A great spire of flames pierced the night sky as a flurry of glowing embers rained out like burning snow. The house was fully engulfed, and numerous firefighters flanked it on all sides as they desperately fought back against the blaze. The structure was slowly crumbling, sending up more flurries of embers with each collapse. A sleek black car skidded to a halt before the scene; its dark paint reflected the myriad of flashing lights. The man inside had the sort of worn face only a life of hardship produced, accentuated by a scar running over the corner of his mouth. He turned off the car and pocketed the keys before turning to the back seat. A child no more than 7 years old sat there, face pressed against the window to watch the scene. The man tapped his shoulder.
"Stay here, OK? I'll be back soon," he said, his tone stern but soothing. The child nodded, before returning to his silent gawking. The man flung the door open and jogged towards the home. Several police officers intercepted him.
"Sir, you have to stay back," an officer said, blocking his way.
"This is my brother's house. Where is he?" the man demanded. The two officers looked at one another, then back to the man.
"Sir, come this way." Their grave tone sent an icy chill down the man's spine.
"Tell me where he is! Now!" he snarled. He was suddenly distracted from his interrogation as he spotted a figure being wheeled along in a stretcher. He easily slipped past the cops, ignoring their cries of protest. The child lying on the stretcher was 3 at most, and his wide eyes were darting around frantically. The man ran to his side.
"Kirby! Kirby, it's me, Uncle Gabriel. Do you remember me?" he said, trotting alongside as the stretcher continued its journey to the ambulance. The kid nodded, seeming to brighten up slightly. Gabriel turned to one of the medics.
"How is he?"
"He seems to only have some smoke inhalation. We're taking him to the hospital to be observed for anything we might've missed," an EMT supplied.
"How about the others?" There was a heavy silence.
"There were no other victims recovered," the other medic admitted, focusing his gaze on his patient. Gabriel was silent for a moment.
"What hospital are you taking him to?"
The sound of the car door opening startled the child out of his intent observation of the fire. He looked to the front of the car.
"Dad…?" he asked.
"C'mon Miguel. We're going to go meet your new brother," Gabriel said, putting the car into drive.
20 years later…
Kirby glanced at his watch, before he returned to nervously munching on his basket of fries. It was 20 minutes past the meeting time, and he was waiting for a text to come through any second telling him that the other had to cancel. A tinkling bell announced a new person entering the diner, and Kirby lit up as he set eyes on who it was.
"Miguel!" he chirped, rushing over to envelope the smaller man in a crushing hug.
"You are well aware that I prefer being called Meta," the man groused, though he returned the embrace. The two walked back to the booth, taking seats opposite one another. The two men seemed almost like opposites. Kirby was a stocky, pudgy man, with rosy cheeks, pale skin, and a mop of blond hair on his head. Meta was a lithe and slender man, with defined features and deep brown skin. The dark sunglasses he always wore blocked any view of his eyes.
"How've you been?" Kirby chirped.
"I have been well enough. My work has certainly kept me busy. And you?" Meta paused to thank the waitress as a cup of hot cocoa was set in front of him. The two were frequent enough visitors for the staff to memorize their orders.
"I've been alright. Still a bartender at the Crystal"
"Wait, you mean dad's bar? He ought to have that dumpster fire demolished. I am honestly surprised it hasn't been condemned. The patrons are about as worn out as the floor," Meta drawled.
"Hey, they're a little rough around the edges but they're good people. And it just needs renovation. Maybe you're a little too used to the fancy places you work at?" Kirby responded.
"There is nothing fancy about being a security guard. It is primarily tolerating malcontented suburbanites who cannot grasp the concept of "no"."
"What do all those injuries come from, then?" Kirby asked.
"I haven't suffered very many injuries at all. Only a few cuts and scrapes," Meta said, waving off his brother's concerns. Kirby crossed his arms and attempted a scowl, though it looked more like a pout.
"You had three broken ribs last year and the only reason I even found out was because the nurses found my contact in your phone. What happened?" Meta seemed to almost flinch slightly, looking away.
"I crashed my car," he lied. Kirby sighed and rubbed at his head.
"You would've called me or dad the second your precious car was even dinged. What are you up to? Underground fighting?"
"Of course not!" Meta snapped, drawing the attention of several patrons. He offered them a wan smile and lowered his voice. "I am no criminal." Kirby's eyes widened, and he leaned forward.
"You aren't hunting again, are you?" he whispered urgently.
"…No," Meta whispered back, averting his eyes. Kirby gasped loudly, then clapped his hands over his mouth as several fellow patrons glanced at him in curiosity.
"You are going to give dad a heart attack!" he hissed, voice muffled by his hands.
"Not if you don't tell him!" Meta responded. He then looked around suspiciously and leaned even closer to his brother. "Look, there's been an up-tick in paranormal happenings as of late. I cannot just sit idly by and watch the bodies pile up!"
"Any info from DDD?" Kirby asked. Meta shook his head.
"Him and Escargon have been chasing a million leads but all they can tell me is that the demons are planning something," he said, frustration evident in his features. His phone buzzed, and he snatched it, reading the text and rapidly typing out a response. Kirby craned his head over the phone and Meta indignantly slid it closer to himself.
"Who's that?"
"A contact. I have to get going," Meta muttered, beginning to stand.
"A hunt?" Kirby murmured. Meta sighed and deflated slightly.
"A ghost down in southern Illinois," he admitted. Kirby slapped his hands on the table and stood suddenly, fire in his eyes.
"I'm coming with you," he said firmly. Meta rolled his eyes.
"Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"You cannot just leave your vehicle here. And you are inexperienced."
"I took the bus! And dad taught me just as much as he taught you!"
"And have you ever actually faced a true monster?" Meta asked smugly, leaning back in his seat.
"That's how I got kicked out of college!" Kirby snapped, before covering his mouth with his hands as fury burned in Meta's eyes.
"You got kicked out?" he snarled. Kirby put his hands up in a pacifying manner, smiling nervously.
"I-I had to do it!" he sputtered, before lowering his voice. "There was a spirit killing people. I had to burn the body and, well… I got caught. They let me off with probation, but grave-robbing isn't really popular with colleges," Kirby explained, reddening from the shame of retelling the story. Meta put his head in his hands, sighing heavily. It was just like Kirby to throw everything he had away for others.
"Alright. Fine. You can come," Meta huffed, lifting his head. Kirby pumped his fist into the air, grinning widely.
"Thank you!" he sang. Meta just gave him a flat look and slid out of the booth.
"Finish paying and meet me at the Halberd," he said curtly, walking towards the door. Kirby failed to stifle a snort.
"You named your car?" he called after him. Meta only flipped him the bird without even turning around, which did nothing to deter Kirby's mirth at his brother's expense.
The wind was crisp and cool, a sign of the coming winter. Meta's car was obvious from the moment Kirby surveyed the parking lot. It was the only sports car amongst a herd of pickups and minivans. The Halberd was sleek and black, obviously designed for speed and power over utility. Its body shone flawlessly under the dimming evening sun, a testament to Meta's dedication. The man himself was rummaging around in the trunk and straightened just as Kirby approached. Meta held out two objects, offering them to Kirby.
"Can't have you unarmed," Meta deadpanned. Kirby eyed the pistol and knife, only grabbing the latter. Meta rolled his eyes. "Look, I know you tend towards pacifism but- "He was quickly cut off as his brother lifted his shirt, revealing the gun and holster hidden beneath.
"You know dad would never let either of us be weaponless," Kirby laughed, making his way to the passenger side door. Meta blinked and walked to the driver's side, speaking to Kirby over the car.
"But are you equipped to use it?" he asked. Kirby leaned on the Halberd's roof, giving the closest thing his cute face could manage to a smug smirk.
"I'm at the shooting range every weekend. And if I remember right, I'm the better shot," he quipped. Meta narrowed his eyes into slits beneath his sunglasses.
"I recall very clearly," he hissed. Every since they were old enough, their father had insisted on regularly training at the gun range. Kirby always managed to hit exactly where he aimed, and while Meta could reliably hit center mass he was no marksman. Even though Meta made up for his shortcomings with his incredible hand-to-hand combat skills, it was still a massive hit to his ego, though he was certainly proud of his brother.
"Sorry. That was uncalled for," Kirby said. Meta glared at him for a few more moments before shrugging.
"It's fine," he said curtly, opening the door and slipping into his car. Kirby sighed and hopped into the passenger seat, automatically clicking his seatbelt into place.
"Then let's go!" he chirped, smiling placidly at Meta. Meta's irritation melted away slightly at the sight as he turned his key in the ignition. The vehicle rapidly roared to life. Kirby then reached towards the auxiliary cord before being deftly blocked by Meta as he plugged his own phone in.
"My car. My music," he said flatly, flipping through his music in search of the correct playlist. He chose one and nestled his phone into the center console. Kirby made a face as guitar riffs sounded throughout the interior.
"Aw man, not your old guy music," he whined. His brother always was a classic rock kind of guy, taking after his father.
"At least it isn't your overly-synthesized pop garbage," Meta replied, turning to look over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking space. They pulled out of the parking lot and started down the road, heading for the highway. Kirby made a sheepish face as his stomach suddenly rumbled, and he turned to face Meta.
"You know, I didn't really get that much to eat. Could we maybe swing by a drive-through?" he asked quietly.
"You had like three empty plates!" Meta snapped back. Kirby pouted and squished himself into the seat.
"Still doesn't mean I'm not hungry," he grumbled.
"Dammit Kirby," Meta sighed, pulling into the brightly lit lane of the closest fast-food joint.