#corvidaecrow

Virgil had become accustomed over his year and a half in White Crest to some very strange wildlife. With his previous wanderings through the woods, he’d call himself pretty good at not attracting attention from the wrong creatures. To be fair, the vast majority merely scattered before his feet, spooked by the way the darkness seemed to deepen where he went. The bright, maddening beam of his eyes was something that beasts of all kinds tended to avoid, whether it was tempered by glasses or not. He’d gotten very good at silently passing through the woods unbothered by the creatures within. The only real trouble he had was with humans, but he very rarely met them face to face. 

That was why he felt safe to come out here on his own. He didn’t think he’d had a moment alone since he came back from the disastrous trip to the Mirror- how many weeks ago was it? He couldn’t say. But he was enjoying the attention. It felt good to be with the two people he loved the most in the world, and who loved him enough to help him through the effects of being possessed by a demon, and halfway turned into an angel. Nassus and Solomon had made sure he didn’t die. 

Nassus was dead, yes, but his ghost had been following Virgil ever since he died. It never occured to Virgil that Nassus might be here with him; he’d thought that whatever remained of his brother would just stay in the Mirror, unable to follow him across dimensions. But Nassus was here, still watching over him. The consuming grief which had colored Virgil’s life had lifted. Nassus had taken over the body of his human so he could get Virgil through his separation from the demon. For the first time, he felt as though he could accept Solomon’s kind words and manner of love without it being poisoned by Virgil’s grief. Nassus had raised him, and they’d been the only ones to love each other, always having each other’s backs against their mother and neighbors (and, unknown to him, the demon and their followers). His loss had hit hard. But he was still here, looking after the little brother who he’d tried so hard to raise well, loving him too much to ever leave him behind. Death had not separated them. 

He thought that he might’ve scared Solomon somewhat, though. He remembered very little of what happened after Hekakleidi left him. Just a growing pain, like they’d been pumping acid through his system, and he only felt it when they left. He’d been so tired and sore that it was all he could do to cry when Nassus or Solomon woke him up to medicate him. All he wanted to do was rest as a shadow in the cracks of Solomon’s chest, lulled from nightmares by the steady drum of his heart and voice. But the way that Solomon acted around him made him think that he’d seen something that frightened him. He treated Virgil like he might break if he touched him or spoke to him in anything less than the gentlest of tones. Perhaps his recovery had been rough. Virgil did appreciate it, though. He found it endlessly soothing, though he didn’t want his Leshy to feel like he might hurt him, or feel like he had to tiptoe around him. 

Nassus was less flapped, having had perhaps too much experience with nursing Virgil back from the brink of death. 

Everything was different now. He was so very different. He felt… not himself. The demon Hekakleidi was gone for now, but it was only a matter of time before they came back for the body they’d claimed. And Virgil could still feel the restless form within him, staining his thoughts and insides with its writhing. 

It would’ve been a perfect few weeks if not for the knowledge that he’d done something that he wasn’t supposed to. He’d killed. He’d given the demon the minds of his friends. He’d been ready to eat Solomon alive. He was not his mother, and he didn’t enjoy violence. He loathed it. So far, he’d failed to develop the taste for it his mother said all Lampades had. In short, Virgil needed a break to try to work through some of the guilt that came from being helped by someone he’d hurt very badly. He didn’t know how Solomon truly felt since they hadn’t exactly had a chance to talk one on one. And he knew his love had a very good, kind heart. But Virgil had hurt him. Virgil had killed humans. And it was him doing it, not just the demon in his body. He’d wanted to prove his devotion, to earn the prayer marks that now refused to fade. 

And with the demon’s magic making him eager to please her, uncaring of who he hurt in the process, he’d come to think of those words again. The old reassurances that he could be a monster like his mother if he merely killed enough times. Virgil didn’t feel like it was true. All of his humans back home had died on him, either by his inability to care for them or his mother killing them and leaving them for him to find. Violence and blood made him ill after all this time spent sitting in it. 

Or, that had been true up until Hekakleidi got into him. He’d killed. And now, he couldn’t get the words of his mother out of his head. Do it enough and you’ll become cruel like me. We might even learn to get along. He shuddered. 

This little foray into the woods was going to test that. Virgil just needed to make sure that he was not like his mother, or the demon. He thought he could handle not feeling like himself if he could just prove to himself that he wasn’t cruel. And while a walk through the forest at night alone wasn’t exactly going to show whether he’d picked up his mother’s worst habit, he felt like it’d be a good start. He’d missed this. Slow walks through the forest, wandering, yet familiar enough with the forest to be able to find his way back home. 

In true White Crest fashion, it didn’t remain a peaceful walk for long. Something was following him. Something large, if the footsteps were anything to go by. Virgil realized too late that he just didn’t blend in like he used to. While he’d attempted to conceal his hair with a sunhat, it just wasn’t effective. The demon’s magic was still causing it to glow, lighting up exactly where he was with an almost bioluminescent glow. He was used to being somewhat illuminated because of his eyes, but he had ways of concealing those and disappearing if anything did try to get him. It was easy enough to dissolve into the shadows and become incorporeal, impossible to touch or track. That was no longer an option. 

The frightening thing was that he’d been trying to lead whatever was following him astray. He was incorporeal, passing through the dark noiselessly, nothing more than a misty white-black vaguely person-shaped shadow, yet the creature followed, snuffling through a wet nose. Perhaps he smelled like char. Perhaps the aloe-based salve Nassus had been slathering onto him was making him smell like a meal pre-seasoned and prepared. Perhaps the creature had hunted lampades before. But for whatever reason, it just wouldn’t leave him alone. 

The confidence Virgil had felt upon returning to the forest was starting to fade. Solomon had wanted to come with him, and Nassus also wanted Solomon to go with him just to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. But he’d wanted to make sure that he could still do the things that used to bring him peace. True, it was a lot more peaceful to go on night excursions through the forests of White Crest with Solomon at his side. But he’d wanted to give Solomon a break; he knew it was taxing to do what his caretakers were doing. 

Virgil was even slower than before, dizzy and achy in his joints. There was no running from whatever was following him. He doubted he could fight it. He couldn’t throw it off his trail. There was no fighting it. 

Presently, Virgil passed into a clearing, daring to look over his shoulder to see precisely what was chasing him. 

A bear stepped out of the thick foliage after him. Or,  it was similar to a bear in size and shape. But it lacked the thick fur that bears usually had, looking completely bald except for a strange fuzz under its chin. It had dull brown-gray skin, and its brown eyes looked… well. There was no animal curiosity, or anger there. Just a deep, almost mindless hunger. The not-bear snarled, low and booming, opening its maw and showing its long, yellow fangs to Virgil. Terror bloomed in his guts at the sound, thoughts racing as he tried to come up with something that’d let him escape.  

He was going to have to hit it with his eyes. Maybe if it got scared, it’d run? That didn’t seem likely, though. Somehow, he doubted it’d make a difference to this ravenous thing. But he had to try something. Why did he let himself get into these situations? Why did he suddenly forget basic fucking survival? Nassus was going to kill him if he went and got mauled by this strangely smooth bear after he and Solomon had spent so much time helping him recover. Solomon would worry, and he didn’t want to cause the leshy any further stress. 

He willed himself to be solid, taking on his true form, and hissed at the sting the shift brought. It hurt to be in his body. The clearing was lit up red by the glare of his eyes, safely hidden behind his sunglasses. As if sensing his weakness, the bear snarled, stepping towards him with something akin to victory, certain that it’d won. 

Virgil was so focused that he missed the sharp snap of twigs nearby which came from neither him nor the bear, and the pinging of his senses that there was a powered human nearby. 

Crow was coming home from a day of busking when he heard someone shuffling around in his woods. Normally he’d leave them be and go about his way, the only problem this time was they were in his way. Crow huffed a sigh and set down his bags along with his guitar case and started stretching. It’d been awhile since the cult had attacked him and he was going from crashing at the lighthouse to staying with Rhett to going back to his camp. He would have stayed with Emilio as well if the other didn’t keep looking at him like his face brought bad memories. It made Crow uncomfortable the way Emilio seemed to worry a little bit more than the others. Like the older man didn’t have as much faith in him as Rhett or Correy. It made him feel weird and he didn’t like it. Not weird in the way Rio made him feel, that was confusing but not bad. Not bad at all. In fact the only reason he was going back to camp instead of just going back and forth between Correy’s and Rhetts was to write music, something he hadn’t tried before but something he wanted to do for the man who had helped him in the aquarium. He let out a small smile but was snapped back to reality when he heard the bear moving again. “Fucking bears.”

Crow started to run towards it full tilt, lighter in his hand as he flicked it and coated his arms in flames. He could call them forth without the lighter but the small tool certainly made it easier. He brushed past the stranger, not seeming to notice the red light forming in the clearing as he stepped out and slammed his fist into the weirdly smooth ursine. Then something happened that he hadn’t expected. The damn thing caught fire, too easily. Normally when he punched a bear the thing would get singed and run away, but this one just lit up. His eyes widened as the creature pulled away making distressed sounds. This was dangerous. If he didn’t control the flames not only the bear would light up but most of the forest would as well. He closed his lighter and moved his hands to try and will the flames to die when the bear offered up another surprise. 

It exploded. Crow was able to push the flames down and contain them but the flesh of the creature whizzed by him. He was coated in blood and guts and a stray tooth scraped his cheek. When all was said and done the only thing left of the ursine was the large blood spot on the ground and some singed meat scattered about the trees. Crow looked down at himself and huffed, falling back onto the ground. He was exhausted, controlling that amount of flames drained him rather quickly, the chronic pain in his shoulder had started to flare up as well. He tilted his head from his spot on the ground to get a look at the stranger he ended up protecting. What was someone so sickly looking doing out in the woods at night? “Who are you?”

A human strode out from the depths of the night. For a split second, they stared at the bear, as if this was merely a fact of life, like running into a pest they saw regularly, instead of a deadly monster. Virgil watched them through his peripheral vision, not quite willing to take his attention off the bear, yet unspeakably glad not to be alone against this thing. However, his gratitude disappeared when he saw the orange-yellow glow flicker to life in their hand. Fire from a lighter, though it didn’t stay within the confines of the device. It crawled up the arms, surrounding them like a pair of gloves. The human did not pause in their approach, they just aimed a punch directly into the bear’s head. 

The beast exploded into a shower of gore and flames. Virgil stumbled back, arms raised to shield his head, ears ringing from the concussive sound, vision blurring. Somehow, he wasn’t roasted, or full of holes. He actually didn’t think he’d been hurt by the exchange at all. He was covered in bear insides, which wasn’t pleasant. 

The human was on the ground a few feet away, panting, as if exhausted. 

Virgil was frozen, staring at the human, who’d come out of nowhere and killed the not-bear. The flames which had coated his arms only seconds ago were the very same kind that he’d seen in his nightmares since the death of his brother. He hadn’t had it since Nassus was back, but the memory it stemmed from remained. He’d seen the way the captive spellcaster had latched onto his brother in a madness-fueled death grip, gibbering out that they’d rather die fighting than live as a captive any longer. Their arms had lit up in flames, and then the rest of them, and his wounded brother had been unable to get away. Virgil had watched him burn, frozen, too shocked to be of any help. There was nothing he could do. The house had gone up. Nassus had died in agony. All because some stupid spellcaster had gotten it into their head that the only way out was to kill his brother, the rest of the humans, and Virgil himself. Virgil had never truly loathed humans until that moment. He’d been on their side his whole life, suffering with them when his mother wanted to make someone bleed, trying to keep them alive in the poor conditions of the Mirror. He wanted to make it easier for his brother, who went with their father to White Crest to hunt down humans and bring them home. He’d genuinely cared about lessening their suffering. But that meant nothing to them. A human had killed Nassus in the most brutal, painful way possible. And a human had mercilessly killed Solomon too. Virgil hadn’t been present for the burning of his Leshy, but he’d found his burnt corpse. 

It was something he’d been trying to get over. Virgil knew that all humans weren’t the same. This one hadn’t killed Virgil’s dear ones. He did love the humans still, somewhere very deep inside. But spellcasters were simply not trustworthy. He’d never thought that he might have to confront the exact type that’d killed Nassus. He didn’t quite know what to do. 

The human turned to look at him from his perch on the ground. Flicked singed bear guts off his face. 

Who are you? The question was so casual, as if the human was harmless, as if he thought he might draw Virgil’s attention away from the fact that he’d just lit a bear on fire, and might light up Virgil and the rest of the forest if he was so inclined. 

Instead of answering, or making the decision to do anything, Virgil moved with a dead blankness. He stepped into the human’s space, ignoring the protests to his joints. Even if he stood out visually from the gloom, he still moved as silently as the shadows. Darkness fell around them, blocking out the moonlight, deepening until it was just the two of them in a featureless void. 

Virgil bent as far as he could, cupping the human’s face in his hands, as if he had something very important to say that could only be imparted in this manner. Red light from his eyes fell over the angular features. Instead of speaking, however, his skin stuck immediately to the squishy human flesh. He felt the spark of magic deep within, like a current in the blood, tapping in, and drawing it into himself. The magic drained in an instant from the human to Virgil. 

He didn’t usually do this, since it was risky to put himself so close to humans he didn’t know or trust, and he had his medium Lucas to feed off. In fact, the thought of feeding from a spellcaster had seemed revolting to him in the aftermath of Nassus’ death. Now, after being overloaded by that acidic demon’s magic, he had no appetite. Lucas just didn’t appeal to him anymore. Nothing did. Not even the thought of the demon’s magic. Nassus and Solomon had tried their best to find something that’d appeal to him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Now that he’d drained this human, he did feel a bit ill. He couldn’t tell if he was satiated. The magic tasted strange, though that was to be expected when he’d gone for so long without it. 

But the human had no means of burning things now, and the immediate threat was gone. Virgil released his grip and backed up out of his space, looking for the first time at who he was really meeting. 

As was the case with most humans, he couldn’t pin down an age, or anything substantial from the features. He was covered in tattoos, which almost looked like… for some reason, Virgil looked at the ink and saw intent. Not unlike the prayer marks carved into his own face and body. They were not the marks of Hekakleidi, but there were apparently many dark forces in the worlds. Virgil’s mistrust grew, and the shadows reached out to blanket him, further surrounding him, curling at his feet and around his shoulders. If he could not be comforted by the presence of his brother or love, the impermeable night would forever welcome him. 

“That is a casual question for someone who just set a bear on fire.” His voice rasped as if he’d been drinking glass. He’d saved his life, and Virgil was grateful for it. But he was also very dangerous. Or, he had been. Hopefully they were a bit more evenly matched now. “What are you doing all the way out here?” 

All of him was tense, and it was starting to hurt. He drifted back a few more paces, keeping the human within his sights. Took a deep breath, and then another. The ache to his body was returning in the form of a faint burning. He’d overexerted himself in the slow chase with the bear, and the prospect of dealing with this human on top of it was exhausting. He’d do it if it’d let him go home. But he didn’t want to. His mind was once again blank for how to proceed. He’d spent too long being coddled, and he could no longer just snap back into the mindset of the person who could think of a hundred ways to run away, or distract, or intimidate the human long enough for him to get out. He paused for another long moment, and then opted to continue in a smoother, more friendly tone, as if he had no reason to doubt that this person had anything but the best intentions. It might not work, given that he’d just drained him, and was obviously not human. But he had to try something. 

What had the human been saying before? His rage had made him unable to listen, and he couldn’t quite recall the meaning. Something told him that the human had asked something about himself. Who he was, perhaps. 

He refrained from thanking this stranger, not wanting to be bound in a promise to a human spellcaster with unknown intentions. However, he was glad that the bear was dead, even if the method of dispatch showed the human’s nature a little too well. “You may call me Virgil. What’s your name?” He still sounded brittle and wary. Oh well. 

The stranger grabbed Crow’s face and at first he was confused then he felt it. His flames were being drawn out of him and he couldn’t stop it. Then the stranger was off him and backing away talking as if he hadn't just violated Crow’s space and took the flames. He tried to call them just to make sure and when they didn’t respond he stood. Virgil was backing away from him but a threat was a threat and this man had made the mistake of proving himself dangerous to Crow. He might not have his flames but that by no means meant Crow couldn’t defend himself. He easily closed the distance between the two, grabbing Virgil’s shirt to keep him close. “Give it back.” He was past niceties and small talk. 

Crow had never been without his magic and he wasn’t going to let some freak in the woods take it from him so easily. He needed it to keep safe out here, not something that was possible with just his fists regularly. He didn’t have superhuman strength and he’d learned that some things were better not touched with his bare skin. The flames were his safety blanket and they’d just been ripped away. He felt vulnerable. He didn’t like feeling vulnerable. He decided it wasn’t worth waiting for an explanation, fist coming up quickly as he punched Virgil. 

The human’s face went from shock to fear as he reached for something that wasn’t there anymore. Give it back. Virgil would not have given it back, even if he could. These woods were no place for some spelllcaster to start fires. Anger shut down everything else like shutters closing. 

Virgil knew well enough that there was nothing he could say now that would reach the human, to make it pause, or stop outright. Perhaps he’d overstepped, but he didn’t think he’d been wrong to take away the magic. It was dangerous, and he’d be a fool if he let him just walk away. For Solomon, the guardian of these woods, which had been burned before. For his brother. And for Virgil himself. 

It was difficult to keep in mind as the human grabbed him by the shirt. He could feel the rage coursing through, feel the heat of his body and the trembling of his body as he tried to decide what to do. Virgil did not try to retreat, he just bent into the movement and waited. 

It didn’t take long for the human to snap. The blow was fast and hard. For a split second, white-hot pain and sickening lightheadedness competed to see which would overwhelm him first. It hurt less than it did with his mother, but the blow against his burnt skin smarted. 

The world spun as he fell. He could feel his body dissolving under the force of the blow, a formless dark mass spreading out to stick to the shadows. To the human, it would look like he’d disappeared into thin air. 

Crow had been patching up a roof when he heard rumors about a private investigator who solved weird cases. Or tried to. No one in the group seemed overly fond of the fellow and there were whispers that he attracted demons. Crow hadn’t been particularly interested till he heard that part.  If this man had had to deal with demons he might be what the young man needed. If he could tell him how to kill Sigas then that’d be a big burden off his back. He decided to go visit this man after work that day.

Unfortunately work didn’t let off till the sun was gone from the sky. Crow almost didn’t go, thinking the place would be closed at 9pm but whatever he was here now, might as well knock. He knocked hard enough on the door to be heard but not loud enough to be rude, just in case the people next door got curious. Really the less eyes he had on him the better. “Are you Emilio?” He asked as soon as the door opened. 

It wasn’t rare for clients to come by after dark. Even without taking White Crest’s less human population into consideration, there were always going to be people whose jobs kept them out long after the sun left the sky, people whose lives didn’t operate on a regular schedule. More often than not, late-night knocking on the door was accompanied by that familiar feeling of the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, a sure sign that whoever was waiting on the other end of it was undead. This time, Emilio’s senses were silent. He told himself this was a good thing.

Moving to the door, the hunter yanked it open and squinted his eyes suspiciously at the kid who stood there. Definitely not undead; not visibly inhuman in any way. He didn’t look like Frankie had, stitched together with borrowed parts, though it was hard to tell if this completely eliminated the possibility that he was a part of the cult that had been giving Teddy shit. Emilio studied him with a critical eye, looking him up and down. “Who’s asking?”

“Crow. You can deal with demons?” Crow was never one to beat around the bush. He preferred to get things done as fast as possible. Even if he did sound a little blunt. “Need help with one.” Crow was still covered in the dirt from work and would probably stay that way till he had enough time to get water to clean off properly. He shuffled past the other into his apartment and took it in. He wasn’t impressed but the other was doing better than he was, he guessed. He at least had a roof. 

Crow shuffled around in his pockets and pulled out the cash from today's work, “I can pay.” There wasn’t a lot and Crow had planned to use it for a new shirt, his was getting a little worn down but getting Sigas off his back permanently was more important in his mind. 

Emilio always preferred it when people were upfront, especially clients. But… The kid’s question sent a chill down his sprint, and he stepped aside in a daze as he came into the dingy apartment. The kid was probably younger than Ari. Certainly too young to be dealing with fucking demons. Emilio thought of Teddy, sixteen and desperate, making a deal with the damn Leviathan in a desperate attempt at some form of security. Christ. 

“No. Keep your fucking money. The hell are you getting involved with demons for, kid?” He grit his teeth, nostrils flaring in frustration. He should say no. He really should. He didn’t need another demon in his life, wasn’t even sure he was going to survive the ones he’d been having run-ins with already. But… fuck. It was a kid. It was a fucking kid, and how could Emilio turn that away? It was Silas all over again, begging for his help with Andreas. Sighing, Emilio pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me everything you know.”

Crow kept his face neutral, really if the other said no he’d be fine with it. This was a long shot in the first place, so when the other man asked him for information Crow had to pause for a moment. He shoved his cash back into his pockets and pulled his jacket off. “I was six. Parents made me.” He tossed it onto the couch and now the tattoos on his arms were in full view. He pointed at the feathers, “Its name is Sigas. Likes Crows. Has a crow skull for a head. Promises immortality. Likes fire too.” 

Crow then turned around to pull his shirt far enough up his back to show off the mark between his shoulder blades, “This is its sigil.” The sigil itself was a circle of small symbols, in the center of the circle was a four winged crow that looked like it was in flight. The crow's head was replaced with black flames. It had four legs; two were holding a spear, the other two were holding a crow’s skull. Its tail was spread with two chains dangling from it. Crow let the other get a good look before lowering his shirt again. “Says it's going to rule. Wants an army. And A Body.” 

Jesus. Six years old, and his parents had decided to give up his life. It was hard not to think of Jaime, who’d died at six, who Emilio would have given anything to save. He clenched his fists at his side, fingernails digging into his palms with enough force that he knew there’d be marks there later, and he listened as the kid went on. Sigas wasn’t a demon he’d heard of before, and he tried to decide whether this was a good thing or a bad one. Emilio wasn’t familiar with demons on purpose; they just kept on showing up. The addition to the spiel, the fact that this Sigas was apparently a big fan of fire, was a thing that could cause problems later on, too. Emilio had struggled with it since the chimera in the cave, and it had gotten worse since the warehouse fire. Taking on something like that meant risking the flashbacks he’d been warring with lately.

But at the same time… There was no way he could say no. Not when there was a kid involved. A kid who’d gotten no fucking say in the matter, a kid whose parents had chosen this shit for him long before he’d been old enough to argue. “Let me guess,” he sighed, worrying his lip between his teeth, “the body he’s planning on using is yours?” Like Hekakleidi all over again, right down to some kid knocking on his door. This time, at least, the kid wasn’t already possessed. “Okay. So your parents, then, they’re… Followers of Sigas? There a lot of those? Just in White Crest, or all over?”

Crow shook his head a little, “No. Just my heart. I’ll be dead.” That was one of the reasons he fought to escape. The cult had been out to kill him that night knowing full well they didn’t need him alive. As long as the heart made it back intact, Sigas didn’t care what happened to the flesh around it. “Yes. A whole town in Damariscotta. Few hours from here. Don’t know about White Crest.” He hadn’t heard of any other factions then again his sect believed themselves to be the righteous chosen anyway. They probably didn’t care if there were others out there because they were the ones who gave Sigas what it wanted. A battery. A spellcaster strong enough to grow its powers over the years so it could create its own body, one that would let it live in the human realm no problem but keep its beautiful visage. 

“Can you help?” Crow didn’t have any other leads in town so he was hoping Emilio had a way to deal with demons. The only thing the cult kept saying about Sigas was how powerful it was and how it would bring about righteous glory and just a lot of bullshit he didn’t believe anymore. So his knowledge on demons was about as much as anyone else’s really. 

Just his heart. It was almost worse, in a way. At least in the case of possession, some part of the person still existed, even if only in a physical sense. But this? This was something uniquely fucked up. “Well, if there are any in White Crest, they haven’t popped up on my radar yet, either. Doesn’t mean they’re not here, but it probably means they’re not too active.” Which was a good thing. Emilio had had just about enough cult bullshit to last him a fucking lifetime in this town, and he wasn’t even finished dealing with the last one yet. He wasn’t looking to add another homegrown cult to the mix just yet. 

The question was a loaded one, and Emilio swallowed. Inevitably, he thought of Silas. This was a lot different than that had been. Silas didn’t seek Emilio out specifically when he’d needed help getting away from Andreas’s cult. Emilio was just… there. He couldn’t decide if that was better or worse, but… He knew he couldn’t say no. He never could when it came to a kid knocking on his damn door asking for his help. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” he admitted, “but I’ll damn sure try. These people, do they know you’re in White Crest? They gonna come looking? Gonna need to make sure you’re safe, first thing.”

“Could be scouting.” He had seen a few crows flying about and Sigas could have been hiding among any of the flocks. Crow wasn’t sure if the demon would send other people to track him given that he slaughtered most of the people who tried to stop him already. But the cult wasn’t the quiet sort. They took in anyone who visited the village, granted if you wanted to leave they either made you disappear or just outright forced you to stay. He was sure if that was happening in White Crest the other would have heard about it. 

“They might. Been a year. Haven’t seen any.” Didn’t mean they weren’t looking. It was part of the reason he stayed out of town during the day if he could help it. Was harder to notice his tattoos in the dark, which made it harder to distinguish him from other people. “Am being careful.” He felt the need to say it given how many times he had to tell Rhett the same thing. He liked the old man and the fact the old man cared. It was a strange feeling but not a bad one. 

“Could be,” Emilio agreed. If they so much as suspected the kid was here, they were bound to come after him. Cults didn’t typically enjoy letting people go. Emilio had seen that plainly enough with Silas, experienced it himself with Hekakleidi. He was pretty sure he was tied up in it now with the damn garbage cult, too, even if they’d slipped into the background for the time being. “Anything I should look out for, far as scouts are concerned?” 

Nodding, Emilio pushed a hand through his hair. A year. That meant the kid knew how to keep off the radar, though Emilio knew it didn’t mean the cult had given up. “I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he believed it because the kid was a damn kid and Emilio felt nervous just thinking about him out on his own. “But that doesn’t mean you have to. You don’t know me, so I’m not asking you to trust me. But… I’m telling you you can come here, if you run into trouble. Any of the people in this office, they’ll help you with whatever you need. Okay?”

“Crows. Symbols and the birds.” The cult was obnoxious that way. Crows and flames it was always Crows and flames, if he could think of another name to call himself he would, but his brain wasn’t really geared towards that. So for now Crow would have to stick. “The sigil too.” That would also be plastered on their jackets, like some biker gang. “Crows harder to spot. Have to look at heads. Look for skull. Black flames.” 

“Woods are safe. For me. And you.” Crow felt better in there, it was hard to find him when he was up in his shelter. Most people didn’t spend a lot of time looking up, plus all the ‘bears’ in the woods would surely pick off any cultists that were just fumbling through the trees. Plus he didn’t have to put anyone helping him at risk, which was better in the long run. They couldn’t help him if they were dead. 

“Crows and the sigil. I’ll keep an eye out.” It was one situation where the rampant paranoia that plagued Emilio might actually do someone some kind of good. He could keep an eye out for crows and for the sigil that the kid had described, and he could at least make sure the kid had a head start if the cult turned up here. It might make him feel like he was making some kind of a difference. He needed that, sometimes. It was why he kept Axis going, even when everything else felt like it was going to shit.

Sighing, Emilio nodded. He’d expected as much in terms of an answer here, though he wanted to argue that the only person he really ought to be worrying about was himself. Emilio would be in danger either way, because he always was. Because he sought it out, because he wanted it. Because he deserved it, maybe. But arguing with the kid wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he knew it. “All right,” he agreed. “You stay in the woods. But you remember what I said, okay? This apartment, it’s a safe place. If you need somewhere to lay low or you need someone to protect you, you come here.” He wondered, belatedly, if this was the same kid in the woods Rhett had been talking about or if the forests of White Crest were just filled with lost kids with no place else to go. He couldn’t decide which answer was worse. “How about food? Water? Clothes? If I find shit like that for you, where can I leave it?”

Crow nodded when the older man repeated the important bits of information back to him. He paused at the next question. The less people that knew about his home the better, less chance of someone following them or finding out accidentally through loose lips. “Rhett. Old guy. Big beard. Long hair. Weird smell. He can bring it.” Rhett he trusted more than anyone else, well almost more than anyone else. Correy was another with a high level of his trust but something about him made Jonas think it was better Rhett interacted with Emilio. Rhett and Emilio seemed to give off the same air though they had very different smells and attitudes. Crow wasn’t used to being exposed to so many new things even after a year of living in the woods. 

Cult members all smelled the same, he wasn’t sure why the elders had demanded everyone use the same soap and shampoo, he didn’t think Sigas was that much a stickler, still everyone obeyed. Though he didn’t remember his mother got away with smelling a little like cinnamon, she was afforded breaks in the rules given that she sired Sigas’ conduit. “Would like clothes.” He spent most of his money on food and clothes that had to be saved up for. The shirt he was wearing now already had holes forming at the bottom. He shouldn’t have bought that guitar but  it gave him something to do at camp. He didn’t want to be on his phone too much to save on having to find a cafe to charge it. 

His suspicions regarding just how many kids might be living in White Crest’s woods were confirmed with Rhett’s name, and it brought some relief with it. There were very few people Emilio trusted more than Rhett; if he was taking care of the kid, it probably meant the kid would be all right. “I know him. Rhett’s my brother,” he offered, hoping it’d go a little ways to build some trust. It was clear that the kid was a little squirrely, and it’d be easier to help him if he didn’t have to wonder if he was going to take off at the first sign of trouble. “You go into the bathroom, you’ll find his clothes all over the floor. Guy’s got no idea how to clean up after himself.” He let a playful lilt carry the words, trying to get the kid to loosen up just a little. 

He nodded, looking the kid over again. His clothes were pretty ratty, undoubtedly a side effect of living in the woods. “I’ve got some that might fit you,” he said, voice coming out a little softer than he’d meant for it to. Silas’s things were still piled in the corner. Some of it might be a little big on the kid — Silas had been tall, after all — but Emilio didn’t think it’d fall off or anything. “Stay here a second.” He disappeared behind the wall that separated the ‘office’ portion of Axis from the rest of the apartment, shuffling through the box of Silas’s shit until he found a few items of clothing that didn’t hurt to give away. He brought them back, holding them out with a nod. “That should do you okay for now. I’ll have Rhett bring you more later.”

Crow tilted his head at the admission. They didn’t look all that alike to be siblings then again Rhett had that beard covering his face, they could very well share similar features that were just hidden under the bush on the other man’s face. Crow didn’t seem to pick up on the joke, still staring blankly at the older man. “Tell him to clean.” Leaving a mess was one way to accidentally get hurt if something happened in the bathroom. Though Crow wasn’t sure what dangers would come from the bathroom, still was better to have a clean floor to fight on. Clothes could get wrapped around your feet otherwise. 

Crow offered a nod and stood waiting for the clothes. The tone in the other man’s voice wasn’t hard to miss. These clothes meant something to him. Normally Crow wouldn’t care and would take the clothes without any issue but this guy was Rhett’s brother. He’d make sure to keep the clothes in a separate pile and treat them better than the rest. Crow himself wasn’t all that short standing at 6’1” the boy was rather tall. The growing pains had been bothersome to train with, but everyone seemed excited to watch him get so big. He looked at Emilio noticing the other was shorter than he was as he took the clothes. Rhett had said not to say thank you so Crow awkwardly mumbled out an, “Okay.” He hadn’t brought his bag with him, so he draped them over one arm to keep his hands free. 

There was a childlike confusion behind the kid’s eyes, and Emilio started to explain the familial situation between himself and Rhett before thinking better of it. If the kid had been raised in a cult, things like surrogate siblings might be a little too much to hit him with all at once. “Trust me, kid, I’ve tried. Telling Rhett to do something never works out the way you want it to.” Maybe the kid knew the warden well enough to understand the truth behind that, or maybe he didn’t. Either way, Emilio hoped it might help him relax just a little bit more.

Though not quite as tall as Silas had been, the kid had enough height to ensure that the clothing Emilio offered wouldn’t swallow him completely. He took the clothes without argument, and Emilio’s arms felt heavier, somehow, with the absence of them. He tried not to ache too badly with it, tried to remind himself that Silas probably would have wanted it this way, anyways. Emilio could practically hear the zombie’s voice in his head now — It’s not like I’m wearin’ ‘em anymore, Bean. Might as well give ‘em to somebody who can actually use ‘em, right? He nodded, unsurprised but relieved that the kid seemed to know the ‘no thank yous’ rule. Rhett probably would have taught him first thing. “Okay,” he repeated. “Do you, uh… You got a name? Something I can call you?”

“Will tell him. See what happens.” The Cult had made family dynamics very clear. There were your blood relatives then there were friends. Calling someone you were close to, but weren’t related to, brother would earn you strange looks from those around you. It was important to keep everything detailed so they knew which people in the cult weren’t related, that way when you were paired off you didn’t end up with someone you shared blood with on accident. It also let them see which bloodline produced the strongest offspring. Those who did well to bear smart and strong children were rewarded with special privileges in the cult. His family bloodline was elevated to the top of the clan from the bottom once Crow had been chosen as the conduit. They were rewarded with the best food and living spaces. 

“...Crow.” Crow was beginning to wish he had been named something else. Crows were too tightly linked with Sigas. It was annoying. 

Snorting, Emilio shrugged. “Shit, if he listens to you, I’ll give you a job here. Professional Rhett handler.” He was only half joking. Having someone around who Rhett might actually listen to wasn’t the worst idea; it was, he suspected, something Rhett would probably like to have for Emilio, too. Neither hunter was particularly good at doing what they were told. Emilio had never been sure if that was a thing that applied to all hunters in general, or if the two of them had invented their own brand of stubbornness to be shared between them. 

Crow wasn’t sure how he ended up in this position. He had been coming out tonight to go and snatch some more crops from the local gardens when he’d run into this weird person who was now using him as a shield against the figure approaching them in the dark. Normally Crow would just leave the person behind and go about his business, he didn’t know them so didn’t really care what happened but the thing in the dark didn’t seem like it was going to let either of them go so easily. Crow sighed and pulled out his lighter, flicking it open and closed as he tried to see if it was worth using his magic to resolve this issue. If he could he’d rather just beat whatever was chasing the man without calling his flames. The night in the woods was still fresh in his memory and was already causing him trouble when it came to sleeping. He didn’t want to see more bodies when he closed his eyes.

It really wasn’t Baz’s fault this time! They hadn’t been provoking anyone the way they had with that dreadful werewolf. They hadn’t even thought about Ana since they’d left her in Rio Branco in 1943, but evidently the bruxa remembered them well enough. He wasn’t sure if she’d followed him here or if her presence in White Crest was little more than an unhappy accident, but when your murderous ex-girlfriend started coming at you in the dark with an angry expression twisting her face, it wasn’t the time for questions. Baz did what any sensible person would have done — they grabbed the only other person nearby and shoved him in Ana’s path. “Fire!” They exclaimed when the kid flicked out a lighter. “Oh, that’s a good one! Ana, dear, I know you’re not a fan of fire! My friend here has lots of it, so you’d better leave!”

“...” Crow looked back at the person and for a moment thought about throwing them in front and leaving. He didn’t know what a Bruxa was but could tell the woman was weird when she stepped into the light and fangs appeared from her mouth. He sighed and flicked his lighter on, catching the flame on his hands and taking a stance. The woman paused and seemed to be weighing up her options. Crow didn’t wait, if there was anything he learned from fighting is that if you let a problem leave it was likely to come back. Unlike the fight in the woods he didn’t hesitate this time to use his flames against the threat. He didn’t have super speed or strength but he knew how to defend himself and his flames made up for any shortcomings. It was almost a little too easy to take her out, expanding his flames as soon as she came into contact with them. They quickly covered the woman’s body and it didn’t take long before the charred corpse laid on the ground and the flames dissipated into the night sky. 

Crow stared at the body and promptly turned to empty his stomach. It happened every time. The panic and knots now added with the pain in his shoulder. His flames reacted, flickering across his body to defend against a threat that wasn’t there anymore. The smell of charred flesh kept him doubled over till the only thing coming up was bile. He tried to move away from the site, hand pressed against the wall of the alley way while the other grabbed his stomach. He had to regain control. It wasn’t safe for anyone for him to be constantly having flames burst from random parts of him. “Fear is for the weak.” He mumbled, “We are not weak. Swallow it. Force it out. It is not in control. We are in control.” He closed his eyes but the images of the bodies from the camp mixed with those from his town and now the one in the alley way. But he would press them down. Make them go away. They had to go away. He was shaking. Why was he shaking? He was fine. He’d be fine. They’d go away again. They always went away. He just needed to focus. “We are soldiers. Fighters. Survivors. Our wills are our own. Fear will not control us.” The flames started to die and his face was regaining its stony exterior as he talked to himself but his hand was still shaking where it held him up against the wall.

Oh, a spellcaster! That certainly made things more interesting. Baz took a few steps back, watching with a delighted grin as the boy moved forward. He gave Ana little time to respond, which was all well and good — Baz had heard plenty of what she had to say, and it was never particularly kind. It was always, You abandoned me or, You only waited a day after we broke up before sleeping with the bartender. She never bothered mentioning any of the good times, which was really just offensive! Baz had done plenty of nice things, too! They’d even made the bed once! Ana had terrible tunnel vision, really, and there was no grief from Baz as she fell to the ground a charred mess, though he did wince a little at the scent of it. He’d never quite liked burning flesh. Blood was a much kinder smell. 

“You could have let me take her jacket before you singed her. It looked very nice. Probably not even a knockoff!” He turned to the spellcaster, who was… puking onto the pavement. Lip curling up in disgust, Baz took a few large steps back, putting some distance between himself and the boy. Ew. At least the smell of burnt flesh could cover that up. “Yes, well,” the fury hummed, disinterested in whatever quiet mumblings were coming from the spellcaster now, “you do that. Say, would it help if I bought you a drink? I suppose I should do something to show my gratitude here.” It would be the polite thing to do, in any case… and a spellcaster who wielded fire might be a good thing for Baz to keep in their back pocket. So many things were vulnerable to flames, after all. It would be nice to have a ‘protector’ who knew what to do with them.

The other talked and anger flashed in Crow’s mind, but anger was better than fear. He’d just killed someone and this person was telling him he should have saved the jacket. Crow robbed people often but he wasn’t going to stop and do it before taking care of a threat. He looked over at this stranger, his blank face only showing his annoyance by the slight squint of his eyes when they offered to buy him a drink. He shoved past them to go sit at the other end of the alley. “Not old enough.” Even if he was, he didn’t drink or have an ID to even let him drink. 

Crow sighed and squatted against the wall, arms resting on his knees and head drooping down between them. He was trying to beat back the nausea that resurfaced when he moved. When did he grow so weak to the idea of killing? Maybe it was when he did it for the first time. When the knife in his hand plunged into his father’s gut or when he set half the town ablaze. He rubbed at his face trying to will the memories away. He shouldn’t have come out here tonight. Should have just went to Rhetts. This was his fault for wanting fresh air and to stretch his legs. Maybe it was karma for stealing the food. 

Maybe he should find a different spellcaster to add to his roster of protectors. This one seemed rather squeamish, and squeamish protectors were rarely effective. It was part of why Baz was so fond of the Leviathan — it never even blinked when they asked it to take care of a problem for them. This kid would probably get all… moral about it, if the stench of vomit in the air was anything to go by. Baz hated moral types. “Oh, that’s a silly law. You can get around it well enough.” Slipping a bartender a few extra bucks went a very long way, Baz had learned.

They watched with some curiosity as the kid positioned himself against the wall, still looking vaguely nauseous. All this for one dead bruxa? She’d been looking to kill them! Why feel guilt over a thing like that? The fury didn’t understand it. “If it makes you feel any better, I once saw her wear socks with sandals. You did the world a favor, really.”

“Don’t want to drink.” Nothing good would come from a drunk spellcaster that needed to be in control all the time. Someone else would end up on fire he was sure. Crow was so tired of killing things for now. He needed a break. A night where he didn’t have to fight something for a little while. He was exhausted but not physically. Then again this wasn’t new to him, being forced to fight when he didn’t want to was something he had to do daily in the cult. This situation was different yet all the same and it confused him. 

“.. You’re an idiot.” Crow killed her because she was a threat not because of the clothes she was wearing. He didn’t get this person or why socks and sandals were a worthy offense to die over. 

“Fair enough.” Laws were stupid things that could be easily bent, but Baz wasn’t really one to pressure someone into drinking if they weren’t comfortable with it. It was something that tended to surprise people based on the fury’s general demeanor, but they did have some standards. Discomfort was only something they went for when it was useful to them, and in this situation, it wasn’t. They wanted to endear themself to the spellcaster, after all, wanted to buy some added protection in a town full of people who might just figure out how to kill them if they weren’t careful about it. Seeing to the kid’s comfort was a good way to do that. 

Grinning at the insult, Baz shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “Well, I’ve certainly been called worse. But I’m a fashionable idiot. It’s more than what could have been said for Ana, in any case.”

Crow stared hard at the person in front of him. He was glad they let go of the drinking suggestion but was generally confused why the other had even offered in the first place. He didn’t think he was giving off very social vibes at the moment, then again maybe he was? He doubted it though, he didn’t think puking really said please continue to talk to me. Yet here they were. He tried to think what the other might gain from this. Maybe they were trying to be nice in a weird way. A part of him didn’t seem to believe that either though. People only approached him for two reasons, they wanted to be friends or they wanted to use him. He was trying to figure out which reason this one was leaning for. 

“Don’t care what people wear.” Fashion had never been an interest of Crow’s, clothes were there to keep your skin safe, why did it matter what they looked like? At least his annoyance at the other was making his nausea more manageable. 

“Oh, trust me, that’s not much of a surprise. No offense.” The kid’s clothes looked like hand-me-downs from someone particularly goth, and that style only worked on a select few. The young spellcaster pulled it off well enough — better than Baz likely would have, in any case — but it was clear that the clothes weren’t quite meant for him. Baz wondered where they’d come from. An older sibling, perhaps? Their own brother had never been given any of their clothes back when they were children, but their father had been well off in a way that he’d wanted everyone to know about. And he probably wouldn’t have wanted to poison his favorite son’s wardrobe with clothing from his disappointing eldest child’s closet, anyway. 

Looking down at the spellcaster, Baz weighed their options. If things kept going the way they were going, he’d have to accept defeat and find someone else to add to his little protection squad, but that would be a final resort. If they could get the kid on board, they wanted to do so. If drinking didn’t interest him, maybe something else would. “How about I buy you a meal, then? Come on. You rescued me! I need to show my appreciation! And you’re far too young for me to show it in my usual way.”

Crow looked down at his clothes then up at the other. He didn’t think this gaudy person in front of him had as much right to criticize fashion as he did. He tilted his head, really the ego on this one when they couldn’t even protect themselves. “Should focus less on fashion. Then you won’t die.” 

Crow, perhaps, was too easy. The moment food was mentioned the young man looked up at the other and wasn’t annoyed for once. Any chance to try something new though and his mind instantly got a little excited. Food was a never ending stream of new things to try. Even the same food could be kind of new when prepared by different people. There was a small twinkle in his eye that faded a little when he glanced over at the corpse still in the alleyway. He rubbed at his face but stood. “No meat.” Not tonight anyway. Maybe in a few days when the memory got repressed with the others and only bothered him when he slept. 

Snorting, Baz raised a brow. “I can assure you, I’m already very good at not dying.” They’d made it over seven hundred years now, after all. What had this kid achieved? A few measly decades? What room did he have to judge Baz on their survival skills? Fashion was important! Perhaps if the spellcaster managed to live another decade, he’d learn as much.

But, oh, there it was. The ticket to charming the kid wasn’t in alcohol or fashion advice after all — it was food the spellcaster was after. Baz should have known. Humans loved food. It had been so long since the fury had relied on it himself that he’d nearly forgotten just how important it was to people. Food to them was like what wishes were to Baz. They followed the spellcaster’s gaze over to Ana’s charred remains, shrugging a shoulder. “All right, we’ll do a vegetarian option. Hey, have you ever had an acai bowl?”

Crow could see that given how the other hid behind him before. It must be how this person survived for so long. “You hide. You need self defense.” It was good to at least know some sort of combat to keep yourself safe from troublesome exes. What would this person do if no one was around to help them? Spout off fashion tips and hope their crazy ex just left them alone? Crow didn’t get why the other seemed so fine with not being able to fight. 

“No… Want to try.” Crow had no idea what an acai bowl was but if it was food he was willing to give it a go. He turned his back to the lady on the ground hoping wherever they were going wasn’t in her direction. His nausea was starting to go away. He didn't want it to come back before he got a chance to eat. What if it kept him from eating? That would be terrible. “Where are we going?”

“I have plenty of self defense methods. They may not look like yours, but they’ve served me just fine so far.” In truth, most of Baz’s self defense was wrapped up in simply being a fury. Being next to impossible to kill was a very good way of staying alive, particularly when most people didn’t know that they’d need to remove his head just to ensure that anything they did to him really stuck. The rest of their self defense, of course, came from things like this. Finding people with powers that worked on the offense instead of just the defense and cozying up to them so that they’d kill anything that came the fury’s way. Sometimes it ended poorly, of course, but not usually for Baz. It was a decent method, as far as they were concerned. 

Grinning as the spellcaster accepted their invitation, Baz nodded. “There’s a little cafe just around the corner that makes wonderful acai bowls.” They motioned in the direction away from Ana’s corpse, not missing the way the kid’s gaze settled anywhere but the body. It wasn’t quite kindness that had Baz choosing a destination that wouldn’t require walking past the dead woman — it was, like everything else, more of that deep-seated self preservation. He needed the spellcaster to like him if he was going to utilize him in the future. “You can get whatever size you’d like. Oh! I’m Baz, by the way.”

Crow gave Baz a look of doubt, “Need real self defense.” Crow found Baz weird. Then again he wasn’t one to talk. He’d been trained from the age of six in fighting if anything he might be the weird one. He already knew the world out here worked a lot differently than the one from his hometown. The rules and social norms were all new. He did like that it was more lax on the schedules. But food was a little more of a hassle to come by then before. One good thing about the cult was he always had food when he needed it. He also liked the chickens they had. If it was safer in the woods he might have bothered to make a chicken shack out there.