dumbly.
That explained why Celezar had been crying, was exhausted, and his beard unkempt--hell, why he had a beard at all. It meant several things, one being that Celezar wasn't taking the greatest care of himself.
Jean hid his face with his hands. "Oh, Zarryel," he whispered. "What happened to me...?"
Instead of standing there like an idiot, he immediately reached into his wardrobe and donned his robe. He didn't bother tying it, taking one last look at his mate. He ensured he was covered in a light blanket before leaving the room.
He gently closed the door behind him, eyes narrowing as he entered the hall. Two things were glaringly obvious the moment he left his bedroom. One was the subtle difference in placement of the furniture in the sitting room...
And the other was a young-looking, pale man dressed in black slacks, shoes, and dress shirt sitting cross-legged in the furthest sofa in said room. The only color on him were the ivy-green, parted locks at the front of his additionally black hair that gave him a slightly punkish appearance despite his smart clothes.
To add "possibly a delinquent" to the thoughts that entered Jean's mind upon seeing him, he was smoking a black--why the hell was everything black?--cigarette while leaning back in the sofa.
Yet...
With eyes as inhuman as his, glowing a stark, eerie orange and lacking all definition save for beady black pupils, there was a painfully high chance Jean was dealing with a creature far older than himself.
The man suddenly chuckled, a somehow whimsy sound. He took a puff from his cigarette, holding it between long, slender fingers with black nails--or claws, it was hard to tell. In a strange, lazy brogue, or what sounded like some sort, he said, "Your thoughts are entertaining, lad. Quite the circus in there."
Well, fuck. The word "entertaining" didn't bode well.
Going on defense, Jean crossed his arms. "Who and what are you?"
"'Who'?" The man stretched out the vowel, head tilting to the side as he did. He emitted another strange chuckle, placing the cigarette to his lips. "Ah, I'd be a friend of a friend of Celezar's. Aye, he has quite the list of contacts, being the grandson of a Devil Emperor. As for 'what', I apologize. I don't feel like telling you." He took a deep inhale from the stick in his mouth.
"Are you friend or foe to me and mine?"
A black, tapered tongue licked pale lips around the cigarette. "What would you do if I were a friendly?"
Jean didn't miss the worrying addition of the suffix. "I would ask for you to leave--if Celezar doesn't know you're here."
"Mm, and if I were...a danger?" The orange eyes flashed with amusement.
"I would demand you leave."
"Now, now, lad. No need to cause a ruckus." The man slowly removed the cigarette from his lips and stood in one easy motion. He was tall, Celezar's height at most, and lean. "Celezar has been at your side nearly every waking moment for the past several months, but I'd imagine you know this. He doesn't need to wake to his dear mate a mere puddle of body fluids after all you survived from my brother."
Blood drained from Jean's face. "Brother..."
Black teeth on a bone-white face...
He stumbled back as if he had been stabbed, eyes wide in realization. "I...died," he whispered.
"Mm. Aye, lad. You died, survived, and now you're here. Such a powerful soul," the man tut, flicking his cigarette away. It disappeared into thin air, and a large, wide-brimmed black hat took its place in his hand. Placing it on his head, the man broke into a jagged-toothed smile. "We are Jaskersspinny, the secondborn god-child of Samhain, Incarnate of Hallowed Ground. That thing known as the Grinn King is our eldest brother."
Jean's eyes darted back up to meet the orange gaze. Jask's voice had changed, as if two people were talking at once. "Twins?" he asked tentatively.
"Aye. Good." Jask's voice returned to normal, and he nodded respectfully. "As an individual, I am the elder brother, Jasckisskinny. You may call me Jasck."
The setting immediately changed, faster even than Celezar's teleportation. Jean stumbled and fell, prompting the god-child to softly apologize.
"There's a reason I usually travel the Dark paths," Jasck sighed, hands in his pockets. He tilted his head side to side as he chimed, "Yet here we are none-the-less."
The setting immediately changed, faster even than Celezar's teleportation. Jean stumbled and fell, prompting the god-child to softly apologize.
"There's a reason I usually travel the Dark paths," Jasck sighed, hands in his pockets. He tilted his head side to side as he chimed, "Yet here we are none-the-less."
"Daddy?"
Jean looked up from the floor into a wide green gaze on a round face. "Darryl."
The book fell from the boy's hands as tears flooded his eyes. "Daddy...!"
Without prompt, Jean swept his son into his arms. Small arms wrapped around his neck, and Darryl sobbed against his chest. "My son," he murmured, holding him close.
Darryl sniffed and coughed in-between crying, babbling in what was likely English but was too difficult to understand between his cries and the sound of his loud purring. Jean didn't bother shushing him, but he did look around while rocking him side to side.
Apparently, the god-child had teleported them in the middle of an enormous living space. Brilliant light entered from open windows, allowing fresh seaside air inside, [---].
Familiar faces smiled brightly at him intermingled with three strangers from the other side of the room, where it seemed all of the adults were sitting down watching television. He was standing in an area where the other younger children in his family were playing various activities--or had been, until he and Jasck appeared. Everyone had gone still upon seeing him, but one person reacted almost immediately.
A familiar middle-aged man all but jumped from the couch where he had sat beside Halle and rushed at him. "Jean-Luc!"
Jean's expression lit up. "Nicholae!" Before he could move, his uncle brought him into a tight yet tender embrace, exhaling with relief.
"By Creation, Jean," he said softly, placing a hand behind his head. "I thought I'd never see you again."
The words told him more than his uncle likely intended, causing Jean to recall what had been done to him, what the Aerons dared to do. He briefly recalled seeing his uncle's swaddled body in Celezar's arms, and he relaxed in the older man's embrace while prinpricks of tears formed in his eyes.
"Uncle," was all he murmured, relief thick in his voice.
Darryl sniffed and held Nicholae close, too. "Uncle Nickie s-said...that Mommy said...y-you died, Daddy."
Nicholae's hug briefly tightened, then eased while Jean nodded. Placing his hand on Jean's free shoulder, he moved back for them to take a look at one another.
Fortunately, he didn't seem any different physically. He wore a typical black eyepatch over his right socket, was dressed casually in a button-up shirt and fitted blue pants, and appeared kempt with his salt-and-pepper hair combed back and his beard trimmed. Yet...
Something about him, perhaps visible only in the depths of his eye that Jean, as an inhuman, could see and sense, had changed. Swallowing, Jean opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't form words as emotion threatened to overcome him.
I still can't believe they would...
A small, understanding smile formed on his uncle's face. It was slightly stiff, slightly forced, yet genuine all at once. He nodded, as if aware of what Jean wanted to or might say, and he merely explained with, "The children helped. Greatly."
Lips tightening, Jean exhaled deeply from his nose. He then looked at Darryl, who had quieted and rested against his chest with soft hiccups. Gently jostling him, he said, "I'm glad."
"Uncle Nickie's really nice. I love him," Darryl sniffed.
Smiles broke on the men's faces, and Nicholae placed a hand fondly on the boy's head. "Thank you, Darryl."
"Thank you, too."
"Oh? Why?"
"For being family."
A wider, somewhat wistful look appeared on Nicholae's face as he chuckled.
"You're hogging him," Hyacinth called from across the room. Judging from the lilt in her voice, she was teasing.
"I have every right." Regardless, Nicholae slung his arm around Jean's shoulder and led him to the other side of the room.
As they approached, Jean scanned the individuals sitting, or standing, around. Halle stood and gave a respectful nod, his overall expression unclear yet his lips spread in a large smile. Matheen, dressed casually, no longer as a stablehand, mirrored Halle's actions, yet he looked as if he wanted to cry for various reasons.
Verne and Musa were standing close by, and the older of the two shook his head before cheering to him with a small glass of alcohol in his hand. Musa leaned against the wall he stood beside, relieved.
"Shit," he muttered. "I feel like I could use a drink, myself."
A soft chuckle and a nod of acknowledgement came from Oren on a couch, gently rubbing the back of his gushing wife beside him.
Hyacinth stood, teary-eyed and arms open as she neared Jean. "Oh, gimme a hug," she cried, wrapping her arms around him before he could respond.
He blinked, but not out of discomfort. It felt strange to see her in this company and receive a hug from her. She bore more than a slight resemblance to Gwendolyn, someone who he couldn't remember ever hugging or being embraced by.
Yet, he found that her hug was...appreciated.
He made a small smile and gently hugged her back with his free arm.
"Oh, Jean," she sniffed, moving away to look him up and down. Tears fell from her eyes as she pursed her lips. "Have you spoken with Celezar, yet?"
"He was...sleeping. I didn't want to wake him."
"Poor dear, he's been a mess. He could use all the sleep he can manage."
"Yeah..." Jean had a question on his tongue, but he was unsure how to state it.
Oren raised a slender brow. "Before you ask your questions..." He used his head to beckon to the corner at his far right.
Jean focused his gaze on the now two pairs of identical inhumans deliberately standing away from everyone else. All four appeared male, and two were Jasck and his presumed younger brother who was a spitting image of him. The other two...
The other two were simply monstrous, undoubtedly in more ways than just physically.
Like Jasck and his twin, they were dressed and appeared distressingly identical, not a single noticeable difference between them. Unlike Jasck and his twin, however, they literally towered over every human-shaped being Jean had ever seen in his entire existence; they had to be beyond the spectrum of seven feet tall, at least.
Standing on the opposite sides of who were undoubtedly their younger twin brothers, the men even stood in the same pose with folded bare arms. They dressed in dark grey, partially button-down shirts that stretched tight across their muscular chests, black dress pants held in place with lime green suspenders, and steel-toed boots the size of someone's whole torso. Lastly, the majority of their black hair were slicked back in ponytails, and a few wavy strands had come out, dangling in front of their lime-green eyes.
As if aware his scrutiny had come to an end, one of them emitted a low, rumbling hum. "Pleasure to meet the One," he said, his smooth baritone voice cadenced with a strange accent.
When Jean said nothing, frankly too afraid to speak, Jasck tut, "Did nothing and he's scared straight."
"It'sss what I am," the man continued, his 's' dragging in a prominent, amused hiss.
"Aye, and you need to stop," the other slender twin sighed. An unlit black cigarette dangled from his lip. "We're here for a reason."
A deep, vibrating chuckle emitted from his older brother. "Yessss...well. We are Boogellooen, the firstborn god-child of Samhain." Motioning to himself, this twin said, "Individually, I am Boogulor, the elder. Call me Boog."
"Belellooen, the younger. Call me Bell," his brother chimed in. He uncrossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, hooking his thumbs on his suspenders. "With the pleasantries aside, we're here to warn you, Jean."
"And inform you what's what," Jasck's twin added, "because Hob likes to see people find out the hard way."
"And...you are?" Jean managed.
"Ah, aye. Serkisspinny is my individual name, the younger of Jaskersspinny. Call me Serkis." Waving a hand, Serkis continued, "Let's get the most obvious thing out of the way, lad. Frankly, you shouldn't be here."
"You should be dead," Jasck said idly, snapping a finger as if it were a lighter to light a new cigarette with a flame.
"Deader than dead," Bell scoffed, "'cause what happened to you's never happened before."
Boog narrowed his eyes, enunciating, "No one survives an endowment from the Grinn King. That's been fact for eons, but it seems we live in unprecedented times."
"Great time to be alive," Serkis chuckled ominously.
Jasck briefly cocked up a brow. "Or dead."
"We're wondering if it even should have happened." The lime eyes narrowed further. "If it was a Missstake."
The word bore great significance, worrying Jean, but he didn't dare to interrupt literal deities.
Except, he was dealing with deities. Exhaling smoke, Jasck sighed, "You have a question, lad?"
"Y-yes..." Jean found his voice. "What does it mean, to bear Its...blessing?"
Four paris of shoulders shrugged. "We don't know."
Their uncanny chorus startled him.
"Only Hob knows," Bell sighed, then eyed them all before landing on Jean again. "For one, what do you know about blessings and curses, Jean?"
Jean slowly nodded, as if trying to convince himself he was certain of what he was about to say, and took a shaky breath.
"Blessings and curses, are...two sides of a spectrum, and only particular castes of inhumans and powers can bestow them. To be given a blessing by any of these castes of inhumans means you are in their favor, and it often comes with gifts such as magical abilities, enhancements, or even fortune. It may be expected for the blessed to give or do something in return, but it differs from individual to individual and the condition may or may not be told to the blessed.
"Blessings can also transfer or be bestowed upon inanimate objects and, overall, any living creature. They may linger in bloodlines depending on their type or extent, and once the blessed has died, they are esteemed by their patron but no longer bear the blessing in the afterlife. A blessing is negated when certain conditions are no longer met or one loses the favor of their patron.
"Curses may work in some similar ways, however, they mean one has been indubitably forsaken by an inhuman, however that may translate from individual to individual. Additionally, they linger far more intensely than a blessing, fueled by negative and passionate emotions, including love; they can cross over into the afterlife.
"Like most elements in existence, both blessings and curses are associated with the Forces of Alignment, Light and Darkness, and Good and Evil. While it is typically, with finality, believed blessings can only come from Light and Goodness, they can come from Evil and Darkness, and vice-versa."
Once Jean finished, he swallowed uneasily.
However, four heads bobbed in silent appreciation. "He's good," Bell whistled after a moment of quiet.
"Those are nearly textbook definitions," Boog said with a smirk, inclining his head. "Not bad, Jean."
"Knowing all of this--fine job by the way," Serkis added, "what does it mean for your family to be blessed by an elevate, a herald of Paradiso, and thus thrust into the sights of Paradiso itself? What have you noticed, what do you know, lad?"
Jean glanced away in thought. "Our lives are...rather normal. We still have deaths, accidents, and so forth, that may ruin us forever in some form..." His eyes widened. "But, for over fifty years, we had lost our blessing. Any...number and variance of things may change now, in ways I...I can't even fathom..."
His gaze slowly looked upon the god-brothers again. They appeared pleased.
"I like him," Jasck said to his twin, who agreed with a widening, sharp grin.
"Our magic," Jean whispered as the realizations continued to dawn on him.
"Aye, your magic is impressive, beautiful, pure," said Serkis, still wearing his ominous grin, "and you also have your guardians again."
Recalling Patty's guardian angel, Jumael, Jean almost looked around for his niece or her father. "Each of us?"
"And any to come," Jasck assured.
"Even though my children are...part-devil?"
Serkis laughed his whimsical, strange laugh, narrowing an eye. "Ah, Paradiso. Paradiso likes to tout itself as hating all devils and denizens of Inferno...but they have the softest of soft spots for those with human blood. Humans are..." He tried to find the word, his expression suddenly withered, and he emitted a weary groan. "They're miserable, pathetic souls."
"But chock full o' potential," Bell snickered, "and they know this. So many powerful souls have had human blood in their veins regardless of their ancestry. To Paradiso, that matters a lot."
Boog took a deep breath. "Fortunately, we've already spoken to the God of Paradiso--" Upon seeing the nearly horrified expressions that formed on the faces of everyone except Oren, he huffed, "Not her."
"N-not the Creator?" Hyacinth whispered.
"Nah, Mama Jubel don't rule Paradiso--she is Paradiso. Long story; Jean should tell it sometime."
She spun to look up at Jean. "You knew?"
Jean swallowed, looking between his aunt and the smirking god. "I-I only knew that She is Paradiso, but please, continue, Boog."
A genuine, far more human laugh, full of bass and booming through the room, emitted from the eldest of the god-children. Why he laughed was beyond Jean, but he said, "The God of Paradiso is--"
"Their ex," Bell chortled, pointing at his younger twin brothers, whose faces had deadpanned into furious, twitching expressions. Nudging Serkis near him, Bell teased, "You gotta let Iri meet Jean, he'll love 'im."
Serkis' softly growled, but he exhaled a puff of smoke. "Go fuck yourself, Bell," he said, his cool voice excruciatingly apathetic, "and do it away from your children this time."
A loud ripping snarl emitted from his brother, causing everyone who wasn't a god to visibly jump. "You little fuckin' pumpkin--"
Boog smacked them upside their heads, rattling off in thin, echoing hisses and violent snarls that hurt to hear but that Jean was certain was some kind of language. Both the younger siblings quickly looked away, muttering, with Jasck giving them a hard roll of his eyes.
It seemed siblings were the same even among deities.
Focusing back on Jean, his eyes glowing, Boog was no longer playful. "We spoke to Iridiel, and he assured us that whatever Hob's blessing consists of, it doesn't negate Paradiso's nor does it contain ill intent--so far. Most blessings, even if they come from opposing Forces, don't cancel each other out, but we wanted to be sure in any case since these blessings are coming from different castes of entities. It'd be...a shame if what Hob laid upon you is actually a curse."
The god's seemingly genuine concern humbled Jean.
Looking away, the lime eyes narrowed. "But, that would be something he'd do. Unfortunately, only Ancients know the true nature and power of another Ancient, and both Jubelius and our parents are dormant right now."
Jean recalled hearing about deities going dormant, but he remained focused on the information being given.
"What you don't know about blessings and curses is that they can change whenever a deity--and only a deity--desires. So even if whatever the fuck Hob gave you seven months ago was a blessing, it could be a curse now." Nostrils twitched. "We don't sense one, but, again, we're no Ancients..."
When a brief silence dragged on, Nicholae bowed his head. "My...my Lords--"
"Boog and Bell."
"Boog," he quickly amended, "if I understand, wouldn't...a blessing from Paradiso be a blessing from the Creator if She is Paradiso and an Ancient?"
A small smile pulled at the corner of the god's mouth. "You'd be right, Nic. Except, a Cherubim, second to the greatest beings of Paradiso, is the only one who gave the blessing." He nodded, then focused on Jean. "To clarify what we said earlier: a divine gave the blessing, ordained by a god. The god merely gave permission to the divine to bestow the blessing, meaning your family has not been blessed by a god."
Palpable shock flooded the room.
"Even if Iridiel did bless you, a blessing from a god could only amplify one given by Hob, not negate one. The Hierarchy of Deities is...fuckin' amazing," he said with scathing sarcasm. "A blessing of any sort from a divine is amazing. From a God, boggling. From an Ancient..." He closed his eyes. "Fuckin' unheard of. This is why we wonder what our brother's intentions truly are for you and your family."
Jean shakily exhaled. He then glanced at Darryl, glad his son was sleeping, oblivious to the unfathomable threats. For now.
"You and yours are in danger either way, Jean."
He raised his gaze. Boog was looking at him again.
"Every single caste of creature will come after you, for good or otherwise, if they learn what you survived. Even if it's a curse, Jean, surely you understand no one has survived as many run-ins with Hob as you have. This time, he even killed you." Boog scrutinized him. "Yet here you are, not dead, not even suffering from any unusual, grand side-effects no one's heard of before.
"Now, don't go on thinkin' you're some special chosen one. Those things don't exist; everything is either made for simple purpose or is a Mistake. No one is special." Boog pointed at his chest. "It's your soul. I'd get into the...semantics of what a soul is, what people, especially mortals, think it is, how it differs from a spirit, and so on, but for now, be aware of that much."
Jean nodded, then licked his dry lips. "A question, Boog..."
A black brow rose. "Yeah?"
He maintained the god's piercing gaze. "Are...are you and your younger siblings...friend or foe to my family?"
Hyacinth tensed, wringing her hands together. Nicholae swallowed, but he placed a shaking hand on Jean's shoulder in solidarity. Oren hadn't even blinked since he motioned to the gods, and stared forward, away from them. Halle and Matheen were as pale as death's embrace, sitting numbly on the couch, and they held their gazes low.
Verne and Musa didn't even seem to exist in the moment.
After a brief staredown, Boog blinked rapidly, seemingly at a loss for words. With a growing, rumbling hum, his eyes narrowed deeply, and a pleased smile crawled on his face. "Celezar chose well. I think I see why my big brother is so fascinated by you, Jean," he murmured, eyeing him. He then sucked his teeth, shaking his head with a sarcastically resigned exhale, before closing his eyes. "Oooh, that's good. Real good..."
Bell's eyes were glowing, and he made a nonchalant, indifferent shrug. "What our siblings do is up to them. We, Boogellooen, are a friend of Celezar's...and thus, a friend to your family." He leaned forward, looking down at Jean. "Don't take it for granted."
The older twins disappeared, taking their younger siblings with them.
Jean sunk to his knees with shaky breaths, clutching his son to his chest as if he was the anchor to the world, while tears spilled from his eyes.
AFTER THE CHAPTER
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