…

“In the matter of the People versus Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham, we find the accused guilty of the loss of three high grade Artifacts and of intent to pursue Forbidden magic.”

Jordan stood in the oppressive light of the court’s chambers. The rest of the room, which had been muffled behind a shroud, was now free from its suppression and fully visible. As the Judge spoke—a few embers coming out with his voice—Jordan could hear cries of alarm and restrained protest behind him. There was more than just the Brat’s family out there and many of them were unhappy.

The somber atmosphere took on a tinge of desperation, but it was something Jordan had accepted. Punishment for someone else’s crime. Undeterred by the brewing discontent, High Justiciar Sphrantzes continued on.

“In punishment, this court shall inflict upon the accused three Titles to be borne until such a time as her debt to society for the loss of these Artifacts is paid off. In regard to her ill-intent, this court believes that it is the product of ignorance and desperation, not malice. Therefore, she shall be entrusted to her guardians for education in the Ways of Virtue. Any hint of an attempt to pursue forbidden avenues of power again will result in swift punishment for her and her family in equal measures. For the safety of all, she shall be expected to meet regularly with a high standing member of the Church to ensure compliance in these rulings.”

That kind of sounds like Parole, Jordan thought. Something almost like relief swept through him. Almost.

His feelings were interrupted by the sounds of the crying behind him intensifying. A stifled shout came from the Brat’s mother and drowned out Catella’s small sobs that had been ongoing. Jordan wasn’t sure why Mercia would be so upset—wasn’t this a good outcome? The best they could have hoped for, at least?

Or is it the titles? How can those be bad? He thought, until he remembered… she knew the whole conversation already, doesn’t she?

The floodlight on Jordan seemed to grow in intensity as the air in the room became thick with a strange energy. Jordan’s eye was caught by a gleaming light beneath him, and as he looked down, he saw thrumming lines of golden Essence swirling at his feet—emanating a smell of intense purity.

It confused him at first, as it wasn’t a sense of sterility he’d normally associate with cleanliness, but like a freshly cleaned home or warm clothes straight from the dryer. It was gentle—natural even, almost like the Brat’s walk-in closet. He almost felt like there should be a field of flowers tickling his toes, and had to suppress a playful… giggle? Strange.

Looking around, Jordan saw the geometric patterns spread out towards the curving desk around him, leaving him standing in its center. At least the half circle layout makes sense now, he thought. He was less than enthused to be standing in the middle what looked like a giant spell though. Was this really part of gaining titles? Or was he just lucky?

He huffed in irritation, looking at the lines he suddenly knew it was a Mandala, designed to channel something into him. He stood in its Foci, and judging from the Outer circle, it was connecting the Material Realm to… the Celestial Realm?

He jumped, thinking what the hell…? Why do I know this crap? He blinked at the golden lines in confusion before remembering that the Brat had a ‘specialty’ in rituals—whatever that entailed. Looking at the lines and a bit of Ki use had been enough to fill him with knowledge he hadn’t had moments earlier.

Bitterness filled him just as quickly. Could he have actually been able to re-cast that forbidden ritual of the Brat’s after all? Could he have gone home? If just looking at a ritual was enough for the Brat’s skills, or whatever, to activate and tell him what was going on, then if he could have gotten even a scrap of her ritual he could have… no, it’s better not to play with what if’s like that, he stopped himself. It took more effort than he would have liked.

“Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham. You have acted in ignorance and recklessness, and have endangered the lives of countless thousands by reaching beyond the Dark Expanse. While your desperate motivation for doing so is understood, and your age and isolated upbringing explain much, this court finds you to be a Fool. All shall know the trouble your presence risks, of your inability to make wise decisions, and your need for guidance. From this day forth, you shall be known as Foolish Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham.”

The lines of Essence lit up as power from the Heavens flooded them. The once beautiful smell of cleanliness taking on a foulness that wrinkled his nose, like soiled gym shorts forgotten in a duffel bag in the family RV after a road trip weeks prior.

Then, the once beautiful display began to whisper at him. Small voices, at first speaking nonsense, began to pick up in tone and tempo. Jordan looked about, creeped out at the odd stimuli, but no one in the courtroom was saying anything, or even reacting to the noises. It was almost like they couldn’t… hear them?

Hey, we should stay up and keep going, I want to push our progression. Wait what? Work? Eh, fuck that shit man, it’s just one night! You can make up the sleep later.

Do you want this last beer? We could get more afterwards too. What’s a few more gonna hurt?

Oh who cares about her, man? Let her go—she was too clingy anyway. You’ll find someone else. Just look at me! A new girl every week, that’s the way to go!

Look at that sale! 2 for 3 bucks? Fuck it, I’m sold! Oh, and that one too! Yeah, I don’t have much in the bank, but who cares? I can afford this—I’ll start saving up next month.

Hey, does anyone know where in the system we find addresses for customers? Huh? Whatever, I wasn’t listening when Dave ran us through it. He’s fucking boring man—just show me where I need to go, okay?

Ugh, I’m so stuffed. Oh, but some ice cream sounds nice…

Do I… do I make bad decisions? No, you’re right. It’s fine! Gotta live life to its fullest after all!

No, sis, I haven’t installed it yet. I’ve been busy, ya know? I’ll get to it soon. Promise! What? No, I told you—I can’t afford to take time off right now. Maybe next year, okay?

These are my… voices? He thought. Are these things I’ve said in the past?

The noise built up in intensity and pressed against him. The whispers were crushing him, applying force equally across every inch of his body. Jordan clawed at his ears trying to make them stop, babbling out excuses.

Jordan cried out. “It’s just a few silly choices—that’s all! Everyone makes them—it doesn’t make me bad! It doesn’t!”

The voices answered him.

Why should I go out of my way to help them? I got my own problems man. Look it doesn’t make me a bad person, besides, I heard those donation Santa’s are full of crap. I read this article, I’ll see if I can find it again and share it—you’ll see. Most charities are scams! I’ll keep my money, thanks.

I used it on lotto tickets, Jordan remembered. I was making up crap so no one would know. The article I referenced? I’d skimmed the title, nothing more.

The guilt became too great, and Jordan stopped trying to drown out the voices. They crashed into him, making him cringe as every stupid thing he’d said and believed was beat over his head. Like his life flashing before his eyes, but only the dumbest parts.

And with it, he understood—if just for a moment—how absurdly stupid he’d been his entire life. How many opportunities he’d waisted, or how many situations he’d made worse with his poor choices and words. His cheeks flared in shame as he struggled to remain standing. But he knew now. He was a fool.

“Foolish Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham, you were given a choice. You were offered freedom from your sins or the chance to willingly, in spite of your lack of memories and connections, take on the burdens of your past. While this court would have held you accountable one way or another, the fact that you were willing to shoulder that blame speaks of your worthiness for redemption. As such, this court finds you to be Repentant. The willingness to take responsibility for one’s actions is the first step on the path towards salvation. From this day forth, you shall be known as Foolish Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham, the Repentant.”

The feeling of force returned, but while before it had threatened to crush him, this time it formed a cooling balm against his shame-burnt skin. There was no resistance as it bathed him, gently seeping into his body to nestle into the cracks of his soul.

I’m sorry, I thought you’d be able to sleep in later, I-I didn’t know.

She’s going to be mad, isn’t she? You know what… just tell her I did it, okay? You shouldn’t have your fiancée pissed at you, right? Besides, it doesn’t matter if she hates me—I’m used to it! And it was just a vase anyway—we’ll chip in together to replace it.

Sorry about last week, ya know… I, ah…. hey, don’t you need the next weekend off for your kid’s birthday? Tell ya what—I’ll cover it. Yeah-yeah, I know, ‘you never cover for others!’ That’s slander, thank you very much! But I’ve gotcha covered.

…maybe I should call her. It’d be funny if just to hear the surprise in her voice if I did! Yeah, I think I will. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s weird she hasn’t called lately anyway, so it’s time for me to be a good brother and take initiative!

But I didn’t call her, Jordan remembered. I never reached out. I’m so sorry, Anna… I guess I’ll never get to speak with you again, will I?

The invisible molasses that covered him continued to slowly fill him, washing over and past the tears that tried to rinse it away. Every time he’d ever been sorry, whether he’d done something about it or not, came back to him.

His soul felt saturated as the energy bloated him, clinging to his sins like wet clothes dragging him down to the bottom of an abyss. He began to drown in guilt as he babbled out apology after apology. Because who knew? Maybe someone he hurt would hear him now. They deserved this much at least, and he’d do anything to repent for all the pain he’d caused.

“Foolish Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham the Repentant, due to your actions in the past you have been robbed of your understanding of the Ways of Virtue. You do not know That Which You Are. Listen now, for there is a Law you must know. It was laid down by the High King himself and states thus: Punishment Shall Fall Heaviest Upon Those With Power. The Freyhell family is the most powerful House of Demonkin, and possibly of all the Noble Families in the UKK. To you was gifted a life of opportunity and wealth that you squandered. While you are a Foolish, scared child that can be forgiven for much, this court must still hold you accountable for the seriousness of your crimes in proportion to the power wielded by you and your family. You are hereby asked… to kneel before this court.”

Jordan was confused by the request, but he could hear the Brat’s mother… screaming. In fury? It was drowned out in a heart stopping moment as the Judge raised a hand. An absolute presence filled the entirety of the chamber, and it was quiet. A pin falling would have sounded like a Yeeting child making a sonic boom.

“This shall be made worse for your actions should you fail to remain Silent.” The Judge addressed the people behind Jordan, and in the strangled air, he met Jordan’s eyes. Awkwardly, Jordan knelt on one knee. The Judge nodded in approval and began to speak out once more.

“You are ignorant of the importance of what is about to transpire. As such, this court shall explain what is happening for your own betterment. Of all the People, it is only the Demonkin which do not travel the roads leading to the Celestial City at their end. While all others enjoy its splendor for a time before they travel to Eternities of their own… to the Demonkin is given another path. While those of ill intent and evil heart are judged within those Sacred Halls to be cast out into the Realm of Asurias, to become tortured souls for their karmic debt, your kind instead travels there directly. They take up a duty there, named as sacred by some, or corrupt to others. Your kind becomes Hell Wardens. The very Demons of Asurias that oversee the Tormented, and in so doing, seek redemption for the sins of their Bloodline.”

He leaned forward, practically whispering his next words, yet filling the world with his volume. Something terrible was about to happen—Jordan could feel it in heart. In his… blood?

“But you… you will not be granted that path any longer. Not until you pay back the debt you caused by making the world lesser for your existence. In punishment, you are commanded to prostrate yourself and admit your failure as a Demonkin. You are commanded to Forsake your Pride, Proudborn.”

Force had enveloped Jordan in the past, but not this time. Instead, his limbs began to move of their own accord. Like a marionette dragged by its strings, Jordan lowered his second knee and gasped. Not in shock, or even protest, but in pain. Pure, unadulterated, agony.

His blood was moving in ways it shouldn’t.

It pulled away from the ground, resisting his presence on the floor. As Jordan leaned forward, slapping both palms of his hands to the ground, the wrenching feeling of vomiting filled him—only to be suppressed by the corset crushing his ribs. He alternated between dry heaving and sobbing, as his muscles twisted under rippling flesh like daggers tearing through his veins.

“No—please, ugh” Jordan tried to protest. He’d changed his mind—to hell with taking responsibility he wanted freedom! This wasn’t worth it! Something was wrong. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest as a fire within him… snuffed out.

Fire…? Sorrow unlike anything he’d ever known flooded him. He had lost something precious and had never even known what it was.

Energy was tearing from him, bleeding out, as his head lowered to touch the ground. His body folded in on itself as he kowtowed, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than he’d ever been in his life. He was being broken, and his vision blurred from the pain and tears. Blood red.

“I…” Jordan choked on words he wasn’t trying to speak. He wanted to scream, but he had to speak. “I am the s-shame of my family.” No, stop this! Please stop!

“I apologize for my rudeness. I apologize for betraying my family. I apologize for what I have done. I apologize for every false word I have spoken.” Jordan was trying to scream. He wanted to sob and wretch, and to beg them to let him stop. But he could do nothing but tear himself to pieces with words he couldn’t be speaking. He couldn’t.

But he did.

“I have failed the People. I have failed the Kingdoms. I have failed my Family. I have failed Myself. Please find it in your souls to forgive me. Please allow me to learn from my mistakes. Witness me as I seek a better Path.”

There was no going back.

“I Forsake my Passion of Pride, and I apologize with all that I am.”

As Jordan bent in the Dogeza and was forced to speak, he could feel something being stripped from him. Like being flayed, layer by layer, something was torn screaming, pulling, clawing from him the entire way out. It hurt more than his nerves would allow. It hurt more than his mind could comprehend. It hurt as only souls could.

When he finished speaking, he no longer felt a pressure holding him down. He no longer felt anything.

Anything except… cold. He just felt cold as he laid curled on the floor, knowing he was a lesser person in every conceivable way.

“This court… witnesses your shame, child. Your path will be harsh, but not impossible. It is this court’s hope that you will find your way back into the good graces of your kind. That you will be able to recover your pride, spawn of Asurias. Until then, you are damned. From this day forth, you shall be known as the Forsaken Fool, Lady Freyhell Aureliana Hortensia-Kellham the Repentant.”

There was no rush of energy. No feeling or emotion. Just the continued numb coldness as he knew the title the court gave him was a formality at this point. He had become damned the moment he’d Forsaken his Pride and bowed down. And he knew now, in excruciating detail, what that meant.

Something told him after all.

A Demonkin who Forsakes the rights of their Blood will not become a Demon—a Hell Warden—after their death. Instead, they shall become a damned soul. One of the Tormented. The pain he’d experienced just now was a taste of the Eternity that awaited him, because Death was only the beginning.

But I… don’t believe in life after death? Jordan’s excuse rang hollow in his mind. Who was he to claim to know the truth of anything when he was bowing before a man breathing fire? Even if God existed in the way Jordan thought he should… would that make a difference? Jordan was a self-proclaimed Atheist, and in this world… who knew what was true and what wasn’t.

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Jordan only knew… that the Judge had warned him that he would try to destroy him. He had warned him that there were worse things than death. But Jordan hadn’t believed him.

He’d made a joke about taxes instead.

“You may stand and take your leave now. This Court’s Proceedings are finished.”

And so am I, Jordan thought.

----------------------------------------

The world used to be brighter. It had also been warmer. Jordan was certain of that.

The journey back to the Freyhell Estates was quiet, and Jordan spent the trip wrapped in a blanket to stave off the non-stop shivering. It almost helped. Almost.

Once the family arrived, they retired to a study in one of the many buildings that made up the Estates. Still wrapped up like a sausage, Jordan was squished between Catella and Rahm on a couch. The Brat’s father sat in an opposite piece of furniture, staring off into the distance, as Mercia paced behind him. She hadn’t spoken a word since the Judge silenced her, but the fury pouring off of her was palpable. Spots on her forehead wouldn’t stop glowing.

A maid, not the Harlot Jordan noted, entered into the room after a while, bringing refreshments. She was followed by a few more servants, carrying additional liquids and treats, center of which was a tray of cookies. They smelled like cinnamon and Christmas mornings, and had a wonderful snap to them when Jordan bit into one. It was the kind of thing that would have brought him to tears with joy before. The warmth from the food and the two bodies next to him was almost enough to make him forget how cold he felt.

Almost.

“I’m going to kill him,” the Brat’s mother growled, “and don’t you dare try to stop me! When I get done with him…”

“Mercia.” The Brat’s father replied, “You know he was doing what was best for the People.”

“How can you defend him? After what he just did?”

“Just because it wasn’t what I wanted; doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. Besides, weren’t you making that argument yourself before the trial?”

Mercia glared, but returned to pacing. After a few more minutes in silence, she asked her husband, “Do you believe the Grand Justiciar will allow this ruling to stand?”

Constantine sat back in his chair with a long sigh. “Yes. He won’t overturn this. Aureliana was punished to the fullest extent she could be while allowing—”

“Maintaining,” Mercia interrupted, “the illusion of Redemption and Justice? To hell with that Justiciar and the whole damned Church.”

“Mercia,” Constantine said with worry, “I know you’re upset, but—,”

“But what?” She interrupted again, “She can’t come back from this. And that fucking Justiciar knew full well our agreement with the Westhells. Forsaken barely begins to cover what he just did to her!”

“I know, damnit!” The man erupted from his seat, staring Mercia down. “I know, but I refuse to give up on our daughter. We can find a way through this. Together. And I will never give up. I thought you wouldn’t either? Where is your steel, Mercia?”

They stared at each other for a few minutes as Mercia stood trembling in her fury. She eventually tore her gaze away and began pacing again. In the silence that followed, Constantine sat down again. Jordan ate another cookie absently.

The tension in the room was high, but unexpectedly Jordan… wasn’t as devastated as he felt he should be. He knew he was fucked six ways till Sunday. Unbidden, a memory from his past drifted into his mind. It was an awful memory, all things considered, but strangely enough, it made him feel better.

It’s probably because of how the cookies taste, he figured.

It was the memory of his first Christmas… alone. He’d gotten a little store-bought tree, plastic, and depressing, but easy enough to put together. When Christmas had come, he’d just… gotten up and sat there in his tiny living room. He didn’t cry, of course, but he did drink—enough to pass out, at least, and miss it when his sister called to wish him happy holidays.

Pro-tip: don’t get pass-out drunk on Eggnog. Doesn’t taste as good coming up later. He shuddered at that part of the memory, but in truth, as sad as the memory was, as haunting as the feeling of loneliness and bitterness had been, right now he felt almost happy. Almost.

A woman prowled in the background, furious because Jordan had been hurt. A small child sat shivering, holding onto Jordan as though he was her whole world. An old man sat next to Jordan quietly, offering stoic strength. The man brooding on the sofa opposite him was clearly scheming something, he had a look on his face Jordan had seen on his own father.

It had usually meant there was some problem he needed to fix and he was coming up with a solution—like the time he and Jordan’s brother had decided the kitchen needed a skylight because Jordan’s mom complained the kid’s didn’t get enough vitamin D. The old man just liked to have excuses to work on the house though, Jordan reminisced. His mother had probably come up with the request just for him to have something to fix.

Jordan ate another cookie, offering a piece to the koala next to him. She gratefully accepted, though her head kept drooping from fatigue. It’d been a tough day, after all, but Jordan… wasn’t alone. For the first time, in a very long time. As the Brat’s mother paused, looking like she wanted to shout about another new point, Jordan held up a cookie.

“Here.” He said.

“What? No, I’m fine dear. Listen, Constantine I—”

“Eat a cookie.” Jordan insisted.

The look Mercia gave him was almost priceless, but Jordan responded with… a [Perfect Smile]. It was almost too easy.

Staring between his smile and the cookie, eventually Mercia sighed, took the cookie, and sat down. The entire family—even Rahm—munched on the delectable treat. Things were almost okay.

“So,” Jordan finally said, “how hard is it going to be to do three workings, or whatever, anyway? Can I, like, learn to make artifacts?”

The Brat’s parents looked between each other, and Constantine answered him. “A working can cover many projects, sweetheart. Unfortunately, a greater working, such as the creation of an Artifact, usually entails a life’s worth of effort. Learning to make one is possible, but—”

“But such efforts,” Mercia picked up, “take decades. Centuries to some. If you Leveled high enough, perhaps you could? But to make more than a single Artifact in your lifetime would be, frankly, miraculous.”

Leveled? Huh, that almost sounded like… he shook the thought off. Focus, Jordan! There’s more important shit to think about here.

“If that’s the case…” Jordan asked, “how am I supposed to replace them? Are there other things I can do?”

Constantine nodded, “Yes. No one would expect you to take a Craftsman Class because of what happened. Sufficiently heroic deeds that impact the course of the Nation could allow—”

Mercia snorted and interrupted as she loved to do. “No one expects her to succeed in any case!”

“Darling,” Constantine replied, “This isn’t hopeless. We…” He trailed off as he met her expression.

“We have, what? Time? Time for what? To help her Level? To help her succeed in these impossible tasks? Unless the Westhells changed their terms without me knowing, I believe we have little in the way of freedom here.”

“Wait, what?” Jordan butted in. “Why don’t we have time?”

Constantine’s eyes narrowed at his wife. “You didn’t tell her?”

Mercia had the good graces to blush, looking away. “I wanted to wait until you got back. Besides, she had a great deal Straining her as it was.”

“Didn’t tell me what!?” Jordan demanded.

The Brat’s father ran a hand through his hair, sighing exasperatedly. “The price of your heart. You know it came from the Westhells, correct?”

As Jordan thought back, he did recall people talking about it. The Judge? But it, like most things however, had washed past him since it lacked any real context. Still, he nodded to Constantine’s question.

Constantine stood up, walking towards a large desk nearby. The dark wood accented the sturdy frame of its structure well, blending with the powerful, solid theme this study seemed to have. Rifling for a moment, Constantine pulled out a scroll and returned to sit back down.

“Along with political concessions,” he said, “increased financial support, and other requests typical of an Envyborn… they requested a union between our Families. It’s something the Westhells have wanted for generations, since our Houses formed really. It was only due to the backlash they would’ve received otherwise that they agreed to a Matrilineal joining.”

“Wait, union? What?” Jordan tried to meet the man’s eyes, but it was the Brat’s mother that answered.

“Marriage, darling.”

Jordan’s jaw hit the floor. They couldn’t be serious! Er… wait! “Matri-neal, or whatever, does that mean I get to marry a girl?”

He could… he could accept that. That was… that was fine! Well, marriage would suck, but as long as it was to a girl, then… that was way better than it could be. Could you even imagine if—

“What?” Mercia answered, chuckling softly, “Of course not, dear. The Church doesn’t allow for unions between People of the same gender. Matrilineal simply means that they will be marrying into our Family. Their Scion will take the name Freyhell rather than you taking the name Westhell.”

“No… that can’t be… No! I can’t marry a… a…!” This was ridiculous. They couldn’t possibly be suggesting this. It couldn’t be happening! He wasn’t gay—he couldn’t marry a man! He couldn’t!

“Sweetheart, its—” Constantine tried to speak, but—

“No! No, I refuse this! I won’t marry some dude! I don’t care! I won’t!”

“You don’t have a choice, Aureliana.” Mercia said flatly.

Jordan spun in his seat to glare at her, knocking Catella back with a soft protest. “Oh? Watch me! You can’t force me to do it after all.” He laughed scornfully at the woman.

“What’s going on?” Catella asked sleepily.

Mercia narrowed her eyes at Jordan. “The agreement has already been reached. You signing this Contract now is only to ensure that certain actions from you or the family are magically restricted. Given your Conditions, they anticipated issues. After you’re married, they’re requiring a period of no less than a year in their courts for ‘training,’ as they put it. Indoctrination is more accurate.” She spat that last part out.

Indoctrination? Like… “Mind control?” Jordan asked.

“That would be… a succinct, if crude way to describe it, I suppose. The Westhells are known for the strict manner in which they raise their family.”

“How is that even legal? How can mind control be okay?” Jordan shot back.

“Children,” Mercia scoffed, “like you Aureliana, must be raised properly. Properly instilling family and societal values is considered normal—not to mention it’s a common tactic to reinforce Beliefs to prevent Ego degradation from social combat. I’m the one considered foolish among the Nobility for not using my Skills to steer your development. Considering how you turned out, even I can’t help but wonder if they weren’t right.”

Constantine reached out to hold his wife’s hand. She turned away, trembling, but didn’t shake him off. “You did what you thought was best, dear. It’s not your fault.” He reassured her.

She replied, “I’m not so sure about that.”

In this world they really think mind controlling kids is the best solution? To protect against ‘social combat?’ That’s so fucked up! That can’t possibly be right! Jordan panicked.

“What the hell kind of dystopia is this?” He accused, “If I don’t sign this willingly, will you…?”

“Make you do it? Yes.” Mercia answered calmly. “Before you make me do that, however, I would like to remind you that you chose this path.”

“What? No one said I’d have to get married! I knew—”

“Knew what? That life would be hard? That you’d have to make up to society for what you’ve done? You—”

“Would you stop fucking interrupting me!? You—”

“Watch your language Aureliana! You will not—”

“Fuck you, you prissy little—”

“Ahhhhhhhhh” Catella cried.

“Oh great, see what you—”

“What I did? You’re the one screeching you harp—”

“Enough!” Constantine slammed a hand on the table, making the plate of cookies jump.

Jordan and the Brat’s mother stopped their brief exchange, though Catella kept sniffling quietly.

“Look,” the Brat’s father said, “I’m not happy with this arrangement either. But we had to either give into their demands, or lose you, Aureliana. Without the heart they provided, you wouldn’t be here. That is indisputable.”

Jordan wanted to shout more, but the trembling child glomming onto him made his fury peter out. He’d chosen this path in no small part because he didn’t want her to suffer, so he couldn’t bring himself to upset her more.

“I just…” Jordan sighed, “I just don’t want this, okay? Didn’t you say something about a demon graft, or whatever? Is it too late to renege on this deal?” He stared at Mercia.

“Far too late, dear.” She replied. “Conditions of the agreement prevent us from bypassing it so easily.”

“Why didn’t you choose it to begin with, then?” Jordan accused.

“Given the state you’d been in,” She answered him, “we’d have gladly picked it, your lineage be damned. But a Demon Grafting requires a Contract to be made, and you weren’t conscious. No one can be put into a Contract unconsciously, even if they can be… coerced.”

“But anyone conscious can just be made to do anything you want at any time? Is everyone always magically contracted to be perfect little angels then?” Jordan shot back.

“In point of fact, no. I can’t actually force you to sign the Contract with my Skills, it wouldn’t hold.”

Jordan glared at her, “Then how were you going to force me to sign it then? Because I refuse.”

She pursed her lips, fuming as Jordan initiated a staring contest.

“Aureliana,” Constantine said, “the Family already agreed to pay the price. While you can’t be forced into a Contract unwillingly, as our child we can and did negotiate on your behalf to save your life. Signing the Contract now is a formality to assuage them. If you refuse then—”

“Then I will have to ensure your compliance until such a time as you do sign, or are married off.” Mercia finished.

“With… mind control?” Jordan asked tentatively.

“With proper parenting you mean? Yes…” Her voice was laced with bitterness. Jordan hissed in frustration, but then knew she didn’t want to do this. Every moment of this conversation was torturing her. She—

Stop that! Jordan shouted in his mind. It was difficult, but he was getting better at picking up on when something was influencing his thoughts. Like some stupid skill he didn’t even want! He needed to find a way to check it sometime soon, at very least so he could help prevent moments like this. Thinking back, he remembered someone had used the word ‘menu’ before. One of the Judges? It was that ‘status slate,’ or whatever. Why does it sound so much like a…

“Aureliana,” Constantine mediated, “please understand. As awful as the situation is, it could have been much worse. The heart the Westhells provided is, in no uncertain terms, extraordinary.”

Jordan perked up a bit. “What do you mean?” God, I want a cheat power. I’m owed one, aren’t I? Fucking other world bullshit, he silently lamented.

The Brat’s father leaned closer and smiled, not unlike Jordan’s own father would have after being asked to explain something of a passion of his—like which sport’s team was sportsing harder in their sport, Jordan recalled. Jordan hated sports, but he missed those lectures now.

“Do you recall the nature of Spiritual Entities?”

“That’ll be a no, dad.” Jordan answered easily, almost like some ancient reflex from his own childhood.

Constantine gave him a silly grin in response before saying, “All Entities from beyond our own Material Realm are collectively referred to as Spirits—they’re all Spiritual Entities of one kind or another. From Elementals to Incarnae, Fae and Angels, to Demons.” He gestured around himself. Right, we’re all demon born or whatever, Jordan grumbled internally.

“Typically, in order to enter our Realm, these Entities must manifest their Essence into a physical presence. The reason a Demon Grafting can be so costly, is because aspects of your Pattern—the very structure and magical architecture of who you are—must be redirected to sustain the otherwise ephemeral part. In truth, as much as a Grafting is replacing a piece of someone, it’s taking away from it in equal measure.”

“Oh… kind of like, er, hair transplants?” Jordan was almost shocked he could say the word.

“Er, what?” Aaand of course they don’t even understand me the one time I can say something.

“Never mind. I think I get it though.”

“Fair enough,” Constantine replied. “The reason the heart you have is special, is because it is a physical heart. It isn’t a manifested construct.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “So? I think the Judge told me it came from a girl or something. What’s the big deal with a heart transplant?”

“What’s the big deal?” Constantine looked hurt, like Jordan’s father did after Jordan reminded him how much he hated sports. Aaaand, there’s the guilt. Yay. Jordan tried not to wince. He almost succeeded.

“I don’t think she understands the normal limitations, dear.” Mercia added in.

“Oh, right, of course. Well, transplanting organs between individuals isn’t viable without matching every possible variable. In short—unless we had another Demonborn of Pride with an [S] Rank Bloodline, it wouldn’t be an option.” Noting Jordan’s blank look, he added on, “You’re the only one that fits that description, dear. It’s part of what makes you special.”

There was pride in his voice, that was clear to Jordan.

“Oh.” Jordan said lamely. He didn’t feel special. Just cold, and a bit confused still.

Actually, given how finicky organ rejection is that kind of makes sense. Even my sister only got lucky with her heart because… Jordan’s thought stopped midway. There really were a lot of similarities between the Brat and his own sister. That was just… coincidence, right? His mind recalled the awful accusations from the Judges that he wasn’t real.

“Exactly,” Constantine said, misinterpreting Jordan’s faraway look. “So the fact that the heart of their daughter could work is astonishing.”

“But… how?” Jordan scrambled his brain, trying to distract himself.

“Yes,” Mercia jumped in, “I wouldn’t mind knowing the details either. Were you able to find out more?”

Constantine nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but I learned that their youngest, the one who passed away, was attempting…” He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered…

“A Demonic Apotheosis.”

Both Mercia and Rahm stiffened in response, gasping. Jordan gave off more blank looks, but it was Catella who beat him to the punch this time.

“What’s an a-poth-o-sis?” She sounded out.

“Apotheosis, dear.” Mercia absently corrected her youngest. “It’s… it’s a term used for those breaking the Level Six barrier. No Demonkin has ever succeeded, not since the Maou was crushed by the forces of the Deva and our kind was cursed. How could a child of all things even think of attempting it? What Level was she to think she could even try? What Class?”

Level six barrier? More terms that sounded like…

“She was a Non-Powered Core and Classless.” Constantine answered.

“How was an NPC even allowed to try this? It couldn’t have been possible, it—”

N…P…C…? Jordan’s mind was spinning.

“It’s possible.” Rahm said. The whole room stared at him.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” she said, shaking her head.

He only sat quiet and unmoving in response.

Is Rahm… upset? Jordan noticed. Why? And is he an expert on this kind of crap? Crap like… classes? Why does this sound so much like…? It can’t be. No, I—

“He’s right, Mercia. Despite the impossibility of even suggesting the emergence of a second Maou, all indications are that she should have succeeded, and become an Asura.”

“A new Maou? Madness! No Demon has broken the barrier in the millennium since his time! None! And what do you mean, she should have succeeded?”

Who the fuck is Maou? Jordan thought. Or is it… what the fuck is a Maou? Or an Asura? Is this more… anime crap? Damnit, I knew I should have paid attention!

“Exactly that. She should have succeeded. Her ritual was perfect, unlike anything ever witnessed! The Church came down hard on the Westhells, trying to bury it all. The girl only failed because her familiar betrayed her. That’s the one part I don’t understand really. While no one claims to have known what she was trying to do, anyone in her family should have been able to warn her about her familiar. It was like she didn’t even know she was setting herself up for betrayal.”

“Unless,” Mercia said, “they didn’t tell her for that reason.”

And no ones going to talk about the church ‘burying’ it all? Jordan was confused by the ease with which they seemed to accept that.

“You can’t be serious.” Constantine’s eyes lit up.

Mercia nodded back to him. “They’re Envyborn Constantine, why wouldn’t they?”

“It would mean sacrificing their child! That’s unthinkable!”

“For us, perhaps. But the Westhells are more prolific. They have children to spare.”

Constantine shook his head disbelieving, but slowly began to come around to whatever damn point the Brat’s mother was making.

“I think… I think you may be right. There’s no way she could have hidden this from them, and—“

“And if they kept a crucial stage of her ritual from her—”

“—they could let her die, stealing the ritual for their own use and—”

“—eliminating a rival before they rose to power. It’s so classically villainous, it’s almost boring.”

Jordan, bouncing between the spouses finishing each other’s sentences, jumped in.

“So… they set her up to die? And then just… sold her heart? Why not keep it?”

“Because the Core,” Constantine answered, “is what would be valuable to them. They likely had little use for the heart outside of a potential cure for a rare condition. They couldn’t have asked for a better situation to fall into their laps. And all because—”

“—one little girl didn’t know the first rule of summoning Demons.” Mercia shook her head sadly.

“What’s that?” Catella jumped in.

The two adults looked at each other. “Er, or they really did overlook it.” Mercia said guiltily.

“Huh?” Catella quirked her head.

“Sorry, little bug.” Constantine leaned forward. “I thought we’d told you before, but, when dealing with Demons always remember that a Demon’s Passion comes first.”

The look on Mercia’s face made Jordan think they probably had told her before, but she added nothing as Catella sat back, basking in the wisdom of the ancients. The whole room took on a somber air with the quiet contemplation. Such moments, where wise men listened and fools jumped in.

Fools like Jordan.

“Wait—what does a Demon’s Passion mean?”

“You don’t remember either?” The Brat’s father replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “Catella?”

The tiny brat shrugged, and Jordan hugged her closer. It was nice not to be alone in this.

Constantine leaned forward, grabbing a cookie before sitting back, looking thoughtful. After chewing it over, he spoke up again.

“Do you remember the story of the Scorpion and the Toad?” Jordan wracked his brain. He thought he could remember something about a scorpion and a fox, but even then, he wasn’t sure, so he shook his head. Catella perked up and squeezed Jordan’s arm as the two of them settled in for storytime. 

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