Year I - Act I - Laws of corruption - Chapter IV.
How did this blade not dull at all? A befuddling question, no doubt, but fitting in this situation. Why? Because, for what felt like the past hour, Crlos had been slashing, cutting and removing decayed plant matter from his way.
All with a switchblade. A fucking navaja. Sure it was good at self defense, even war if you want to overextend and know how to use it, but it was no damn machete. Shit, Carlos didn't know the most about this particular weapon from his own damn country, but he was very much aware that they were rightly feared when knife fights were far more common. Nowadays people mostly used it to cut food more than anything, or street fights if they weren't exactly the most law-abiding (or intelligent) people out there.
Point being, there was something fucky going with the fucking blade. Not that Carlos hadn't noticed the moment it first landed on his hands, or during the first cut. Fuck, it was bothering him to the point his face was covered in small cuts from dead things hitting him. Nothing serious, but it was a wonder why he hadn't gotten an eye wounded by now.
At least his cousin was doing a titan's work by pulling the foliage away from Carlos' face. Small miracles and all that. Not big enough to pull his mind away from the question, but big enough to focus it in a direction that did not have to face Pilar's explanations. Everyone had more than enough of the matriarch at this point.
"I think I can see a house out there."
Hector's voice was a bit ragged. Not surprising, considering the art of hedge trimming was a particular ancient martial art that Carlos had, sadly for everyone, never mastered. That had given enough time for brother and sister, with Yolanda's very much impassioned, if not downright pissed off, speech to regale Hector with all their mother had decided to share.
If there was one thing Carlos had to be thankful for when it came to his uncle Hector, it was that he was so fucking chill. There had been words, yes, a few of them very loud, but Hector had managed to keep everyone calm. Was he still pissed off at being slapped for finding this mess to be unbelievable? Yes, oh fuck yes. He had made it very damn clear. But he was also very much cool enough most of the time, perhaps too much, and this time was no different. Hector had managed to calm both his sister and mother before there could be a brawl, and while Yolanda was not one for violence, in fact she had a hard time ever thinking of hitting someone, this time she had been eerily close to ignoring her mother's age and status and just giving her a good punch.
Right now Carlos didn't know if he'd do the same. Granted, only one of his cousins, well, perhaps two, were so backwards as to have notions of never hitting a woman. In fact Carlos was very much aware of how dangerous women could be, and had no problem returning the favor, or initiating it, if the need arose. He had already been hurt enough, physically and emotionally, long before he messed up his body.
But that was not really important right now and he was rambling in his head. Fuck this was never end-.
A loud snap pushed a ton of dry vegetation away, opening to reveal a decently sized plain. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, with the sun shining all over it, with a large building in the middle, apparently in perfect condition, with even a few bugs (how had they made it here?) flying around. The only downside was that the place was covered in water. Apparently a few inches of it and not more, but still enough to be just another annoyance that could stoke the group's anger. Luckily there were a few dry paths to follow.
"That is Eno's house."
Carlos motioned to the large construction, a true and honest to god Japanese manor like the ones of old. It had even been surrounded by a garden last Carlos remembered. Hadn't it suffered some fire damage from some idiots trying to 'stick it up' to an old fashioned 'coot' that had gone and mixed blood with a foreigner? The young man didn't remember. His aunt had been rather succinct and asked for the matter to drop when she made a particularly hasty call last year, and Carlos had managed to only catch part of it before the topic was changed.
But hey! Other than being somewhere in fucking HELL of all places, the building looked to be in perfect condition. And by that Carlos meant the building was lacking the wall, or most of the garden, but the rest seemed to still be fine.
Fine…ish.
True that the roof, Yosemune style for Enomoto's house (unlike that of his father sporting an impressive Irimoya style, and Carlos had to mention this because his aunt loves to gush about Japanese architecture), was covered in branches and roots that had appeared from somewhere, but the sturdy wood construction had resisted whatever assault it had suffered. There was some damage to the outside walls, with the Shoji dividers and doors being perhaps slightly shredded, even the Engawa (Or outdoor corridor/veranda) had suffered from some damage, with a few supports choked and cracked by roots.
Okay, so the large and at one time splendorous house, testament to Japanese heritage, may've been damaged ever so slightly. It was still mostly okay, lacking a lot of the outside beauty that Carlos had once seen, probably because it hadn't been taken here with the rest of the building and the family inside.
Speaking of which, hopefully the greenery and its fucky growth hadn't messed up the inside of the house and the people within. If it was anything like Hector's house though, maybe things had devolved and the group was meant to find a labyrinth of more decayed plant matter blocking their path.
So fun. So sweet. Carlos wanted a chainsaw to be here.
"It is better off than my house. I mean, at least on the outside. Wood is easy to replace." Speaking of Hector, the man, and the heavy load on his person, waddled closer to the two cousins. "Think they are alright?"
"Suuure… I hope?" Carlos swiped the sweat, and some dry blood, from his brow and face. "You were okay, weren't you?" Hector shrugged, the rattling of his bags finally getting Carlos' eyes to twitch. "And seriously. Do you want any help with that? Why did you bring five damn bags!?"
"Pack rat. Simple comforts. An excuse to take longer after that mess. Take your pick." Hector shrugged once again, surprisingly taking the lead as he began moving. "And I can carry them just fine."
Carlos grumbled for a moment before Jamba gave him a quick elbow bump. A quick nod backwards and Carlos saw how everyone else was getting closer. Time to get moving.
Or not, as this time things took a turn for the surprisingly welcome: The ones they were seeking had decided to come out.
"Mom! Hector! Yolanda!"
Aunt Olga had always been a very mousy woman, both in her early years and now in her late forties. She had no specially remarkable features, other than a massive pair of glasses that is; average height, simple (as in rather dull) brown eyes, chestnut hair going down in curls up to her shoulders, relatively tame features without much flourish while still not being simply plain, and a lack of excessive curves. All in all, Olga was easily defined as a 'Jane Doe' in the grand scheme of things, at least when it came to her appearance, clothes and most other visible and superficial details. Right now she was wearing little more than simple day to day wear you'd use to go out, clearly mindful of her more expensive kimonos and other dresses, which certainly didn't help the 'plain' label go away.
Personality wise was different. Olga was a very silent and soft spoken person, unless excited, but she was also incredibly sharp, having great intellect. Olga did like to brag about that attribute of hers, and correct people by bringing out the definition: Intellect is the ability to learn and digest information very fast, turning it into what most people would call 'intelligence'. Why? Who knows, but considering Olga was rather average otherwise, she took pride in what she could. This was supported by a desire to devour new information on almost any topic and, sadly enough, a scatterbrained enough persona to indeed retain the information she gained, but have difficulty recalling anything unless it was important enough. It made for a very funny kind of interaction even at the worst of times, and, despite its downsides, it also meant that Olga knew at least a little bit of everything if truly needed. Just hope that the need was real, because trying to get information out of her was sometimes as painful as it could be funny because she'd ramble about related topics, derailing the conversation in seconds.
Some would've called Olga airheaded, not because she was stupid by any means, as previously started, but because her mind was almost always in the clouds when not engrossed in any particular activity. Ironically enough, that is what first had helped her bump into Enomoto; she had been thinking about this or that while the family visited Japan decades ago, only for her and her husband to bump into each other.
Of course the recently gained knowledge put everything in a… different perspective, to say the least.
Carlos also wasn't in the mood to bring it up, instead enjoying how Olga's tackle nearly knocked Hector to the damp ground. "You are here! Eno said you'd be, but I thought he was just trying to comfort me/make me even more nervous."
"Your husband's sense of humor doesn't deal with teasing you." Hector chuckled as he tried his best to remain in place with the added weight and a crazily touchy sister trying to hug the life out of him. "Besides, he was right."
Olga was quick to nod, and more than eager to show support to her husband. Of all of Carlos' aunts, no matter how old fashioned or more liberal in thought, Olga was the more traditional when it came to parenting. One very big part of her daily life was the utter and complete support of her husband, the other was to make sure her daughter had all she needed to be prepared when going out into the wide and harsh world out there. Sadly the one big part she would've loved to contribute more to, that of having more children, was cut short after her first and only birth thanks to complication.
A lot of people back home gave her shit. A lot more in her new country praised her for it. Japan was a very accepting place, sure, but tradition was important, and Olga respected theirs in ways not all native Japanese did anymore. Olga didn't really care though. She got the best husband she could hope for. She had a great daughter that she loved. Anything else was secondary.
Worry was commonplace for her, though. Olga was generally a bit of a downer, and this situation, as her face showed, was making her jittery as she looked everywhere in a palpable degree of fear, even if hugging her brother was clearly calming her nerves.
"But there is one part that worries me." Olga more or less muttered. "He said there'd be blood…"
The group was all there after the hug, and they were all more than aware of what had been said. The only one to not find this distressing, or surprising, was Pilar.
"Your husband lacks the ability to see beyond the present, but he does know when things are wrong." The matriarch nodded in appreciation towards the man, now very much within earshot. "And I see you came prepared, Enomoto."
A broad shoulder Japanese man with short black hair tied in a traditional Japanese bun was very quick to bow at Pilar's words. Enomoto's deep, blue/green eyes were as serious as the rest of him, for the man had no problem with being funny and carefree when free time and less serious meetings took place, yet formal events, danger or simple duty brought out an extremely stoic side of his persona. This was emulated by his body; easy to relax, but ripe with strength, muscles and old burns from the forge and marks from previous fights that came from his youth or the less reputable part of Japanese society having had the gall to pick on the man, his love or his family. He was slightly shorter than his wife, but his body spoke of how he could easily defeat a man much taller, and maybe even stronger, than he was.
Generally dressing formally while in public, not so much in private, the forgemaster right now was instead geared from head to toe. From the kabuto helmet to the waraji straw sandals, Enomoto's ability with the hammer and control of his forge was shown here, albeit not to the point Carlos had seen. Indeed, the kabuto itself lacked any insignia or markings, the kobakama held no family crest and no part of his otherwise impressive ensemble, be it the Do or Kusazuri (cuirass and thigh covers respectively) held any of the usual ornamentation Enomoto loved to give to show respect to his customers and love for his craft. Not even his katana or wakizashi, both tightly held in place, held Enomoto's family colors.
Despite this, and the metal lacking any paint, Enomoto still looked as close to the modern and very widespread image of a samurai. Highly unadorned, true, but very much practical, if one ignored firearms at least.
"Welcome to our land, lady Pilar." Enomoto spoke firmly and with a grave tone as his bow ended. "You are correct. I lack vision and other abilities that would have warned me of this, and more. But there are those in my country that can, and had in the past, told me of things to come."
For once it seemed that the news made Pilar frown as everyone looked at her in question. "News that all of us should know about?"
"I am sorry, Pilar Sama, but sharing would have done nothing." Eno said with genuine regret. "All I was told had to do with the end of your bloodline, a most serious omen indeed, but one guaranteed to pass. This event would also mean the end of my wife's life alongside that of my child, and my own." The man's sadness was quickly erased by firm and fiery determination. "However, fate is not always what it seems. This 'event' was hard to discern, like muddied water. An unknown, powerful magic was meant to be used, one so strong, so forbidden and nearly forgotten, that any misstep could change its outcome. Even the smallest thing, like having one person ever so slightly out of place, or an extra soul in range, could alter many an effect… which meant there was a very small chance for this power to pass us by."
Enomoto went on to name many possibilities, many theories, that he had. It was a rambling discourse that all those present seemed to follow, morbidly curious about their near death experience. Carlos opted to ignore any further details on how whatever shit that tried to apparently kill them had, surprisingly, failed. All he cared about was the most obvious part n one else seemed to point out.
"I am sorry, uncle, but the ways it could've failed aren't really what matters here." And while Carlos felt like an asshole as soon as he interrupted Enomoto, he had to ask. "What I want to know is WHY we are in what grandma called 'Hell'."
"Ah, yes, perhaps a more important point. I am sorry young one, but considering my family is far more removed from magic than most in our ancient position, it has always been a topic of interest for me." Enomoto declared before clearing his throat. "As to why we are in this dark land? That, sadly, is simple: The magic that was used was meant to end Pilar Sama's family, and those most directly involved with it, such as romantic partners."
"Wait! You were serious about our 'blood'?!" Olga surprised no one. Sure, she was a mousy thing at almost all times, but she was much like her husband: Family came first. "All of us were meant to die!? What about my aunts? What about my cousins?! My nieces?! Wha-?!"
"Dear! My love! Please." Enomoto approached the group until he was holding his wife's face with his armored hands until she managed to calm down. "I told you none of this because I knew how you'd react. I told your mother none of this because she would have secluded herself at home, taking everyone away from their friends and loved ones. Things would have become… difficult for all those we care about if your mother had a chance to 'safeguard' the family."
This didn't answer the question, not yet. Carlos knew his uncle would offer a very much needed, if unwanted, answer in a moment, but he was a very sincere person first and foremost. Pilar clearly was beyond incensed at his openness, but she made no move to contradict his words.
"But such concerns are simply superficial." And here Enomoto became stoic, or tried to. It was clear something bothered him greatly. "Had the spell worked, then we all would've returned to the Almighty and His kingdom. That was all but assured, and the Seer told us, my father more than me, that our destiny was sealed one way or another. It was meant to convey the need of my family to make peace with my loss and that of my love and daughter."
"But we aren't in Heaven." Jamba butted in, a frown in his face.
Zaid nodded quickly and joined his son. "If we are truly in Hell, then what the Seer told you was wrong. Or is there something else?"
"The spell was unknown. Its power, Hellish. But the effects were clear." Enomoto took a deep breath. "Its intent was to feed from our souls. Not to extinguish them, for such a thing, while incredibly complicated, perhaps close to impossible, would not only have granted the offender incredible powers, but it would've brought divine retribution. The energy created by a soul as it matures, as it gains essence as happiness fills it, is what fuels the creation of new souls, and what ensures an afterlife before the soul itself dies a second time, is sent to oblivion and to be reborn. This much is known by all members of the Inquisition, past and present, once they are ready to join the order proper. It is also well known that such power, in certain cases, can be used to infuse things, or people… and this spell was meant to absorb it for personal gain." At this point the man lowered his tone. "What is far less widely discussed is how a soul can be both cleansed of sin, and marred. The first is not disclosed because it is seen as a thing only truly done by the Almighty, while the second is, instead, a great taboo, as souls from those like us should be impervious to corruption and, as some say, 'being stained'."
Nulu made a face. While her tone was disgusted for a simple, superficial reason, the words clung to everyone as she spoke. "Our souls can get dirty too?"
Enomoto and everyone else wished they could take the young woman's words with mirth, but there was none there. "Yes." And Enomoto knew his words now would make certain people, at least ONE very important person, grow angry. "And using this spell marks your soul as condemned no matter what. For the user? Their soul may very well be cracked, destined to be destroyed once they die. For the victims? Their souls may absorb the dark magic, making them 'feel' tainted, even if they aren't. Many of the darkest spells and magics do this to some extent, because to employ them means assured suffering, pain and destruction. All magic, all actions, mortal or divine, can mark you for good or ill." Now comes the obvious point of conflict. "However, to be 'tainted' as a victim usually means surviving the magic lobbed at you. And indeed it happened to us, as surviving our ordeal left our souls with a mark that is known by many names, but for those that end in Hell they know it just as the mark of 'Sin', and are just referred to as 'Sinners' until their judgment. The only difference is that ours is a mark earned by being touched by one of the darkest magics there is; those that deal in the unwilling manipulation of souls, instead of us being tainted by sinning against the Maker."
Just like that, with a few words that everyone found sensible enough, Pilar's movement caught everyone by surprise. She didn't try to hit, berate or do anything to Enomoto, no. She just walked to him so fast, so silently, that Carlos was sure the old woman would've been a hundred times more dangerous than he was if she had retained the switchblade still in his hands.
And she stood there, eyes piercing Eno's form, armor be damned.
"The Japanese branch has had its problems with the order at large." She began, her voice cold, collected and very much intentional. "I will admit it never crossed the fine line that those in the American continent decided to simply breach without an ounce of shame or secrecy. You know full well that colonization there was brought not by greed and xenophobia, but the local section of the Order and their fall to Darkness and the practices they forced upon their people."
"Pilar Sama, I-."
"But to think you'd condemn the Lord of all things. To imply He would see this action and ignore our plight?" Not screaming, not raising her voice, but there was something there. Carlos could only gulp as he saw his grandmother close to something similar to hate. "I thought your family to be pure, Hotaka Enomoto. I thought you would keep my daughter happy and safe, that our bloodlines would work in tandem and strengthen each other. I did NOT think you would spout such nonsense in front of ME of all people."
"Grandmother, a moment please."
Carlos was torn between smiling and grimacing as the last figure in the group spoke. After all, while most of his cousins could be considered a mess, Akiko was probably one of the worst cases in the family.
You'd think otherwise at first glance. Enomoto's daughter was nothing like her mother; she had soft features, a beautiful face, delicate, brownish/green eyes, vibrant skin, a button nose, rich dark hair that looked as if it was about to shimmer under the light and a disarming smile. She had inherited her father's genes more so than her mother's, with her features being almost purely Japanese, mixed with the nearly perfect diligence for learning that Olga had gifted her daughter with. A necessity in a way, for as the only daughter of her father the need to learn his craft fell on her and her alone.
As such Akiko was not only visibly beautiful, as all women on Enomoto's side of the family were, but also a strong woman with muscles and knowledge expertly hidden under an apparently frail body. Not uncommon of her father's side, for it was known that both men and women alike were greatly resistant to the flames of the forge, although the truth, as Carlos had been shown during one of Akiko's visits to spain, was more along the lines of Akiko's female relatives being very quick to heal in an almost perfect fashion. Akiko had told Carlos people spread rumors about them being related to some kind of demon, something that made the both of them laugh back in the day. Now however…
But that was not the worrying part. What worried Carlos, and most of Akiko's family that cared enough to know her, was her personality.
She did love to learn, much like her mother, and she loved to make things, like her father. But Akiko did not like the forge. She did not like to be somewhere hot and stuffy all day. She preferred to write, she loved the sea, and, surprisingly enough for her and her family, she loved the cold above the heat. There were many things that linked her to her father's side of things, but there were just as many that conflicted with it, and Akiko's sense of duty always battled with her supposed failures.
The fact that she healed very fast also hid a singular, very overt attempt at putting an end to things. You may consider nothing said here to be enough to warrant worry, but that clearly wasn't the case considering Carlos, Enrique and Gonzalo's had to bather down a bathroom door to help a very distraught Akiko hid the deed.
She considered herself a failure. No matter how outwardly 'perfect' she appeared, how much knowledge she had, how good she was at what she was meant to do, Akiko did not enjoy her lot in life and she considered THAT a failure that would dishonor her father, her whole family. Such a stain had few ways of absolution, except perhaps one.
Luckily, Akiko hadn't gone through with it in the more traditional Japanese way. It didn't mean her cousins worried any less though.
Akiko tried to make up for her lapse in determination however, if perhaps going too far. Right now it was even more clear to all those eyeing the twenty five years old that she was going perhaps too far. Why? Because she was mirroring her father's getup. True, her armor was much lighter, foregoing the heavier parts of the armor, including the katana, instead having the wakizashi as a sidearm while her primary weapon was her favorite: A Yumi bow, and a lot of arrows. Whereas Enomoto preferred the late era Samurai, Akiko preferred the original, bow wielding warriors the popularized Samurai descended from. This made her armor practical, simpler, lighter but very much functional.
And also a massive cry for attention, but Carlos wasn't going to voice such opinions.
Pilar, of course, had her own way of tackling this, and it had nothing to do with pussyfooting around. She instead frowned at her niece, voice firm, as she tackled Akiko's plea. "Why should I, child? Your father's words-."
"May very well be unpleasant, but are also true." Akiko affirmed with a quick nod, risking much by cutting off her grandmother. "I wish no disrespect, grandmother, but I am sure I need not recount the many laws of Heaven, or how strict they are."
"Pilar Sama." Enomoto butted in before Pilar could offer a retort. "Respect is to be given to the Holy Ones, but you cannot deny some of their rules are extreme, if not contradictory. Perhaps not by their own making, purpose or desire, but by how us humans decide to share them, even within the Order." And he even managed to push past the look of utter boiling rage that Pilar exuded not a moment after. "Our souls are marked as forbidden of entry through the heavenly gates, despite our families being forgiven for some… questionable, if not outright damning, acts in the past. We had a pardon guaranteed to us by God Himself, yet it came undone simply because we suffered the effects of a spell. I would've thought the Seer a liar too, had her predictions not come true. We may very well be forced to live among the corrupted, and the Seer did prophetice that we would be required to pay for our survival in blood, if the magic meant to end us were to fail. You cannot-."
"Enough." Firm. Harsh. Clearly in denial or unwilling to hear. Pilar made it clear that this was all there was to this conversation. Apparently only SHE could deliver devastating news, a fact Carlos clearly wasn't enjoying learning about his grandmother. "We are done with this. We will go back to the base of this place, organize ourselves and come with a plan to leave this place of damnation OR take as many of the Hellborn with us as we can. We have a duty to Heaven and the Holy Father and we'll pay our dues until we breathe our last. There will be NO living with the cursed, no colluding with the Hellborn and NO staying in the Betrayer's land." And before anyone could react she motioned to the cart left a few steps away. "Grab all the equipment you brought and come with us. I will not repeat myself."
Clearly Enomoto was intending to say something else, but a glare from the matriarch made him stop dead in his tracks. The amount of zealotry and coldness Pilar was exhibiting was reaching a point where Carlos, and likely everyone around him, was thinking something along the lines of 'Pilar has lost her mind'.
Then again, they were in Hell. Was it so hard to imagine? Or, if Enomoto had been truthful, was Pilar simply falling into self delusion?
Carlos opted to ignore that very real possibility that his grandmother was likely trying to get them killed and focus on the carefully bagged implements that Enomoto and his daughter had carted in. It was clear that the little cart there, something simple and likely found in most traditional forges, carried a large number of different weapons. Most of them Carlos could identify as Japanese at a glance (After all the culture was very much widespread through media), but there were silhouettes more akin to pieces of weaponry found outside the land of the rising sun.
A lot of good weapons and implements of destruction, to be sure. Some of them even had the same 'glow' that his own switchblade seemed to emanate, but it was clear that his grandmother, while impressed at first, now could only scoff at them the second she laid eyes on the things.
Just how right was his uncle?
That was secondary though. Even Pilar's actions and the worry they evoked was secondary. Akiko's expression as Pilar silently ordered Enomoto to move the things was what caught his attention. Luckily no one seemed to pay him, or his cousin, much attention as he approached her. They were clearly more interested in stopping the matriarch and finally confronting her.
"Are you alright?" Carlos asked, voice low, as the others in the group began to try and get Pilar to calm down. That wasn't going to work. "Akiko, I don't-."
"I am not alright, no." Akiko didn't even turn to face him. Her expression was a mask, but her body language told Carlos enough. Fidgeting, small ticks such as tapping her left foot constantly, that kind of thing. "I… I am sorry. I was very nervous already, Carlos. I never told you anything because I thought grandmother would hear us."
Carlos grimace. "I suppose that means you knew more about the 'family' business than everyone else?"
She nodded. "Father shared a bit, yes. Our family in Japan considers the European section of the Order to be rather stupid by hiding the details from those that don't 'make the cut'. They would never be as rude as to voice such thoughts like that, but…" It was clear Akiko wanted to frown, or be far more direct, but she forced herself to remain 'calm', or as calm as she could. "I… I am VERY sorry for not sharing during my visits."
"Hey." Carlos offered a smile, giving his cousin a side hug, making the older woman smile a bit as Carlos complained about a piece of armor hitting him in the ribs as he did so. "The few times we visited you, we were there for you, not for this mess. Whenever you came to visit we were there to make you smile. This situation is fucked up, yeah, but you aren't in the wrong here. I just want to make sure you can take it until things calm down. Everything will get better."
Finally Akiko allowed herself a frown as she looked at her parents. Would things calm down? Because Pilar was, for once, being yelled at by her daughter, with Hector going so far as to give his mother the stink eye. Jamba, his sister, his father and even Enomoto were trying to remain neutral, to varying degrees of success.
This was a mess.
In the end she asked the question with no clear answer. "Do you really think things will get better?"
Carlos didn't have a real answer. He also wasn't going to lie to her. So in the end he chose to give the most sincere answer he could while still being hopeful.
"I know what I said, but really, I don't know. Personally? I hope so." He took a deep breath. "And if they won't get better on their own, then WE will make them better. Can I count on you for that?"
Akiko gave her cousin a look, then she directed one to Jamba as he looked their way. Their cousin gave a curt nod while holding his sister tight, trying to ignore the heated discussion not too far from them as every single adult got involved in the heated match.
After a few moments Akiko returned her cousin's hug. "I'll do my best, I promise."
Carlos couldn't help but let out a smile. "Hey, that is all anyone can ask right now."
The only problem left at the moment was for the yelling match to end.
Juan was not a patient man. He was a rotund man, much like his son, though his pot belly had more to do with a sad genetic condition more than anything, for the man, while in bad shape, was far stronger, faster and much more agile than his son. In fact Juan, having worked in construction most of his life, had expertly dodged rebar chunks, evaded falls with cat-like grace, and survived massive impacts with very little harm to his person. A mix of this was knowledge of his own body, natural resilience and being too fucking stubborn and, some'd dare say, stupid (and sometimes downright angry) to die.
But he was not patient.
Juan was ever so slightly shorter than his son, and his hairline was receding, but in his youth, almost thirty years ago now, before his glandular defect became apparent, he had been much like his son before Carlos' own 'fall' from grace. Of course Juan still had an impressive jawline, features of a man of firm decision, hard work and rather handsome looks, and the brown eyes of almost metallic glint that told everyone that his anger was both easily provoked and just as easily quenched IF proper respect was offered. With a massive beard of early graying hair mixed with browns, a favor for dark shirts, sturdy pants and work boots only made Juan's general appearance come closer to that of a far less civilized bike ganger or brutish construction worker with more balls than brains.
Heavy metal, love for beer, fingers as big as sausages and a predisposition for short barreled weapons that he hadn't touched in years (But still loved dearly) did very little to dissuade his friends from calling him such a thing. Even if the very protective father of two hated bikes with a passion. Juan was a man with thick skin for those he knew meant no harm, though he was just as quick to rib someone back, and his barbs had far more punch than most.
Right now he'd give anything for his old shotgun to be in his hands, rain be damned. He had been waiting for what felt like forever in front of the goddamn fucking door and his mother, and, more importantly, his son were yet to return.
Pilar would be far more than just cross with him if he said so, for she expected the highest respect from her children, but Juan first cared for his children above all else. Except perhaps his wife.
"They are taking too long."
And his wife, while despising the cold and the (now far subtler and gentler) rain, had been with him since the beginning. At least once things had calmed down a few minutes after.
Sofia was indeed a short, barely 1.5m in height, woman. She was also… troubled. Not only worried about her son, no, this came from before. See, the long flowing dark hair had once been well kept. Her features had once been much more beautiful, but a nearly permanent sadness had infected her face and wrinkled it for more than six years now. Her form, once lithe and endearing, had gained much weight as the woman did her best to not lose all will to try and keep herself in some short of semi decent shape.
At one point the dark blue eyes of Sofia had been full of determination and eagerness, but six years ago there was an accident. Her usually chipper, very much direct (brutally so) and go-getter attitude, fell. She had been a modern woman most her life: She wanted to work, to have a good house and then get a family. She was twenty four when she had Carlos, and thirty four when she had Marcela. That was enough for Juan, but then Sofia wanted to keep expanding the family, much to Juan's attempts to dissuade her, because he feared her health couldn't take it.
As such, at age forty, after a lot of 'attempts' that made her frustration grow and grow, Sofia got pregnant again.
Only for it to end when she had a miscarriage.
It was in the early days, before it could truly risk her physical health. Luckily for all, Sofia had very few scars left in her body, but it marked the end of the line for the woman Juan loved, at least in a sense. She was still the same person, but sadder, far less willing to try to do her best and sometimes… angrier. Juan still loved her, and supported her, and would do anything for her. But sometimes he feared that not even all the love their families could provide would pull her from the dark hole she had found herself in, a hole she was digging deeper and deeper as the years went by.
The weather they were suffering under was, for once, more than fitting of the desire Juan's wife had to cover herself after she let herself go. Baggy clothes and ample jackets weren't exactly the best things, less so when it was warm, but the climate here was fitting enough, or so Juan allowed himself to think.
"Of course they are late." Juan grumbled, a smoke in his hand, a bad habit he shared with his wife. "Whatever this place is, it is likely a mess. I wish they'd hurry, though."
"You are far too calm for this." Sofia huffed as she threw her husband a sidelong glance. "We already have some of the children suffering wounds."
"Those two haven't been children in a while, hon." Juan chuckled, though he WAS worried about his nephews' wellbeing, despite being more than aware that they'd be fine with some downtime. "And considering the strange place we are in…"
Sofia took a few seconds to continue her husband's line of thought. "You think things will get worse?"
"I think we aren't going to get out of here alive." Juan admitted. He was a very crash and blunt person most of the time, mostly because he despised liars, but also because he had the same tact as a blunt object. "Perhaps not today. Scratch that; in fact my gut tells me that we will be fine today, but…"
"Is spreading fear funny to you?"
Juan gave his wife a glare. "You know very well I am not trying to be a dick, so don't be one yourself." He took a long drag of his cigarette, discarding the spent thing quickly after. The wet grass around them could suck it. "But my gut has never failed. Yes, perhaps it has taken time to be right, but it hardly matters."
"..." Sofia soon found her interest in her own vices waning as she sighed. "Hopefully that same 'gut feeling' does not include our children?"
And while she sounded far less concerned than she should, it was only because she knew Carlos would rather die, or murder anyone in his way, before allowing anything to happen to his sister.
True that he hit, insulted and tormented his sister a lot. But ten years age gap or not, Marcela could give it as well as she could take it. In fact there was the slimmest chance that Marcela, with a powerful kick to the groin, had made it impossible for her brother to have children in the future. Sofia knew that wasn't the case, and Juan was beyond sure that his son had the same toughness in his lower parts as he himself possessed (And that Sofia had tested back when her husband was courting her), so there was no worry there.
But! Despite their differences in age, tastes and general animosity, the two loved each other dearly. Carlos would quite literally kill an army for his sister, much like he'd do for his cousins. Hell, Sofia's parents had to deal with the police years ago when Carlos broke far too many limbs to be considered 'self defense' when a gang of bullies were messing with some of his cousins.
Still, Sofia hoped her husband was exaggerating. Dying was not something that filled her with dread anymore, but she'd prefer to live at least long enough to see her son having a child of his own.
"Can't say for sure." Sadly, Juan's approach was less than comforting. "It… the feeling comes and goes, you know that." Indeed Sofia did, she just nodded for him to continue. "I hate how it works. I think of things and I have a 'hunch'. I rarely do it, and I know I have never told you why, but, really, it just feels as if I am doing something I shouldn't. Probably doesn't help that I just 'know' things without being aware of the details. Makes me feel useless in the end because all I get is a vague sense of things. Precise enough to be right, but not precise enough to be clear."
That was putting it mildly, but Juan didn't stop. "I have been thinking, though. Thinking of us, our children, our family. All those we spent our last hours with had been in my mind."The large man sighed. "I… don't know how many of us are going to be around for much longer."
Sofia frowned at the thought. How many of those she knew, how many she was close with, would be lost? Why? For what damn reason? At any other point she'd been far more a nervous wreck, or worse, but it had been a long time since she last felt despair. Perhaps her sister, or her brother, would've reacted more as was expected. Her mother sure would, but an ex army man like her father would just nod grimly at the thought. Maybe even Juan's family, but the man knew, as did his wife. Still, most of them would grimly accept Juan's words, as they knew the man and his hunches, but that was not going to mean passiveness, unlike Sofia was willing to deliver.
The sound of heavy steps made Juan turn while Sofia kept looking towards the door.
Raul had decided to come out of the house.
"Still nothing?"
Many of the younger generation called the fifty odd old man 'Tito Mario' ('uncle' Mario), because he was the splitting image of the plumber, only much, much larger. Almost two meters tall, chubby but muscular, with a prominent mustache, messy short hair, very bright blue eyes and a generally very welcoming smile and incredibly nice character despite his massive size and bulging muscles under his extra weight. The man was an absolute unit that had bounced from job to job in his early life, ending up with a lot of small scars and a rather utilitarian view on most things. He also had a very special sense of humor that, continuing with the 'Super Mario' comparison, sometimes made him appear more like Wario. His love for garlic and being a very, eh, 'gaseous' person when the mood strikes did not do him any favors there. His choice of colors and clothes also seemed to stem from those two characters, either thanks to his sense of humor or just because he liked them, no one had the balls to ask.
The man was a riot most of the time, though do not let that smile fool you. He was a nice, gentle giant most of the time, much like his children, but he was also a massive wrecking ball (pun not intended) when something made him angry. He had the voice of a giant's bellow when angry, the brutality of a natural disaster and he was very much willing to break any and all rules in his path to defend whoever he thought needed defending or punish those that he considered a danger. Of course, despite his height, the young ones in the family also considered him a bit of a 'dwarf', in the sense that he loved alcohol a bit too much, he also adored gold, just because, not due to greed really (In fact he'd tell you he just loves shiny things), and he was absurdly loyal when befriended.
Which probably means he had asked for that spade he had in his hands. Not the most effective weapon, but Raul could most likely decapitate more than one person if he aimed it right, otherwise he could still break bones and crack skulls. Heck, the man looked ready to go up the stairs to help Pilar and Carlos even if he had to rip the door from its hinges.
"Not a damn thing." Juan sighed as he looked back at the door. "How is everyone else?"
"My kid is trying to get rid of the bandages." Ruben shrugged. If the wounds had been serious then the large man would've been far more concerned, but the truth was that Enrique was in that position thanks to his mother and cousin fusing over him. "And his cousin is far better than originally thought. He can at least move his arm, so either the impact wasn't as severe as we thought or he just magically recovered."
Juan chortled at the thought. Not because it was impossible, but because right now it wouldn't surprise him. "Can we rule that out?"
His brother in law shook his head, being far more serious than usual. "Not really, no. This place is weird enough to make it possible, don't you think?"
A sad state of things, was it not? For it was not exactly ideal for anyone to discover that perhaps magic, maybe even more, was real, as there was no other way to explain this place and mess, in a way that had entombed them away from their home, endangering their lives in ways they didn't understand. Juan wished to think his mother's tales were just that, tales and grand imagination from a woman burdened with responsibility in an age where violence and extreme hate due to political leanings had created the breeding grounds that nearly shattered the world. Because if they weren't…
Hell. Heaven. Juan didn't care. If there was any danger to his family, divine or fallen, he knew most of those in his life would do what came natural.
Because not even his mother would stop him from murdering whoever wished harm on his children.
"Not exactly the most holy of thoughts."
The voice came out of nowhere and made Juan stumble as the surprise and a spike of fear made him look around in fright. What was that?
"Hey, hey!" Raul lifted his hands in a placating gesture, being now next to Juan. "Sorry, I thought you noticed I was here. Didn't think mentioning your sister being here would surprise you like that."
Juan frowned. That wasn't what he heard. Was he getting too paranoid perhaps? "Rocio?"
"Here, Juan. I wanted to see how everything is going."
For a woman just as tall, if not taller, than her own husband, Rocio had a beautiful, melodic and calming voice. In a way she was similar to Olga, being her younger sister, and close in age, being two years younger. In a practical sense it meant that the curly hair, similar color and generally pleasant, if plain, features weren't out of place. Her size, a vibrant eye shine compared to her sister's duller coloration, portly body mass, motherly appearance and a much more colorful attire and sense of humor was a great contrast between the two sisters. Ironic, considering she loved to chastise her husband whenever he used his more off color remarks… or musical wind.
To call her caring would be an understatement. Same thing if you called her overbearing. Very religious, focused on child rearing to the point of working as preschool teacher and caretaker, Rocio was an incredibly nice woman that was so caring and comforting she was downright fastidious. She was also a morality pet; anything wrong, from curses to anything else she considered 'wrong', would get a reprimand so long as you were young enough to not know what it meant. Even as an adult she'd likely throw a disapproving glare, so long as the situation wasn't serious. If it devolved into something serious though…
Well, she was not a physical person, but the moment you felt her hand on you, you better stop right quick. A slap from her was the same as a bullet if she hit you square on the cheek.
In a way Juan had expected her to carry something to defend herself if needed, but right now she was empty handed. "Nothing new here." Juan ended up saying after that long, pregnant silence. "We are still waiting."
"..." His sister stared him down. "You are tense."
"No shit." Juan snorted, half a mind ready to tell his sister to fuck off. "Any other obvious details you want to point out?"
"Please, do take this seriously." Rocio's terse and commanding tone made Juan stay ramrod straight. As one of the eldest children she had been the second mother in their house back in the day. "I am not here to hear you complaining, ribbing at me or making stupid jokes to try and take levity away from this mess, Juan. I do not mean you are 'tense' in that you are worried, brother, but that you are getting ready to hurt someone. You are getting to the point where the smallest of things will make you jump. I understand, we ALL understand, but you should go back into the house."
Juan grumbled. "And do what? It is already stupid enough that we let mom drag ANY of our children away, but she took Carlos of all her possible options instead of any of us."
"Mother knows what she is doing." Rocie spoke with conviction, though her expression did not carry the same weight. "Just… go back to your daughter. She may not want to show it, or admit it to herself, but she is getting very worried, Juan. You know her; she doesn't even want to register, or admit, when something is going wrong in her mind."
Shit. Juan had nothing to that. And he SHOULD take care of his daughter. Marcela had always been a bit dark and brooding, almost a poster child for the 'Gothic' lifestyle, but she was very much a scaredy cat that tried to look tough on the outside. Having her brother away for so long after this was just a small part of this recipe of disaster they all got mixed in. She had some of her cousins, yes, and the 'darker' side of things distracted her a lot, but they were temporary measures. It wouldn't be the first time that it happened. When Carlos took too long while being away, somewhere unknown, Marcela would start to worry once the dark thoughts went from entertaining to worrying, then she'd hyperventilate, and finally…
Juan shook his head. "Fuck… shit, okay." He let out a defeated grunt. The father was torn on who to worry for, but his daughter was HERE and he could make sure she was okay, or at least better. Besides, caring for his child would calm his nerves, and growing anger, a little bit if nothing else. "Let's go back in. Waiting has done nothing for us anyway. For all we know mom is going to take forever to get back."
Dejected, tired, angry and feeling sad at this whole mess, Juan didn't expect his wife's hand to catch his own. It was a little gesture, a small thing as they looked at each other, but it spoke volumes of many things.
They fought a lot, yelled at each other a lot, but they still loved each other. There were disagreements, fights and a lot of silent treatments here and there, but in these kinds of situations they did have each other's back.
Sofia had lost much of what she once was, she was a wreck in many ways, she knew this, and it was also true she didn't care to get better. But she was willing to be there for as long as she felt herself able. Juan too was unwilling to let her go, and while they almost (but never) got physical in their worst moments, the two of them knew that, if one went away, the other would too. It was a sad thing, yet endearing at the same time. It didn't matter just how they butted heads, how grim their future looked, and how much they knew it would hurt everyone else, because there was only one thing that mattered: They would stay together, even after the end came.
Fatalistic, yes, but not without consideration. Everyone in the family knew about this. There had been talks, interventions even. Carlos himself had learned of it during his 'downtime', and he had come to terms with how things would develop, not without a good load of anger and a few days away from everyone in his own room. In the end all everyone could do was confirm the intent behind the two.
It was simply life; things don't always make sense, or turn out well. This strange, dramatic, and many would say stupid, situation was just more proof of it.
"Sad, but comforting. It is rare to see such devotion for one another in most humans nowadays."
Everyone froze.
The rain picked up again. It wasn't coincidental, but deliberate. The area they were in had suffered another change, a change brought up by the newcomer's presence, a form that drove away the gray atmosphere, bringing light, if only a little of it, into the area.
Such a forceful change wasn't exactly surprising either. Once a year Angels had their 'blessing' to go and do the deed in Hell: The Extermination, The Cleanse, however you wanted to name it. Angels, compared to demons, were far fewer, but also stronger. It did NOT mean they could do as they wished down there. There were rules, there were powers, and there was Lucifer of all entities that could more than match, and probably destroy, as many Exterminators as he damn wanted if they decided to push the boundaries on their agreement. He allowed angels in Hell for a reason.
He did not allow this one. In fact this particular angel, young by Heaven's standards, had blatantly disobeyed orders that told all those aware of what was happening to avoid contact with any 'Marked Soul'. It was only through said angel's personal powers and contacts, few as they were, that he had done what had to be done: Doing a good deed that MEANT something, not just because it was 'needed'.
It took effort however, and this all but ran him dry from all holy energy to just come here, go through the tower's exterior and hide his presence from the humans long enough to assess all he needed. His disobedience would see him punished, and good intentions would not be enough to at least relax whatever measures his superiors would decide to force on him. Now, if the souls here, if the humans pushed into this, were at least decent enough? Then things would be different.
Not that the angel cared. He was going to do what was right no matter what.
But he did have to observe. He did have to learn. And he did have to wait until this whole curse of a 'building' was done forming. It would be a pain to explain all he could to the humans, but they all had survived, and surviving even longer would need his knowledge. It was just a bonus that he managed to see them all, that he managed to learn, and that most of them were at least good enough people that they could, maybe, go to Heaven in the future. If they lived long enough.
Although appearing from out of nowhere, his concealment fading away, almost made one of them suffer a heart attack. There was also a lot of yelling and screaming. It wasn't surprising, only saddening. It hardly mattered that he himself had been a human back in the day, because Heaven's almost nonexistent interactions with human life only made this a guarantee most of the time.
Then again, better it happens now. He knew there were others coming. The first one is probably strong enough as an Angel, but sensible. The others? Well, he could feel the most worrysome's anger from here, while the other was far more level headed, perhaps curious. Whatever the case, his time was limited, and he still needed the humans to calm down.
Wait, was that one trying to hit him with a shovel?
"Well now."
Stolas was petrified in place. No breathing, no blinking, not moving his eyes away from the shattered cup on Lucifer's hand. The Lord of Hell was still smiling, but his good mood was replaced by something that could easily be considered bloodlust. So palpable it was that shadows and lights flickered around his form, giving the once lit room an ominous feel that even Stolas would call oppressive.
It had been interesting watching the humans, enlightening to see Overlord Rosie get things together and move to the arcane tower in her territory. Stolas had even hummed in interest as Lucifer seemed intent to follow other demons, particularly that one from Greed and her imp 'friend'. Whatever Lucifer knew, and the reason behind his choices, Stolas would admit that many of his worries had slowly eased as he saw his Lord's abilities and various powers allow them full surveillance of all that Hell's monarch considered important.
The angel's form had come as a surprise to Stolas. It was much the same for Lucifer, but for a different reason.
"I think it is time to move." Lucifer procured a phone, balefire burning away glass and liquids alike from his form and even the ground as the now free hand summoned his cane. A simple push of a button, the sound of some demon's voice, and Lucifer gave a command. "Have my car ready. I need to make an entrance. Where to, you say?"
A quick glance from his Lord finally freed Stolas from his stupefaction, making the owl demon gulp both air and saliva as he saw the shark-like teeth from his ruler sharpen even more.
"I gather you have seen that strange tower form? Good, my good man, good. Dear Overlord Rosie is there and we need to have a… chat. Be a good chap and get everything going. We need to be there. Post. HASTE."
Never in his life had Stolas seen someone obliterate a phone with a simple flick of their thumb. And he would much prefer to not see just how much power his Lord could command with but a flick of his wrist if he so desired.