Year I - Act I - Laws of corruption - Chapter V.

Okay, I don't want to do it, but I have to. Chapter note because it needs one.

First the inconsequential stuff - Small mistake I won't go back to correct, because it is minimal. Spanish 'Marcella' is 'Marcela'. Sure, it is almost literally nothing, but I am anal about details and I didn't notice beforehand because I have never written that name myself before I started this story. Marcella, from now on, will have one less l in the name. Again, it is nothing, but it would irk me somethin fierce if I didn't point it out. I also messed up slightly in some heights, but I'll solve it when I make character sheets (Linked at the end of Act I, I promise).

Now the somewhat important - Some RL shenanigans made it very hard to work on this story this past month. So instead of uploading the 3 or 4 chapters this Act had left, this is it, and it is even late. Doesn't help that it is an 'info dump' chapter with all characters (minus one that will finally get all data revealed in the next chapter) still to appear being introduced. It was rather boring (But necessary for the overall story) one that took me far too long between interruptions and my mind wandering. Still, hope you guys enjoy… and don't mind waiting till next month for more. I am doing what I can on my end and I will try to have the rest of Act I done for the next row of updates.

Being the youngest in a family usually came with perks and downsides. Perks? People dotted on you, most of the time. Even when you were far too old for that. It came with the territory. Downsides? In most cases it had to do with two possibilities: On one hand they'd expect everything from you because you had all the possibilities open to you and all the resources at your beck and call, or, on the other, they'd expect NOTHING from you, mostly on account of you being 'too young to know better' and many other bullshit reasons. This was not universal of course, but it was what one particular person had been through most of her life, short as it had been.

Marcela's situation had to do more with most people in her family considering her weird. Not 'bad' weird, more akin to surprise and wonder, as well as worry. While part of it had to do with her looks, Marcela made others worry for her because she both grew up (mentally speaking) far too fast, and she also had a very dour outlook in life.

The dark look suited her. A long black dress with a cowl, fishnet arm sleeves, lipstick, fingernails, mascara and so on. At twelve Marcela wasn't exactly a fan of such things as cosmetics, but the dark ensemble was something she truly enjoyed. It covered almost her whole body, and it was quite comfortable at all times, no matter if hot or cold, with minor modifications making it all more bearable. Classy shoes completed the look, generally unseen under her dress' lower portion, and more often than not felt rather than appreciated as Marcela was a fan of showing her displeasure more than telling.

Marcela had a nickname within the family; Calavera. Skull, for those that don't know the language, and it fit quite well. While she wasn't albino when it came to the condition, her skin was nearly bone white, and she was rather sensitive to light. Paired with this were her eyes, as they were neither brown or blue, as it was common in her family, but black, almost as dark as her long hair hiding most of her face and reaching past the midpoint on her back, and while the hair was beautiful her eyes seemed to be just as sensitive as her skin for some reason. It was quite the picture considering the teen rarely, if ever, smiled or laughed in public unless she was with her brother, parents, or some of her cousins.

She was tall for her age, nearing 1.4 meters (4' 7"), and was developing quite quickly. Far too quickly in fact, as a combination of her rather pretty face and what doctors had already assured would be a rather hefty chest was, thanks to her very lithe build, going to likely be a problem. Her general developing beauty being a problem with possible unwanted attention, while her chest would, most likely, cause problems with her back as the last visit confirmed she'd likely grow very tall and, yes, she'd still have a hard time generating muscle mass.

Marcela shuddered at the thought of being two meters, or more, in height with huge assets, lithe frame… and a broken spine. The very thought of looking like that, little more than a blow up doll, made her gag, but she'd take the pain and discomfort as it came. The teen had always been fatalistic and dark in thought, and it only grew worse as she aged, short as her life had been, but most of her cousins, and her brother, did enjoy her dark humor. Otherwise mature, rather cold and distant, the young girl was generally a loner, had problems with crowds, meeting new people and with general communication. It probably didn't help that she was just as opinionated and blunt as those she interacted with most of the time, making her a dreary figure and worse conversationalist in most people's eyes. The only problem she faced was the dependency, almost malignant considering her need, to her brother's presence.

At this point the teen let out a sigh. Wouldn't it be neat to just worry about THAT instead of this mess?

Now, worry wasn't exactly what was going through her mind (if we discount her present, but still manageable, worry for her brother). Young Marcela had been surprised, true, but she assured everyone she held no worry in her mind, something no one truly believed considering they knew her. What they DID believe was that, to her, this was close to a wish and dream coming true the same way a genie would do if you had those three wishes hot and ready to go.

And you didn't fuck up and find an evil one that, for some reason, many people just called 'Jinns' instead of 'Ifrit'.

Still, Marcela's morbid curiosity and general disregard for danger would have welcomed either option, or both even. This could easily be considered that same situation. They were in an unknown place, dragged by unknown powers, and apparently her grandma Pilar knew far more than she had been willing to tell them. She had thought everyone would stop acting insane long before she stopped finding mirth in their mindless running. That had felt like an eternity ago, and the fun had quickly drained, even if the mystique of this all still remained.

"They know they aren't doing a single thing to help, right?" Marcela hummed to herself, not that the two sitting next to her minded, or t thought her wrong.

"Like they are thinking clearly at this point."

Rosa was generally a very nice young woman. Candid, sincere, but warm and usually minded her words and actions a lot more than most within the family, very similar to her father in that regard. Although she was also much more gentle in other areas and, as part of his father's crew as a fisherman, it was her who checked over the fish and made sure all those that had to be let go were alive and well when the time came. She had a gentle touch few in the family shared in any way, and she hadn't lost it once in her twenty five years alive.

At one meter sixty with some change (Around 5' 3"), Rosa wasn't exactly a looker. Oh yeah, she had a pretty face, a nice figure and a very charming smile, but her hands were full of old cuts, bruises and other wounds, she was of rather muscular build, her short chestnut hair was tangled and always messy and despite her best efforts she always came out far too brusque with her mannerism and way to conduct herself. Deep indigo eyes were there almost as a mark left by the sea and her connection with it; expressive and usually as happy as they were radiant.

It hardly helped that Rosa dressed more like a boy with purpose made clothes and sturdy coverings than anything that made her look pretty in any way. She was utilitarian minded on top of it all, despite her otherwise very gentle nature. To Rosa all had to have a purpose, and while looking good was a lofty one in the right situation, the fisherman blood in her was far more interested in things she could use, as such she usually had simple shirts, overalls, boots and whatever other cover she'd need to finish her look instead of something far more flattering to her figure.

Still, she did have a very melodic voice. A beautiful voice that could bust your eardrums if you managed to anger her for real.

"I ask because they seem more interested in screeching than doing anything else." Rosa continued, finding some mirth in her father trying, and almost failing, to stop her mother from attempting to leave the house. "Grandma told us to wait, and grandpa said it was the best thing to do."

"I trust our grandparents." The last figure, Javier, grumbled in a low, deep voice. "But waiting here and doing nothing still feels wrong."

Javier was, much like the rest on his side of the family, huge. In fact he was the tallest with more than two meters and ten in height (Closing in to 7 feet at almost 6' 11 inches tall), a wide back, large, rippling muscles, a very stony expression, short, blonde hair and deep green eyes that came from his father's side of the family. His appearance made him imposing, scary even, and while his job had relatively few dangers as a gym coach, the twenty six years old still had a few old scars, mostly from sparring matches he liked to engage in with some of the regulars, leaving his nose slightly crooked and his upper lip having a few old split marks to show for his troubles.

Rugged looks aside, Javier was a bit of an oddity. While even Rosa, warm and gentle as she was, could easily do verbal sparring on a regular basis, Javier was mostly in tune with Marcela, which was the reason why he clicked so well with her, while also adding Rosa to the trio thanks to her supportive nature. This meant Javier was usually silent, taciturn and very prone to chatising others when they grew distracted or said certain things he didn't approve of. He was no zealot, but he took his beliefs seriously, even if he was more private with his appreciation than his mother and grandmother ever were. He was also shockingly polite, protective of those he loved to the point of being dangerous to outsiders in certain situations, and nearly everyone knew to keep him in check if something serious happened because he always volunteered for the most boneheaded and dangerous stuff.

Not that you'd tell. Generally speaking Javier did not mind playing into his apparent persona by dressing with rugged, half ripped clothing most of the time while ignoring people unless he considered his input necessary. It gave him the look of a hooligan with steel tipped footwear, heavily used and eroded clothes and unfriendly expressions. Javier was of the mind that no one cowed or swayed by looks should be trusted unless they did wish to meet YOU, and not who you looked liked. This, sadly, meant that, outside the gym he worked at, most people thought of him as a dangerous hoodlum that had no problem beating someone up.

Well, the last part was true. Javier did get into many fights, like many of his cousins. It was almost family tradition at this point. The only difference being that, even without the training his grandmother offered, Javier was the only one to never come back with any serious pain on him, other than the clearly well used knuckles. This likely didn't help curb his desire to keep everyone safe, instead inflaming it further as the years went by.

"How come?" Rosa turned just enough to face her cousin. "I mean, beyond the obvious. Grandma was very clear when she answered our questions."

"Grandma ignored every question but the ones *she* wanted to answer." Javier pointed out. "Not uncommon, mind you. She is very picky when telling us anything she doesn't consider pertinent. But I am sure you can agree with me here, cousin: Being in such a strange place makes all questions important, more so if you have answers."

"Answers she didn't want to share with us." Rosa finished for him with a nod. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Grandma has lost it." Came Marcela's first words, surprising both her cousins. When they shared a look her way the youngest of the trio could do little but roll her eyes. "Didn't you notice? She… changed."

The three grimaced at the thought, for different reasons. For Marcela it came naturally, mostly because she had never been on good terms with her grandmother. The teen's dark appearance and grim proclivities that had to do with the occult and other dark tendencies was obviously at odds with the God-abiding woman. Her cousins however… They had both seen just how brutal in words and actions their grandmother could be if she ever became enraged, and how zealous she was when keeping things from others when she thought it pertinent.

And if somehow she became truly angry? Unhinged perhaps? They didn't want to imagine what would happen if such an event ever transpired.

But as some in the family already knew, 'unhinged' could easily start describing their grandmother. Others, however, were far more ignorant and more concerned with matters they, and only they, considered far more important.


Whereas Marcela and his cousins were in the dining room, five others were enjoying a game in one of the bedrooms. Yes, it was surprising, but there was running water and electricity, even a more or less clear (most of the time) internet connection despite it being simply impossible. Everything in the house, while slightly damaged in one way or another, was working as intended.

Surprising, and frightening.

Of the five figures only two seemed concerned with the place, the events, and how to get out of them. Three others just wanted out. There was no wonder or questions, just the desire to get back home. In one of those three cases it had to do with boredom and childless behavior, after all she WAS seven years old. The other two had far less of an excuse.

This room once had three beds and a large wardrobe. It was where the children slept whenever they visited their grandparents. As time went on this changed, and no more children came to stay as they grew up, or just visited daily whenever they were here. Thus, when the change took place, so did the room morph, instead having a single bed, a table with a large screen, and a few gaming consoles for whenever the younger members of the family decided to entertain themselves.

On the bed were the two cousins with a more sensitive approach to this mess. On the floor, enjoying a brutal, bloody game were the other three, with the young girl ignoring the gore and instead playing with her phone. Far too young to have it, yet her mother either did not care or saw no problem with it.

The kid was Sandra; a slightly chubby girl with chestnut colored hair styled in a long pigtail, chocolate eyes and a very cute face that hid a massive mean streak. Physically speaking she was fairly small for her age, something very noticeable, but nothing that was too concerning since her brothers, and mother, had suffered from the same thing. It did mean the pudginess that comes with young age lasted longer, and her chubby appearance was one thing little Sandra complained about all the time.

It didn't help that she was a brat. That previously mentioned mean streak? Came from parents that overprotected her, gave her everything she asked and, as the little kid of the family, everyone else that had contact with her usually played along. What was far more concerning was her proclivity to find interest only in things she considered 'cute' (Very stereotypical, but she loved the color pink and others like it), which usually meant fluffy and small things, much to the detriment of the animals she tried to keep around as they, for some reason, hated her guts. The only other thing she 'liked' was whatever she considered entertaining, and with her short attention span that usually meant few things.

Now extrapolate that attitude towards people and you get why many of the adults, and her cousins, had grown worried about the kid.

Of her twin brothers, the 'youngest' was next to her: Alfonso.

It would be a mite hard to call Alfonso a man right away. Well, perhaps before this little change in perception. See, Alfonso wasn't exactly the epitome of masculinity, in fact he was a very effeminate fellow in behavior and appearance. He had flowing coppery hair, eyes of the same color, almost metallic in glint, with soft features, a lean body and very little muscle mass and hair anywhere else. It was a bit of a joke, but the twins had said more than once that of the two, Ander had stolen all the manly bits from his brother. This also included height, as Alfonso was the shorter twin, having deviated during their teenage years and now, at twenty, he was just shy of one meter sixty, barely 5 feet and2 inches.

Personality wise Alfonso was exactly the same. He had never been a fan of the typical roughhousing, insult spewing and general brutal fun his cousins and brother were so fond of. He DID pick up on violent games however, his one outlet for his more negative thoughts. Alfoso was, instead, a fan of nice, calming, classic music, the outdoors, nature and his hobbies; writing and painting. It was clear that he was one of the few artistically inclined people this family had to offer, and he had a much more 'elevated' sense of humor that, with time, made him appear more preppy and delicate, generally considering everyone else uncouth and 'brutish'. Considering he, like his little sister, also went for quality and high maintenance life, it was not surprising the two had bonded so well, even if their personalities weren't entirely alike.

The last of the trio was nothing alike though. You probably wouldn't think it possible for someone scruffy, unkept, and generally lazy looking like him to connect with the duo, but he did. And who was it? Pablo, the older of the other duo in this picture.

Gangly, with dirty blonde hair, unkempt mustache, scruffy, short beard, but with a roguish smile, chiseled chin and a thin body frame made for agility and crafty emulation that allowed the young man to take advantage of that charisma of his, that was Pablo. He was the tall (1.82 meters, or 5' 11"), a bit too wiry considering how little attention he paid to food and how many energy drinks and other caffeinated beverages he downed, but still very strong and high strung, perfect for his football (Or, for outsiders in this case, soccer) career… well, before it got shot down thanks to his penchant for being in the spotlight causing him a double leg fracture. There were clear marks of the massive blunder on his lower body, and his hands had been scuffed as well during the fall.

This self centered attitude hadn't always been present, in fact it became worse the more he tried to emulate his father who, all things honest, had appeared to be a good man, if a bit egocentric, before splitting up. Generally speaking Pablo was a fast talking, silver tongued young man at 21, and while he hadn't been as close to Carlos, he had always been there with his cousin for the longest time, until the separation. After that the cheery, if sometimes annoying, character that was Pablo turned out darker, more selfish and aggressive. Nowadays disagreeing with him devolved into a southing match almost instantly, and his once fun and carefree attitude had been changed into a far more predatory and infuriating attitude.

There was very little those three shared, very little except for one thing.

All of them, for one reason or another, looked only for one person: Number one.

Not to say the other two didn't, but other than Sandra, as she had been pampered and basically raised like that, thus making it hard to put the blame on the kid, at least until she had a chance to know better, the others had no excuse. It had created a divide between the group of five, once a group of four, that had at one time been so united.

The 'oldest' twin was perhaps the simplest example.

Very much like Pablo, at least physically speaking, Ander had always a devilish smirk on his person and did share in the looks with Pablo when it came to a short mustache and short beard, only he cared for them fastidiously. Black hair, very short at that, almost with millimetric precision at all times, dull brown eyes and manish features with a prominent chin very much unlike his brother, it was clear why the two rogues of the family had at one time connected so well. The one difference was how Ander trained regularly, being muscular and more well fed, although he had a few twitches here and there, as he had perhaps developed an addiction to caffeine that showed, especially in his well used hands. In fact, unlike most of his family, he was a man that loved to be outside, under the sun, and always moving. So, instead of a more peach hued skin, he was bronzed, almost brown.

He was also a little shit, and loved to get his mother in problems regularly. This was born of a desire to call out to her, as his mother was almost always busy. This trouble seeking personality evolved into a thrill seeking one, making him an adrenaline junkie that enjoyed pounding music, parkour, risking his life and messing with authority. His tight fitting clothes and desire to be always moving were present even now, as he taped his foot constantly. Impatience and eagerness conflicted with him as he sat, looking at the trio with a sneer as they apathetically waited for whatever was bound to happen while ignoring the obvious problem.

His cousin gave him a quick elbow prod. It was clear they wanted to say something. Hell, it was obvious being silent was getting Ander angry. And it was clear Ernesto was on the same boat.

Slightly shorter than his cousin by an inch or two (around 5 cm), Ernesto was, like his brother; a dirty blonde haired kid with very little muscle to his name. Unlike his brother however, Ernesto had a clean bill of health, his body lacking any old wounds and his mind far more concerned with other things. Maybe he was two years younger than his brother, but he had grown up mentally faster, perhaps too fast. As such he usually dressed formally, more so in special days, as had been this one before this mess.

There were few smiles coming from him, his demeanor was usually serious and well mannered, and this did show in his posture, straight look ahead and the fact that he did his best to use his frame in a way that appeared rather imposing. Ernesto wasn't the brightest in the family, but he had a natural understanding of people that helped in either intimidating, coercing or simply talking, as he lacked the gift of gab his brother displayed.

"Brother." He was also, despite his much softer voice, rather strong when talking, much to his throat's dismay. "Are you done with the game?"

Pablo was quick to shoo him away with a simple, and just as forceful. "No."

"Are you really going to just play games?" Ander arched an eyebrow at his older cousin. "I thought you'd like for this mess to be over quicker."

"Not my problem here." Pablo shrugged in indifference. "Carlos' grandma took him with her, yeah? Then whatever is happening, she knows about it. Not going to touch that crap."

His younger brother scoffed. "Are you really going to be that way with THIS of all things?"

It was expected, but it still turned out to be a tense moment when Pablo paused the game and slowly turned his head to face his brother. The scowl in his eyes was clear, and the disgust barely contained.

"Why shouldn't I?" His question was dripping venom with every word.

But his brother was ready for it this time. "Don't give me that crap." And as fury filled his brother's eyes, Ernesto spat the words. "Stop making this all about yourself and look outside!" He pointed at the window that, at one point, had given the room a beautiful view of the plaza outside and the people's lives under the building's watchful eye. "We are NOT home, Pablo. You cannot say 'fuck it' and wait until this is all solved. Do not make it look like your own anger and pain is any more important than everyone else this time around."

Anger stoked, Pablo got up and turned around in a quick motion. "And do what? Same as you? Pretend nothing is wrong? That shit is not important? That-."

"Will you shut the FUCK UP!?"

That Pablo got angry, that he nearly got up in arms, was expected. That Ernesto did the same however? That was not something normal, in fact it was very much the opposite.

Ernesto was a young man, but one of words and reason, if not always with good intentions. Aggressive behavior was NEVER the answer. He did sneaky shit, he did bad things, he stole, he sabotaged, he was a piece of work… but all that was there before he grew up. The divorce hit the brothers differently, and while Ernesto matured and lost a lot of his bratty attitude and actions, Pablo delved deeper into his own narcissism.

But there had never been a confrontation between the two.

"You act as if I had been fine with all of this." Ernesto growled, almost literally, as his words came through gritted teeth. "Or you think it was normal to go from a piece of shit slashing tires to what I am now? You think I enjoyed having to take care of mom so she didn't do something stupid?"

"Then why didn't you keep on slashing crap? Fucking with the rich kids and stealing their stuff, or messing with them when they didn't have the kiss ass teachers and adults around was the one good thing you did. But no, you had to worry about HER and care for HER, like Carlos does for his own parents. Why? I do not understand, be it you or Him. Why care for a self hating, depressive woman like our aunt? Or a man that'd follow her to the grave when he has so much to live for? Idiots, both of them, like you and our stupid cousin." Pablo fired back without care or control. Always temperamental, the change made him much worse, and sometimes those that knew him wondered if he even noticed just how much anger he expelled. "Like this fucking mess: Why. Do. You. Care? We'll get out of it somehow. It is not YOUR fuckup or MY fuckup." Almost every word was punctuated by a finger stabbing his brother's chest, making Ernesto grow angrier and angrier, not that Pablo seemed to care. "So let me play my fucking games. This doesn't involve me OR you, and if YOU want it to involve us, then shod off."

It was quick, but also averted. Pablo had never really fought with his brother, and Ernesto had never raised his hand at his big brother. Years ago, despite their differences, they were like damn glue. It was sad to see just how one event could fester within a person's psyche, to the point that Ernesto, hadn't Ander intervened, would've decked his brother straight into the damn television.

Pablo's eyes were wide open as he saw his little brother's raised fist and righteous fury. Everyone knew the two brothers had diverged in opinion when it came to their mother. Pablo thought her in the wrong, while Ernesto thought it was their father's fault. This was not uncommon, nor was this situation, an unknown and a stresser, of any help. Lesser problems had made these volatile thoughts descend into brutal infighting, and a few years of fermenting were just as valid as a lifetime of grudges when it came to the situation finally growing out of control.

"Pablo." Ander began, voice icy. "If you have a problem with your mother, fine. You want to discuss it with your brother? Fine." He said, eyes looking at his cousin in contempt. "But this is no way to do things. You don't want your brother to hate you. And I am sure you don't want Carlos to hate you, or I thought you didn't, because holy shit because I didn't think you also had shit to say about other people's parents, man."

"'If you have a problem with your mother'." A snort came from Alfonso. "Like you with mom?" There was derision in his voice as he threw a sneer his brother's way. "I've been hearing you two yell at each other more and more."

"Yes. And that is between mom and I." Ander let go of his cousin's arm, Pablo and Ernesto looking between the twins now, argument not forgotten, but postponed. "But I am sure you are going to bring it up, aren't you?" At his brother's look of disdain Pablo grumbled in disgust. Of course his twin would. "I may think her ideals stupid, but I will respect them as long as she respects mine."

"That isn't exactly what you did last time, didn't you?" Alfonso hummed as he turned around to face his brother, a hand on his chin. "I seem to recall you calling her quite a few things in fact… Not exactly making it only 'your' problem if you yell at the top of your lungs."

"I recall her calling me a nazi loud enough to make the whole skyscraper shake. And I recall none of you defending me. Since you have the balls to say that I was the one making it public I cannot help but wonder where you were and what you thought about that.." Ander's tone grew cold as whatever levity was left decided to disappear when it still could. "Of course I do recall our mother calling me far tamer things after; a caveman, an idiot, a disgusting pig and so much more." He made a pause as his gaze pierced Alfonso. "I also recall her telling me that I better start searching for a place somewhere else, because she didn't want someone like me living with her and corrupting 'her children', as if I was an afterthought."

Those news weren't exactly what was expected of Ander's little spiel. Even the animosity from the other pair died down somewhat. Pablo and Ernesto had thought Ander had a fight with his mother, nothing else. Considering how little attention the woman had given her son, his own actions as he grew distant from her and his general behavior, so unlike what aunt Carmen considered proper and decent, they had thought that, at worst, maybe Carmen had slapped him.

This? This was far beyond that. It was also a saddening event, even for Pablo. Maybe he had changed a lot in the years since the divorce, but he did remember Carmen before she changed too. He remembered a very sweet aunt that, while pushy and a bit stuffy, obsessed with growing rich after growing poor, had done everything for her husband, for her family. She had climbed the ranks and shown the greatest determination she could so she'd get the best of the best life had to offer. Carmen wished to live her best life, and she wished the same for her children.

What had changed?

What had happened for so many in this family to be hurt?

The two brothers' mushings ended when Alfonso's words, trembling ever so slightly, cut through their thoughts. "W-well, you have to admit you were being rather hurtful last time…"

"Why? Because I told her you aren't a woman?" Both Pablo and Ernesto looked at the now fidgeting Alfonso in curiosity. Ander didn't stop. "You know you are gay, brother. I know you are gay. The whole damn family knows you are gay. We both know you don't feel that way. But guess what? Much like she has been trying to make me convert to her new and, let's be sincere, extreme way of thinking, so has she done the same to you."

This got his brother to frown and raise his voice. "And what do YOU know? Huh!? All you do every single day is fuck off and live a carefree life while I study, dad works and mom has to fight every other asshole in that damn cutthroat business of hers." He did not get up, but Alfonso's scowl and trembling hands told enough of a story. "How many times have you left me alone when I asked my big brother for help since you started? How many times did mom and dad hear me out when you just went to have fun? Why should I believe YOU know ME better than THEY do?"

"Bro, I just-."

"Boys are stupid. So YOU are stupid, Ander." Otherwise melodic, the snotty voice of the child in the room filled everyone's ears, killing the conversation there and then as Ander's words died in his mouth. "Mom is always right, so that means you are wrong."

That dismantled the conversation, but not the tension. It was clear Ander had a very silent, but just as clear, rage building up, while Ernesto did not want to stand next to his brother and, similarly, Pablo didn't want to look at his younger sibling. Alfonso, however, did not want anyone looking at him, snubbing his brother the moment he tried to reach out.

And the child did not care, for Sandra was far too young to know anything, only what had been instilled on her.

Soon the door of the room opened, the group divided in a most literal sense.

This family had problems left and right, it always had. In such a situation, with nerves frayed and the unknown as only certainty, sparks could easily start a fire.


A not too dissimilar scene was taking place in the kitchen. The only difference being a father confronting his son. Considering the many knives, glasses and other possible utilities that could be used as weapons, the scene wasn't pretty.

It couldn't be helped, to be honest. Like the two pairs of brothers and their own personal drama, so had these men waited far too long to air problems, problems that had at one time seemed unimportant. Put pressure on them however and… Well, the two individuals sitting in front of each other, a glass table marking the clear divide (and a flimsy one at that), between their obvious animosity and a chance at throwing hands.

"I won't allow you to talk about my wife that way."

Perhaps Ramon was of average height for a man in Spain, making him rather unsuspecting, more so if you consider his appearance wasn't exactly unexpecting. The man was in his early forties, he wasn't apparently muscular, nor did he have any mark, tattoo, and he certainly wasn't the most handsome man you could find. Ramon did have a square chin like those in the movies however, sideburns that complimented his dark, practically black, hair, and penetrating blue eyes. He was also unusually emotive, with happiness or anger being palpable not only in his face, but his overall mannerisms, which meant he tensed to the extreme when anything negative went through his head, or became rather placid if he was in a positive state of mind, making him an easy to read man.

Or, well, perhaps it would be better to make that last part as 'past tense', something he had in common with his wife.

Originally Ramon had been a plumber, and a very laid back one at that. Servizable clothes, a smile, easy going attitude and go getter demeanor when working. He was open to talks, tried to diffuse things even when angry, and made sure to be generous with everyone else. Even when he married this kept going that way. Until they moved to the States and only came back a few times every year.

Ramon not only got better at his job, he BOUGHT it; he bought the company, made it better and made a lot of money. It wasn't the almost literal money printer that his wife had going with her job, but it was constant. It was also a constant hard working environment that required him to be far more serious, to rub elbows with people that didn't think twice to stab someone in the back, as well as rivals more than willing to sabotage his work and workers the second they got the chance. Ramon turned into a very testy, cynical person very quickly as his new business, and his people, as well as his family, were caught in that stupid game. The fact that his own wife delved into her own mess only accelerated his change as he followed his wife's footsteps, wishing to help her, to support her, and to do whatever she thought was right.

His father didn't take kindly to either of their changes, though, and he had taken too long to let his opinion show.

"But you let her disrespect your sisters? Even your own mother?"

Whereas Ramon could be considered suave and collected, if standoffish when it came to his voice, Manuel, his father, was grave like a rock pit and his voice was as harsh as a punch to the gut. It had always been that way and it would be until the end of time.

It fits. Manuel, while in his late seventies, was nonetheless a man that time could not best. Oh he had wrinkles, oh he had marks, but every wound and every break had forged him. He was no taller than his son, but muscle, usually diminished with age, was still rippling, his chin and facial structure manly, even more so than his son, and probably the most rugged in the family. Hands full of calluses, scars all over his body, a gunshot wound on his left shoulder and shrapnel marks all over his chest. The white haired and busy bearded man had been a Legionary, the elite soldiers in the Spanish Legion, and his rigorous training and hard life had marked him for all to see.

Ironically, he was a relatively gentle giant (not in height, but in presence), generally affable as Santa Claus and far too permissive of his children and extended family. A wielder of knowledge, a man that loved to share in his experience, reader of all books and fantasy, and also an avid Diablo (Specially Diablo II) player and horror connoisseur that was very much not above being a prankster. But he was also strict, very strict. Fun was allowed after duties, breaking promises, or hurting others for no reason was severely punished, and of course, the golden rule: Respect, WAS, KING.

"I remember the early years when you two lived here." Manuel pushed forth, the moment of silence he allowed his son now gone. "I remember she was your opposite, that she grounded you, that she was a nice, if greedy person. I also remembered how she changed more and more each year after you two moved, much like you did."

"Time changes things, it changes people." Despite his clear anger it was obvious Ramon contained most of it as he spoke. "We are not a Spain ravaged after the civil war. We are not in the United States that held slaves and usurped the natives. We are in a world where evil is far more insidious, father."

"That gives you no right to call other people names for no reason, or to say someone is so stupid they are going to kill themselves just because they are willing to help." Manuel grumbled, knuckled on the glass table as they withened for a second. "I raised you better than that, boy."

"You raised me to be respectful, nice and open to others. You raised me to be a good person at all times, better than those that hurt you, your parents, our family. You raised me to take care of my sisters and those close to me, to fight and try to live the best life I could." Ramon had averted his gaze for a second, only to return it with clear disdain. "But you didn't show me how monstrous others could be, how cruel and backstabing. You raised me to be weak the moment I left a place I was comfortable with. You made sure the outside world was prepared for me when I wasn't prepared for it. Why should I respect you when you did such a thing?"

For a moment it felt like Manuel was going to yell, but the old patriarch rarely did that. Instead, he asked the single, most important and obvious question he had always dreaded. "You don't respect me… Then why do you come back here?"

There was no answer for that, only resentment. No, not resentment itself, just regret.

A small town had its problems, yes, and sometimes even families that had very few problems ended up with life altering events, as it had happened to Pablo and his brother Ernesto. It was rare, rarer than in much larger, far busier and, admittedly, much more overcrowded and with less people that gave a shit about you. Even then, it was far from perfect.

Bullying, ribbing, both good natured and not, fights, stealing and general assholery was still common. But when you compare their home to the big cities and capitals out there? No, their home had always been a nice, quiet town, even after it grew bigger and bigger. It had its shady spots and people, but it had always been much quieter than many other places you could think of. It was no pristine and safe haven, but it had kept everyone in the family in much better shape than other places would.

And Ramon had learned first hand just how much of a piece of shit people could be.

"I come back every year because my eldest children want to see you." The truth was as harsh as it was swift. "And that will likely end soon. They are adults and Sandra isn't interested in this little city, nor does she care much for everyone else. We have much more important things to do and one far too rebellious son that cannot be made to see reason."

Manuel nodded, having already guessed as much. "I suppose that was to be expected. Sooner or later I knew you'd like to cut all ties with us. We are not the 'kind of people' you seem to rub elbows with anymore." He let out a defeated sigh. He hated doing this, but it was also sort of a relief. It had been a long time coming. "Then let's make it clear, son. I respect your ideals, I respect your convictions, and while I will never share them, you have my blessing to do as you see fit." At this he made a pause. "But you disrespect us, your family, and those aligned with us, and expect no reprisal. That is not going to fly in this house. As soon as we get out of whatever this mess is, I want you out of here. I want you to never come back to this house, to our home, until you clear your head. If you want to be this radical and hateful, then do so, be as you wish - Far away from us."

For a moment it looked like Ramon was going to lose his composure, but he held in place, having guessed his father wouldn't take his words lying down. It was obvious he thought things would go differently though. Perhaps he thought there was a chance of his father seeing things his way? He did recover quickly though. "So that is it, huh? Cutting me off? How is that fair?"

"I have treated you and your sisters equally, helped you with what you guys did best and liked most. I have strived to give all of you everything I could, sacrificing my own happiness and that of your mother for it. I never once offered any of my children an illusion though, least of all you, the only boy of the batch, and you know the word 'fair' is a joke. Fairness does NOT exist." Manuel opened his hands, allowing his palms to rest on the cold glass. "I always told you that crime begets punishment and hard work only pays if you MAKE it so, never take things lying down. Somehow, that lesson seems to have slipped your mind. At least you should still remember how it ended the one time you stole from your mother back when you were a child. After that day you never disrespected us or our rules ever again, until now." The older man pierced his son with a glare. "I also made sure you understood: If you ever wanted to leave the family, if you felt I, or your mother, had failed you, that we constrained you, I would not stop you. That is exactly what you are doing, and, as promised, I will allow you to go. All I am doing is making it official here and now, because YOU can go, but I will not grovel and give you what you want."

Ramon's lips curled into a scowl for a second. It was clear his father's old ways would not change, not even if they meant the closest thing to erasing him from the family. His next words were full of anger, not rationale, and he would later wish he had chosen something, anything, else to say. "I suppose everything will be left to my sisters, then."

"Thinking of material things once more? Didn't I make it clear last time? Our home is meant for our family, just our family." Manuel let out another sigh, a sadder, far more tired one. "You know what? Yes, yes I will leave everything I have to your sisters. I don't know when you grew up to be this ungrateful, but I sure as hell didn't have a hand on it. I appreciate you worrying for those with less, that you are willing to give away your things… But what is mine is not yours, Raul, and you seem awfully happy to take from others to give to 'the poor' when we aren't exactly well off ourselves. If you so freely wish to give away what is not yours, then you deserve nothing." The old man got back up at that point. "And since you made your mother and sister cry by defending your wife's words, since you seem willing to think us so horrible, I consider it would be far safer for you if I don't have to see you or your wife unless necessary. Got it?"

Had it been any other day, and back home, Ramon leaving would've left a shattered table and, in turn, he knew his father would've ensured his ribs were little more than a splintered mess. Instead, with what little dignity he had left as his eyes began to mist, he got up and turned away. If his father wished to remain stuck in his old ways, then so be it. Maybe Ramon had been far too sincere and pushy, but he knew he was not in the wrong.

Manuel did not even feel sadness as his son left the room in anger and delusion. Something like this? He had dreaded it for years. He had feared one of his children cutting him off like Raul had done, but had never expected it to happen. Now that it did?

Honestly, and he knew it sounded horrible, but it felt liberating. It was a sad, lonely feeling, but, much like a bandaid, he hoped it hurt the most at first.

And even if it did not, Manuel would not take his word back. Raul could do as he wished, but Manuel owned this house. He had worked decades to own this, he had BLEED for it. Raul may have suffered when he went out into the world, but it gave him no right, NO FUCKING RIGHT, to decide who deserved what Manuel and his wife had to acquired through sacrifice and the abuse from those in power.

If Raul wanted to split this family, then so be it. Manuel would take his decision to the fucking grave.


Another person had that much conviction, perhaps even more. And she, unlike what most thought of her, could easily be sneaky about her actions if she wanted to be.

Spying was an art. More so in a house large for two old timers, but not so much for twenty odd people. Still, she had experience.

Carmen had to learn, you see. She had always been opportunistic, but not in the bad sense of the word, no. She came from a place of near destitution, despite her family's best attempts. Even in a country with free healthcare and many people willing to help, no resources were infinite, and she did find herself alone shortly after she reached adulthood. It was pure luck, determination and being underhanded when she needed to survive that saw her through the worst of it.

And Carmen had thrived.

Around her husband's age, you'd think the woman was almost twenty years younger. Carmen was beautiful, breathtaking even, with hair shining like red coppery strands, caramel colored eyes, a button nose and a beautiful smile. Pair that with a bountiful figure, curves for days and the extreme care she took of her body, including in diet and exercise, and you had a woman that could easily reach an eight or a nine in most scales. The only negative was her height, as one meter sixty odd, almost sixty six, barely 5' 5" or so, made her otherwise statuesque form far less impactful.

Her personality was, at one point, just as memorable, and for good reasons. That… didn't last though.

She had never been nice, or sweet, or understanding. Rough life makes for rough people, not necessarily assholes, and it is also no universal metric, but most people that develop like that also turn out to be rather hard to approach. Carmen was no different, and her lack brought greed, and with greed came envy, zealous desires to better herself and an untrusting personality. She was still a good person, but that did not mean she was someone you could befriend and expect to be nice, because she wasn't.

Then she came into an important and wealthy position, one with privilege, power, and an insane workload that she had expected would lessen instead of increase once she attained it. Nerves were frayed, competition was cutthroat (In some cases, if rumors were true about a few of her coworkers perishing through the years, it probably was a literal expression too), and it soon became clear that many of the things she did were screwing people over hand over fist.

Carmen had been nasty to a point, but she never considered herself bad. That is why, over the years after she achieved her supposed dream of money and fame, only to find it poisoned, she was desperate for a change in life.

And she found it.

Activism. Correcting injustices. Having a purpose doing what was, in her mind, 'right'. To some a noble endeavor, to others a stupid ideal, and to many a very polarizing thing to do.

It started easy and innocently enough, thanks to a friend of hers in fact. Who else but a close childhood friend of both Carmen and her husband? It was no coincidence that she ended up accompanying the pair, as she was just as determined as her friend after all. Then, seeing this new country, with all its opportunities within reach, why not do some good?

Oh yes, the States had an abhorrent story of slavery and racism, why not fight against it? A most noble goal indeed, as there were true racist still around. What about the dominating 'White men', as they put it? Well, why not? Carmen had grown poor, nearly destitute, and she had to do disgusting things to keep on going. Was it a stretch that such people were indeed insidious? That they needed a guiding hand to do good? From there it grew as success came to her, yet it still felt like she was being held back by those in power.

Step by step good intentions morphed, as they usually do. Did she notice? Was it really bad though? It quickly devolved into a point of view thing, and Carmen had it altered bit by bit until it fit what was considered 'right' by the circle she found herself in. And, as it happened, she too guided her husband towards what she felt was the correct one.

But she did have questions, even now. Was a society based on equality and equity better than one centered on merit and personal ability? Was the idea of private property better than one not owned by anyone in particular? Was the government to have the last word, hoping they'd know better than the individual, a superior ideology? Carmen had to admit she did hate those wandering thoughts, and she would be lying if she told you she liked bringing these topics out in most conversations.

Still, what did her extended family know? All of them had grown up with more money than her. All of them managed to have surviving family and friends. They had privilege. They had to know it was not fair, not by a longshot. Why did they not want to see it? Why did it anger them when she said things exactly as they were?

Well, her mother in law was crying in her room right now, with her eldest daughter next to her. All because Carmen had said something very stupid that even she, with her new knowledge and perspective in life, really didn't condone. Anger had just boiled over. This situation had just made her stop thinking clearly. But Carmen could not find it in herself to say 'I was wrong'.

The room itself was well decorated, with a large bed, nightstands and old fashioned furniture, its own bathroom, wardrobe and a large mirror. It was a place customized year after year for nearly fifty years by the couple living within. It had good memories, bad memories and it held both the best and the worst of the family's story as it had always been used to vent, almost as a short lived tradition, when it was needed.

And, much like the patriarch of the family, his wife had grown in age and experience, but she hadn't lost too much to time's erosion.

Antonia Herrero, late seventies, a year younger than her husband, and mother of three. A woman of short stature, around one meter sixty one or so (5' 1" feet or so) and portly disposition. Rust blonde hair was her mark, and at one time it was flowing down her back as her beautiful face disarmed all those that looked her way. Time had tried its best to take it away, and while her once extremely beautiful body had aged and grown in weight, with her visage wrinkled and her hair shortened, Antonia was still a very motherly woman with a very high pitched voice, yes, but also a gentle smile, eyes full of life and a hug always at the ready.

But it would be wrong to call her a good person. Not that she wasn't, no. Antonia was a really good person, but, much like her husband, she was stuck in the past, and she was also very much a 'grandma' in many ways. She tried to overfeed her family, shared candy and chocolates like it was water, and she got very angry if you didn't eat the food she dished out (which usually happened to be twice what you should eat, if not more). She was overly talkative, a social butterfly and hyperactive, unable to stay put no matter what, which also included ignoring personal space and generally disliking modern technology, specially phones, since she considered all that artificial 'crap' to put a damper on real human relationships and interactions.

She also considered modern women to be conniving pieces of shit. To her it was paramount: You had to marry and have children, that was the highest point in life. It made you immortal, for you'll always have a place in that family until it is no more, and it will be forever if you keep it alive.

Antonia was very much a determined woman, a housewife, and she had always rubbed Carmen the wrong way, even before she 'found herself anew'.

"How could she?" The older woman sobbed, and, despite what she thought of her, Carmen couldn't help but feel hurt. She hadn't intended to blurt such stupid shit. "Maybe Carlos can be an idiot, maybe we are in an unknown situation, but to say THAT!?"

"Certain situations make us say or… do… stupid things." The other woman in the room, Mireya, had a much more collected, but still angry, tone to her voice. "I know that first hand. But what she said has no excuse."

A few inches taller than her sister Sofia, and with the same hair color as her mother, only Mireya had in a short and layered style more often than not. Mireya had always had a very pretty face, though an accident five years ago had left her left cheek scarred with three rough, straight marks after a glass container exploded next to her. Still, she did have cute features even now, with clear caramel colored eyes and freckles marking her face, though she was almost flat, with her only remarkable feature being quite the large backside. Mireya was not exactly a strong woman or a strong presence, but she was good with numbers, which left her with a nerdy appearance and preference in clothes for working from home, something not helped by her large glasses.

Personality wise she was usually rather mousy and silent most of the time, but extremely vocal and pushy when something she knew as right or wrong was being discussed. It was an interesting dynamic, as finding a topic she liked would devolve into hour long rants, while having something she wasn't comfortable talking about, or something she knew little off, would leave you talking with the feeling of you talking to a wall. Mireya was polite however, and at least she tried to engage in conversation. Sadly, this duality also meant she hardly let certain things go, and she had an incredible memory that, paired with her family's penchant for payback and revenge, made her someone incapable of stopping errant thoughts of past and present problems, actions and mistakes from messing her mood and guiding her actions.

That had changed shortly after the divorce. Mireya had grown bags under her eyes, her skin had lost its luster and became much pastier, shedding much of its peach like coloration. Her hair was unkempt most of the time, her personal hygiene was sometimes in question, and her clothes were usually fine only thanks to her youngest son giving it his all to keep his mother going. Even her body had been consumed, food lacking much of its usual appeal, making her look gaunt before at least that much was resolved.

Carmen was sure this was her ex-husband's fault, not that she had managed to ask the woman. It wasn't like she had much of a chance. While they butted heads most of the time before, Carmen had told everyone in this family what she thought, many times over in fact. How so many modern women thought it perfectly fine to be mothers first and foremost instead of free and working for a brighter future, she did not understand anymore.

But Carmen did comprehend just how much of a mess she had caused this time, even if she didn't want to think it was her fault.

"She said Carlos is going to kill himself, Mireya!" Antonia all but screamed. "The only reason she is still in this house is because she had enough of a clear mind to say it to 'US' instead of everyone else in the living room!"

Mireya was, luckily for Carmen, behind her mother, rubbing her back and showing support. Had she been opposite to her, then Mireya would've seen, and probably heard, Carmen as she stumbled in place. The accusation felt like a blow, but they had to understand. Men were… impulsive, violence prone. If there was any danger then he should've done the right thing and told Pilar to wait so someone with a more level head could go instead of him. Carmen didn't mean anything bad with her comment.

She just… didn't word things correctly.

"Look, we know how she thinks about most grown up men, and she is almost as bad with young boys." Mireya let out a tired sigh Carmen knew came from the many times she had brought this subject up. "Do not play fight, stop playing bloody games, do this, do that… Look, I know you don't like it, but Carmen just accepts weak men next to her, or those that do as she tells them. She wants them to be cowards, to be safe and tucked away in a corner. That is all I can think of as a reason, and it isn't exactly a good one."

Carmen frowned, but made sure to stay quiet as Antonia grumbled. "So what? Can't the boy do what is right and help his grandmother? I may disagree with Pilar in many things, but she was right here: This place is strange, alien to us. Carlos at least trained a lot with her. I would've preferred for things to be different, but Pilar usually does the right thing. But Carmen?" The older woman's voice took a far harsher, perhaps even darker, tone. "How dare she say such things? Doesn't she have enough problems of her own making? One boy she is messing and confusing him further day in day out, while she all but ignores or belittles the other because he wants to be his own person instead of whatever mess she wants to make of him?"

She was this close. Carmen almost pushed the door fully open and barreled in. But no, she couldn't. She had also made them angry once today and it wouldn't do to push them further.

Didn't they understand how much she was willing to sacrifice? She knew she created a massive rift between her own husband, perhaps the only man she could truly trust, and his family. It hurt that she still had to play the greed games of others to support things that were worth the pain. She was willing to lose practically anything to do what had to be done.

Was it really so hard to understand that a better world required sacrifices?

"Your dad is talking with Raul." Those words snapped Carmen back into the scene. "He has been badgering me for years, you know? Raul changed so much… There had been far too many fights, and he had been pestering us to help him with Carmen's projects."

Mireya seemed confused. "With her work?"

"No." Antonia shook her head and explained further. "Those groups she is affiliated with, you know?" She took a deep breath. "It seems some of them have been trying to gain influence over here. Large houses, like the one your father and I have? They think it is too big for two old people. Why not have poor families move in?" The older woman chuckled. "They used so many nice words… until your father started asking questions."

Carmen could hear the frown in Mireya's follow up words. "What questions?" She asked, rigid and clearly getting upset. "What did dad ask and what did they tell him?"

"He asked where we would live afterwards." Carmen grimaced at the answer. Of course, that was a logical thing to ask. But did they not see the need of others? Granted, she did know what the others would've told the older couple. "He asked what they would give us in return, what would happen, who would come. There were no concrete answers beyond 'those in need' for the last one. Your father was fairly crude, but I think telling them to fuck off and never call back was as gentle as anyone would've been with them." Antonia chuckled, then sobbed at the memory. "Your brother… didn't take it well."

There was a moment of silence as Carmen cursed under her breath. Of course things would fall apart. There were many supporters with money, and many people saw their cause as just. There were countries where they had gained help… but far too many people distrusted their motives. People with money, fame and means trying to help? There had to be a scheme there, truly. But they were wrong. Carmen knew they were. She was doing good, she was doing what had to be done.

"Dad is going to kick him out of here." Once again Carmen's idle thoughts were ended by Mireya's voice. It was harsh, dejected and sad all in one. "Not just because of what happened today. I have told Raul time and time again that he was making dad lose all patience and pretense for civility, and we all know dad is not someone that would let go of any slight unless given a good reason to do so."

"I don't want that to happen." Antonia admitted in a soft, low and understandably sad tone. "But every time we talk, every time they visit, every time we try to contact… It is always the same." Sobbing could be heard before the older woman managed to control herself. "It had to reach a boiling point. Today… today has been so hard… something had to give."

Carmen was tempted to go in, to say something, to try and help. Despite what many thought of her, what things she had to do to try and reach her goal, Carmen wasn't a monster, or just evil. She was forceful, pushy and determined, probably even cruel by her own admission. But she did not want to hurt, only to help.

That she wanted to do good was all she could think of, a mantra she kept repeating in her head. Even when Raul came for her, hugging her, taking her away from the spot and away from the scene within that room, Carmen could only try and wash away her worry with the conviction that she was doing what was needed.

Perhaps the doubts didn't stop plaguing her, but soon her conviction returned. She was going to show no weakness, nor would her husband. Even when they came back to the living room, bumping into their eldest son in the way, neither showed any remorse. They had to prove that they were correct, and regret did not beget compliance to agree with someone else's ideas.

It was hard, and painful, but Carmen was sure in the end she would be proven right. She was sure her husband and her children would find a better world if everyone was united. A world where no one would look at someone else and see something different, a world where there would be no competition, a world where you did what was needed for the whole to be just better.

Carmen knew many saw it as horrible, but a perfect world required giving it your everything. To give everything *away*.

And she was willing. Time would heal the wounds and clear all doubts, of this she was certain.


But could time truly heal everything? The second patriarch of the family had his doubts, but not enough to act on them. Even if he was willing, what could he do? Pedro was a man of faith, and he had first hand knowledge of what was out there, as well as what had likely happened. Even if he was mostly capable in the magic world instead of the physical one, and even then he was extremely specialized, he had his own experiences to pull from and guess, more or less correctly, how it had affected everyone. He only wished his own wife shared all she had discovered, and not just enough to make a most educated guess, as she had done and as she always did.

Time had been unkind to Pedro Escobar, as had many of his experiences while working alongside his wife. While an impressive man in his youth, Pedro had diminished greatly with time, going from a very impressive meter ninety six (6' 5") to meter fifty four (Barely more than five feet). He had trained and prepared in his youth, gaining a strong body, sporting youthful abundance, chiseled psyche and boundless stamina. But magic is not for humans to wield in most cases, and holy powers are sometimes far more unwelcome of mortal users, as such abilities begets sacrifice. Pablo was now infirm, hunched slightly and of saggy skin, and while not ugly by any means, still dignified in his eighties, it was clear he had fallen from great heights. He had turned bald and lost his dark hair, his green eyes had dulled greatly, and he, much like his wife, had opted for simple, old fashioned clothes as time went by, foregoing any attempt at sticking out.

He would never say his wife was unkind, but she was inflexible, that was true. Pedro? Pedro was the nicest man you could find. Unlike his wife, he did not dispense judgment without thinking, adhering only to the supposed word of God. Pedro was more rational, he knew those words were as likely written and manipulated somewhat by humanity, even the most devout. He believed in the commandments, he sought to deliver justice and do good, but he was willing to compromise. As such he was a family man, not forgetting to treat his children as people, as the ones he loved the most next to his wife, not as just future members of the Order. He loved to give sweets, he loved to tell stories, he loved to make others happy and to keep the peace and keep them safe.

However, there was a reason why the family had chosen his wife's surname instead of his own. Despite all he was, Pedro was a follower, not a leader, and right now he could not even stop the one daughter that was still there with him, in front of two of his nieces and eldest nephew.

"You are going to let me out right now or I swear to God!" Valentina growled, a voice castigated by cold, wind, burning sun and nonstop work not nearly as intimidating as the woman's face. "My mother knows something and she WILL answer! She left us in the dark as she always does, and she is risking not only her life, but Carlos' too!"

If there was one woman in the family that couldn't be called beautiful, or feminine, then it was Valentina, since he was anything but ladylike, nor had she ever been, in her forty odd years of age. Always a tomboy, strong, wiry, very fast and sturdy enough to take a punch, that was her, all in one single package. A package that was the smallest of the family with one one meter forty nine in height (Meaning 4' and almost 11"). She had marks from venomous fish on her hands and even face, barbs punctures, fin cuts, bites and a few fish hooks that got her, one of which nearly tore a good chunk of her right thumb. With dirt brown hair she usually kept neat in a but, equal color for her eyes, a face that usually commanded attention, expressed anger, or did a one eighty and cared for her family like a mother bear, Valentina was a small woman and a big monster in one, considering she was also not above cracking someone's skull, as she did in two separate occasions to defend her children from a gang of bullies.

Unsurprisingly this should tell all those that knew her, even if they just met her, that Valentina was horribly protective of her children, borderline insane in her possessiveness too, and it wouldn't be too farfetched to say the woman was indeed mental considering her violent tendencies, a complete contrast when compared to her daughter. This all boiled down to one simple fact of her person: She loved to get physical, and she craved violence, and clinically speaking she was very close to being a danger to others. Despite this she abhorred causing harm to others, ironic all things considered, and her penchant for protecting and nurturing gave her as high a dopamine infusion as a proper scrap. Between family life and their protection, her boundless energy was either directed towards physical training at the local gym, or her work as a fisherman, and while she was good at it, it was no real secret that she did it for less than pure reasons, not even economical ones.

Even then, her husband did love the woman.

"Look, I know you could throttle me if you really wanted to go out there." Francisco spoke with his surprisingly soft voice for someone so rough. Still, voice, appearance and abilities hardly mattered if someone much smaller than you could literally floor you with one single punch. "But you haven't yet done anything serious, so I am willing to bet you are having doubts."

At first glance you'd think Francisco Labrador could easily contain his wife if he so wanted to, they had more than twenty years of experience together after all, and he was slightly older. I mean, yeah, he was of average height (Around 1.70 meters, or 5' 7"), muscular, with a wide back and clear ability in wrangling some of the most difficult monsters from the sea that lived in the area, but he wasn't invincible. Some of those wounds shouldn't be there, like the ones that came from that one time a shark almost tore his right arm. The scars were impressive, and the shark had been torn from the inside out in the man's blind fury and desperation. His whole body, much like his wife, was a testament to his fortitude and dumb fucking will to not succumb to the animals he brought to the table. The only thing his desires didn't give him was hair, as the man was as bald as an eight pool ball, with eyes like the sea and features much like a stone. An intimidating, scarred sight, but far more easy going than you thought.

In fact Francisco was much like his daughter; gentle, open and stupidly nice. True he, unlike his daughter, cursed like a sailor (unsurprising), and he was usually tipsy, but he had a massive constitution pool that allowed him to never get outright plastered no matter how much he drank. A happy drunk, a friendly fellow, protector of children and the innocent, and a role model for his son and daughter, although his son clearly took some parts from his mother when it came to his penchant for violence. In a way Francisco was a massive teddy bear and a workaholic that always heard the call of the sea, the field, or wherever he could work, with his only downside being he wasn't so bright. Basically book dumb, not stupid, but he almost exclusively learned from doing and nothing else.

As such he did learn very quickly that, yes, he was larger, stronger and perfectly able to put down his wife with a single hand if needed when she was feeling bloodthirsty. He also learned that being much smaller also made it easy for the woman to hit where it hurts. It was surprising they managed to have two children, let's leave it at that.

"Francisco. If you don't get out of my way I will make sure you will never get lucky ever again." His wife growled, hands clenching in what promised to be awful, awful pain. "Because you won't have the equipment required for it."

"Valentina." Pedro's rumbling voice made his daughter stop and look his way. "I know you are angry, my child, but you have to wait for your mother to come back."

"You know… yeah, I can wait." Valentina almost did a one eighty, her furious eyes boring on her father. "So why don't you tell us, dad?"

"Valentina…"

"No, don't try to sweet talk me, dad." Valentina approached the large table the family had been sitting at, facing her father as she slammed her hands in front of his seat. "We are in danger, dad! Everyone knows it! We are in bumfuck nowhere, torn away from our home, with two of the kids having wounds that have almost healed as if by magic!" She took a deep breath through the nose, her anger visible by now. "So spill the beans dad. I may love you to the end of the world and back, but you will not get me to back down this time."

Lying wasn't something either Pilar or Pedro did well. In fact they were lousy liars indeed. What they were masters of however, was the art of dodging the question. The problem here was that one could dodge almost any topic if something else of equal, or almost similar, importance could be brought forth. Otherwise you could also use something of interest to the other party.

There was no interest to be brought up when Valentina's angry eyes tore into him.

There was nothing more important than the danger that was looming over them.

And there was no saving Pedro if he tried to redirect his daughter's interests somewhere else.

Luck was on his side however, as two of the 'children', Ander and Ernesto, came into the living room once more, with Ander's parents not far behind. It almost looked like it had all distracted Pedro's daughter.

For about two seconds.

Then the glare returned, the woman opened her mouth and…

"Was that the front door?"

Marcela made everyone stop. You could hear a pin drop, and you could for sure hear the first pair of steps coming into the house, then two, three, four… five, six, seven, eight and counting. There were far more people than everyone but Pedro had expected.

First came Pilar, but it wasn't Carlos who walked behind the matriarch, but Juan and his wife Sofia. Behind them were Rocio and Raul, followed by gasps and questions as Yolanda and Zaid came into view, followed by Jamba and Nuru. Hector came next, preceding Olga and Enomoto as he helped his daughter, Akiko, carry a cart covered in cloth above the floor to avoid further damage to the house.

It was when Carlos came, last but not least, that everyone held their breath.

Because behind him, soaking the room in a radiant, if faint, light that seemed to emanate from his person, was an honest to God angel.

"Greetings." He said in a soft, melodic and slightly reverberating tone. "I am sorry for this delay. But I am told many of you want answers?"

It was a miracle that pandemonium didn't break. The sight was impressive, but not as much of a surprise as someone disrespecting the entity the moment he stood in front of the otherwise flabbergasted mortals.

"Holy fuck. Are angels lizards?"

Because yes, Marcela was mature for her age, almost a perfect fit for a dark and dreary environment, but she was also young enough to be overloaded. That is why she fainted right after those words escaped her mouth.