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Sins of the Father
Holston Family 4.9: The Mad Brother

Holston Family 4.9: The Mad Brother

“And so, we swear,” three voices rang out across the Grove. The words caused a vibration in the air for a second, a small but undeniable display of power, before all was quiet once more.

I look at Morgana, who had gathered her wits, and Regis who looked a bit weary but alert. We withdrew our hands from the trunk of the great tree, our oath sworn. The archdruidess had less certainty about her beneath the calm façade that she projected but she had insisted we go through the process regardless. I understood.

I had overpowered the Grove with the strength of my soul and shown my ability to manipulate the bindings that connect souls, artificial or natural. No doubt she was wondering whether the oath truly bind me. That said, her faith in “Mother Gaia” wasn’t shaken easily and even if it had been, I sensed a keen political mind behind the eyes of the stern grandmother so I doubted I would’ve gotten out of it.

Oh well, I thought. I’ve no issue with the oath and in the worst case, I will find a way out of it.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked Regis. The man had been shaken since waking up. His eyes snapped to me and I saw uncertainty radiating from his soul. I wished I could see further into his thoughts but I would need time for my ability to reach that level. His gaze told a familiar story of a man whose preconceptions had been shattered; a dangerous state of being if left unattended.

“I’m fine…,” he said. He averted his gaze which created a dissonance when compared to the commanding presence that I’d grown used to from the sheriff of Holsburg. I sent Morgana a look and she immediately picked up on my intention.

“Why don’t you wait for us outside of the Grove, Eric?” she asked, nodding toward me. I looked to Sybil. In an uncharacteristic fit of attachment, I felt a pang of discomfort at leaving her. I’m unashamed to admit that my revelation about the nature of the Sirens and the Mother Spirit had left my confidence in my situation shaken. Not because I questioned my capability but because I second-guessed whether I truly understood the ramifications of Libbu’s ritual. Seeing my uncertainty, Morgana offered a kind smile. “She’ll be fine. I can promise you that no place is safer than here.”

I walked away, only partially satisfied. I had to reevaluate some of my plans for the future. I would have to find the other Sirens and find a way to commune with the Mother Spirit in a more neutral environment. The Mother Spirit could not bind my soul but it still far outstripped my current power so I couldn’t be sure whether or not the Groves were safe for me.

I sighed.

Life grows ever more complex. I’ve been in the Physical for less than two days and I’m already feeling the weight of so many problems on my mind. For the first time since my “birth” as a human, I felt the gulf between my previous state of existence and my current state. The concerns and concepts of the world weren’t merely considerations that required solutions. They were physical things that made my chest tighten or my mind whirl with worry.

I wasn’t just in the Physical: I was a physical being.

For the briefest of moments, I felt like crying for the first time but like a winter wind, my will extinguished the anxiety of circumstance leaving only resolution.

I took my time on the trek to the exit of the demi-realm collecting my thoughts all the while.

***

Regis watched his wife stroke Sybil’s disheveled hair as she regarded him. He knew her concerns since it wasn’t as if he hid his troubled manner well. He never had been good at hiding things from people, least of all, Morgana.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her voice measured and gentle. He could say no and she would accept that. He loved that about her but he wouldn’t retreat this day. He wasn’t sure he could keep this bottled up.

“When Sybil tried to claim Eric…,” he said hesitating for a moment when he spoke the name. Eric: it had been the name of his grandson, his true grandson. Not the ancient monster inhabiting his body. “I felt his soul.”

“I thought as much,” she responded with a solemn nod. “It is an intense experience. I think the only reason that I didn’t blackout was that I’ve already been exposed to it although that paled in comparison to what just happened.”

“He wasn’t human, Morgi,” Regis stated. He met her gaze, a deep scowl on his lips. She was silent for a few moments. For some reason, he felt like he needed to justify his statement so he spoke again. “He might be a boy now but… his soul felt like a chained force of nature, cold and unstoppable. He… It wasn’t human.”

She carefully placed Sybil’s head down on the soft earth before making her way over to him. Her hand warmed his cheek and her eyes spoke of comfort.

“His soul has the shape of a man, love,” He met her eyes and couldn’t help but smile at the confidence therein. She always seemed so certain of her words, whether or not she had any right to be. “I know his strength is frightening but we know he spent too much time isolated in the Astral. We’ve seen what exposure to it does to sorcerers over time. Anyone would seem cold and alien after so much time there.”

He held her gaze for a moment then sighed. She had so much faith in her intuition, in Mother Gaia, and the prophecies of old. He lacked that faith. Unlike her, his knowledge of old lore worked against his desire to put his doubts aside.

“I didn’t see a man’s soul,” Regis said, his tone flat.

“What then?” Morgana said raising an eyebrow.

“I saw the Dying Wolf on the Shore.”

Her brow furrowed, a bit of hesitation breaking through her confidence. She searched his eyes for a silent breath before speaking again.

“Are you sure?” she asked. The soft shake in her breath belied the calmness with which she spoke her question.

“I am,” he said turning his gaze to the distant form of Eric crossing the lakeshore. “The Beast recognized its ancestor.”

She scowled and he couldn’t blame her. His mind lingered on the old legend, the myth that few even among the Graybacks believed to be more than a cautionary tale.

In the time of yore, when the beasts and men of magic were young, noble hunters filled the bellies of their tribesmen. The beasts of old measured their skill and judged their fates. An unskilled hunter would die to fang and claw while a skilled hunter might slip the grasp of death and return with meat for their tribe. However, even for skilled hunters, the laws of the land held fast. So, when Lycir, the greatest of hunters, thought himself above the old laws and ventured into the Forest of the Ancients, a place forbidden to men, tragedy struck.

For months, Lycir hunted in the forest. The beasts within the Forest of the Ancients were unlike any others: massive sizes, multicolored pelts, and unusual intelligence. It was said that the spirits of the gods caused these changes when they inhabited the beasts. The great hunter cared no for the tales, only paying mind to the meat and furs these beasts could provide.

His fellows grew round in the gut and women aplenty warmed his bed to bear him sons. Yet, one day, he ventured too deep into the wood while pursuing a great stag, larger than any other he’d ever seen. He found the stag on the shore of a crystal lake and near its might hooves, lay a dying wolf.

The beast had gray fur with bald patches spotting its pelt. Its eyes were milky white and from its maw and ears leaked a black ichor. Oddly, the stag showed no fear to the old predator and sipped from the lake as though it were in no danger.

Lycir in his hubris readied his spear for a mighty throw to take down the stag as it drank. He never got the chance. Faster than any man could react, the wolf attacked clamping its jaws around the hunter’s arm. Then, the man lost consciousness. When he woke up, he lay outside of the wood near his tribe’s camp and for the first time in his life, he returned without prey.

His wives tried to ease the pain of his ego with their soft flesh and his fellow hunters reminded him of his great deeds but it all felt hollow. That night, his doubt turned to hunger and the first shift occurred. Like a storm, he tore through his wives and children, their blood wetting his fangs. The hunters tried to stop him but they had grown weak while depending on Lycir’s skill and fell as easily as the women. When he came to his senses, a scene of carnage was all that awaited him and forevermore, his dreams played host to the Dying Wolf on the Shore.

For the rest of time, this tale would be a tale of warning and an omen to those who believed themselves above the laws of the land.

As if sensing his thoughts, Morgana’s lips touched against his bringing him back to reality.

“Remember, Mother Gaia freed Lycir’s son, Shir, of his curse when he swore himself to her,” she said. Her voice brought comfort to his shaken heart. “As Shir’s descendants, you and any other shifter aren’t bound to the Dying Wolf’s curse. You’re not a werebeast, Regis, and you never will be. You’re a Grayback, the best of your kind, and a pack leader at that. If you wish it, we can ask Eric how he is related to the Dying Wolf on the Shore but my intuition says to trust him.”

The troubled look on his wife’s face made him wish that he hid his worries. He would never do that since their marriage had been built on honesty and trust, for better or worse. Still, he wished for simpler times with easier truths; a pity such times were lost to them in the darkness of the Shadow’s Passing. Instead of responding to her with words, he pulled her close, and for a long moment, they embraced, the comfort of the other acting as a ward to the dangerous world in which they lived.

***

When I exited the Grove, I knew something was wrong. The air had a distorted quality to it that had nothing to do with my proximity to the ward. I focused my eyes on the environment, an action that had already become as easy as moving one of my limbs. Strange mana squirmed through space like a parasite in a wound.

What is this…, I pondered as I reached my will out to the strange mana. My influence alighted upon the supernatural energy as easily as any other but the moment that I pulled on the mana, my mind became a bedlam of visions and foreign voices.

I saw and heard of Untruths, Concepts beyond conception, and dark murmurs uttered in indecipherable languages. The parasitic mana wriggled changing the reality of the space around me to a landscape of twisted shapes and confusing colors.

“Damn, they got you, brother,” a voice said.

I whipped my head around to the source of the sound. From behind a tree, a man stepped into the open, He was massive, larger than Regis even by at least a couple of dozen centimeters. He wore a patchwork brown trench coat covered in stains of all colors, a pair of mud-covered boots, and a black bucket hat that looked well on its way to gray in certain spots. He scratched his bestubbled face and met my gaze. Three things became apparent immediately.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Despite his size and appearance, the man wasn’t much older than my current vessel. This man battled with a chaotic storm of emotions that could only end poorly. And finally, I knew that I had found another of my covenant mates.

As I stared into the unhinged gaze of the Mad Titan’s chosen host, I understood that, unlike the Languid King, no separation existed between this man and the Mad Titan’s monstrous soul. In this revelation-ridden pause, I got the feeling that I should say something, anything.

“Who are they?” I asked, unsure how to handle the man’s erratic temperament.

The whispers grew louder and bolder when the question left my lips. I could make out bits and pieces about mana and watchers but the whole meaning eluded me. The man’s face darkened.

“Them’s that watch, that’s who. They’ve got schemers in their lot who’re lookin to corrupt our brains,” he said inclining his head at me with one eye wide. “You’ve got the eye on you, brother.”

“The eye?” I repeated my confusion mounting. Then, it clicked. “Are you talking about the Akashic Records? I’ve—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence. Suddenly, he stood right in front of me, his inhuman stature towering over my much smaller body. His face was inches from mine and a sour smell entered my nostrils.

“They’re tryin’ to subvert you, brother, but don’t worry,” He withdrew his face staring down at me. “I won’t let ‘em have you.”

Before I could respond to the nonsense, his massive fist collided with my chest driving the air from my lungs. Instinct, stronger than I had ever felt it, drove my mana into action despite the headache that followed in the wake of my sorcery. My body strengthened just in time to weather a collision with the tree that had been a few meters behind me.

I felt my ribs crack along with the thick bark of the tree upon contact and gasped at the sudden pain. Before my body could fall to the ground, a large hand gripped my face lifting me into the air. His other hand came toward me, fingers curved as if he held onto something.

Something primal took over my actions yet unlike the furious, hot survival instincts of humans, I felt whole for the first time since my revival. A cold, familiar clarity enveloped my thoughts and subsequently, my actions. There was a sudden separation between my existence with my soul and my physical body.

It matched my time in the Astral as I controlled my chosen cadavers like a master puppeteer.

In less than a second, I observed the Mad Titan’s other hand, the one not holding my face, with my mana sight. It held a wriggling bundle of the same strange mana that warped the environment around us. At the same time, I brought my hand up to the man’s arm.

A sharp snap rang out when I utilized a portion of the meager amount of psykhe at my disposal to warp the shape of my assailant's body. I had never used fleshwarping with psykhe before but in theory, I knew it would be more effective than pure mana since, unlike pure mana, psykhe contained the Truths of the Soul many of which were tied to the nature of Physical mortal existence.

A technique that should’ve merely caused a sudden muscular spasm resulted in the offending arm being bent back at an unnatural angle. A bloody bone jutted out of the stripe of flesh that had been the inside section of the elbow.

Needless to say, he lost his grip. I felt and he looked at his mutilated arm like someone had just shared an interesting fact with him. Ignoring his response, my mana moved again, this time focused on my other hand. Like a snake, I launched an attack against him aiming for his heart.

His eyes snapped to mine and instead of his chest, my hand met air, courtesy of a swift backstep. I touched down more like a beast than a man, one arm and two legs on the ground, my back hunched, and my legs bent in a leaning crouch.

Blood dribbled from my nose onto my lips mixing its iron scent with the earthy notes around us. I drew up to my full height, each of us keeping the other’s gaze all the while. Then, I spoke.

“Stop.”

The command washed over the Mad Titan. He tilted his head to the side and frowned.

“Brother, the only ones who can stop me are the United States government and my mama,” he said; more nonsense to add to the pile.

I lunged forward like a coiled spring aiming low to exploit his height. The environment shifted again but this time, I saw it. The strange mana contracted, distorting the dimensions. Instead of my attack arriving at a lower angle, I came at chest level, almost two meters higher than my intended target point. He pulled the fist holding the wriggling mana back like one would when throwing a haymaker. I sailed forward unerringly tunneled into an easy path for his fist by the power of his strange mana.

In my calm, I adjusted to the new scenario. I couldn’t dodge and I judged the wriggling mass in his fist undesirable. Inherently, I knew taking the attack would cause great pain far beyond the scope of the physical damage it could deal. The Mad Titan sought to twist something that ought not to be twisted. I didn’t know why but I wouldn’t allow him to do so.

I activated a fleshwarping technique on my body. I had adjusted for the increased efficiency of psykhe but there was another factor for which I failed to account— Akasha’s rituals. My body responded to the technique smoothly accepting the change with the barest hint of psykhe; so, the rest of the mana I had devoted pushed the technique beyond normal limits. If it weren’t for my will directing the mana within my body, I might have accidentally ensured my failure.

My body twisted in a way that would break several bones and tear a few tendons in a normal human. Driven by my earlier strengthening technique and my latest technique to increase my elasticity, I avoided my opponent’s fist. My hands clasped around his biceps while a sharp turn of my core brought my legs around his neck. I released the elastic technique and poured more of my psykhe into the strengthening of my body.

Like a vice, my thighs choked the air out of his windpipe while my upper half held his arm. He reeled back from the force of the impact almost falling over backward. At the last moment, he stopped, his head only a dozen centimeters from the ground and his back bent over fully. I brought one of my hands down on his chest, once again aiming for his heart. That was the plan at least.

One moment, I had him in my grasp and then, we were standing a meter apart while he eyed me suspiciously as though I were the strangest of us. He smiled wide, his eyes going from perplexed to playful in an instant. His mana stilled yet I sensed that it wasn’t inert.

No, he had seized complete control of the strange, nonsensical power.

He inhaled a deep breath but not only air responded. The dozens of wriggling masses in the environment raced toward his open mouth. I wasn’t sure what to make of the scene but I sent a Psykhe Bolt at him to interrupt whatever he was doing. The attack struck his chest but did no physical damage. It struck the Mad Titan’s soul directly jarring the mass of mana accumulating within it.

The man started wheezing like I had knocked the air from his lungs. I ran at him hand outstretched to grab ahold of his arm which still clutched a bundle of his mana. Our eyes met once more and a crooked smile crossed his lips.

He brought the grasped mana to his lips and it disappeared down his gullet. The presence in the air changed like an odd dream had transformed into a horrific nightmare. His broken arm snapped back into place with a sickening crunch. The bone still protruded from the flesh catching a bit of discolored sunlight as he pointed his finger at me.

Within his soul, the wriggling mana, now recovered after my interruption, moved in a pattern near-identical to my Mana Bolt technique. It was the same way I had channeled psykhe into the technique.

Did he copy me? I wondered right before the bolt slammed into my head. Mental strings snapped and suddenly, I wasn’t who I was but who I had been. The color of indifference painted the world and the cold clarity that I felt grew deeper and colder.

Why am I bothering with this mortal? In less than a second, my hand transformed into a claw of strong sinew, chorded muscle, and sharp bone. As the hulking madman charged, I swiped my claw across the area where his throat would be.

Reality distorted again and I hit nothing but I had been prepared for the shift. My other hand lunged to the side slightly out of my peripheral. There, it closed around soft flesh. I turned my head and tilted my head at my attacker.

A fist hovered a couple of centimeters from my face off to the side. He smiled wider looking more like a caricature than an actual person. His eyes were filled with swirls of prismatic light.

“The Prince of Chaos greets the Undying Dreamer!” he roared.

The fingertips of my hand around his neck elongated into small claws which drew blood.

“Stop your blathering and concede. Breaking a covenant would hinder my path,” I said. My voice lacked any inflection or tone sounding more like that of a machine than a man. Instead of responding, he laid his previously clenched hands on my shoulders.

“Oh king of mine, our dream blood must mingle for the Truth to fill our fragile bones!” He said with tears in his eyes. His head reared back causing my sharpened nails to tear deeper into the sides of his throat. A sorrowful cry escaped his throat. “Ah! But the meat is weak, my dearest brother. Only the gray flesh will suffice.”

I had no idea, even with my machine-like clarity, what the Mad Titan aimed to communicate with his words. Unfortunately, I had no time to think about their meaning because as soon as he finished speaking, the man’s head whipped forward. Our skulls connected like a hammer on steel and I felt something snap, literally and figuratively.

The impact didn’t just happen on the bodily level. Somehow, the madman caused a collision of our souls. All my thoughts were scattered by a wave of pain that split through my skull and soul.

The Mad Titan’s mana surged at the point of contact and my small reserve of psykhe rose to meet it. Another collision rocked our souls, one of madness and spirit. Rather than rebuff one another, the two types of mana coalesced blurring the barrier between our souls.

Then, I was the Mad Titan.

I knew things that I shouldn’t know so I forgot them yet the echoes of forbidden knowledge left their mark. I chased the Crawling Shadow to a place that didn’t exist. Why? I couldn’t say. I had forgotten that too but the desire for pursuit remained. The Crawling Shadow and I clashed. I would lose, of course. I could not match an Aspect but I could wound it with my existence as the price. I said the words and reality cracked.

There were things even Aspects shouldn’t know.

My soul stretched like dough being worked by an expert baker. Hundreds of memories from the Mad Titan entered my mind and conversely, my memories entered his. For the briefest of moments, the Mad Titan and I were closer than I had been with any other.

Then, it was over.

I stood in front of him, not as a cold machine of mana and purpose but as I had been at the start of the meeting. My pain was gone and his arm was fine. Neither of us bore any marks of the conflict that had occurred. The only hint of what had been was his hands on my shoulders.

“Haha! My bad, brother,” he said cheerfully, his hands patting my shoulders. “I thought the eyemen were tryna mess with your brain but you’re an inside man, hehe!”

I blinked at him, unsure what to make of this development.

“Ricky Ray Holston!” a familiar voice said in a sharp tone. I looked toward the warded entrance to the Grove where the sound had originated. There, Regis and Morgana stood watching the two of us with mixed expressions. Regis wore his troubles plain as day. Morgana, the one who had spoken, looked every bit the part of a stern matriarch.

Ricky’s eyes widened in alarm and he realized how much he loomed over me.

“Oh now, we wasn’t doin nothin, Auntie,” he quickly said. He patted my shoulders several more times as if to emphasize his point. “Me and my brother was just talkin, that’s all.”

Morgana’s eyes shot up and she exchanged a charged glance with Regis whose troubled expression only deepened.

“Eric is your brother?” Morgana asked, her tone serious as opposed to confused as I would’ve expected.

“Sure as mama spins ‘round the sun.” He nodded at me.

“Yes…,” I said, my wits slowly gathering themselves. “We were just setting each other right.”

I frowned when the words left my lips. Why did I use that expression?

“Damn straight!” Ricky said with a laugh. He smacked my back which sent me stumbling forward a step. “Anyway, I’m gonna get going. I gotta mark sure none of them nefarious organizations with spy on our family meeting.”

He walked away leaving us in the wake of his babble.

“Do you know, Ricky?” Morgana asked as she walked over to stand beside me. I sensed the hidden meaning behind the question.

“He bears a fragment of Gaia, same as I,” I said, confirming her unspoken thoughts.

“I suspected as much after hearing your story,” she said. “I get a similar feeling when I’m around him as I do from you but he never lets anyone touch him so I’ve never been able to check.”

“He doesn’t let you touch him even though you are blood?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. I could see Ricky being so mercurial but if he was of the Holston family, it made little sense that had never been able to discover his fragment. Unfortunately, the memories that I had gained from the Mad Titan hadn’t included any from his time on Earth.

“He’s not our blood,” Regis said. The proclamation had no venom in it despite his poor mood, only a statement of fact. “He wandered into town after the war with the Aristocracy.”

The question must’ve been obvious on my face because Morgana jumped in after Regis to answer.

“When he moved into town, he introduced himself as Ricky Holston,” she explained. “He said that his brother’s last name was Holston so that was his last name too. Thing is, none of our kin claimed him. Some of the pack tried to force him out of town but it… didn’t work.”

“Was he beyond you or Regis?” I asked, a scowl forming.

“We could’ve and we might’ve if he caused any trouble but I had a good feeling about him so I’ve let him stick around as long as he doesn’t bother anybody.” A small smile graced her face. “It helped that he refers to Mother Gaia as mama and likes to talk about her with me. On top of that, my younger sister didn’t take long to start treating him like some kind of lost-lost child, and nowadays, everyone treats him like family even with his… peculiarities.”

“Hm,” was my only response.

In short order, we headed back toward town with little more than a few words between us. I couldn’t commit to much more than that. I wouldn’t have admitted it but I was in shock from my encounter. The ordeal had not only been confusing and strange; it had changed my soul. My spiritual senses combed over my soul as I tried to grasp the reality that I was seeing.

My soul wasn’t unstable anymore and under the links of the iridescent chains of psykhe, a sheen of psykhe had manifested over the surface of my soul. I spent most of the walk mulling over a single question.

What happened between the Mad Titan and me?