New World I

●●● Richard's Room●●●

A normal Saturday morning from Irwin consisting of waking up at 03:00 a.m., eating a protein bar and decaf coffee for breakfast, and having to run down two blocks to catch the bus to work. Then by five, he'll be neck deep in the toilet, because his manager hates him for being two minutes late. By seven, he'll leave latrine duty and start serving people's coffee which, when working near a ten semi-famous law firms, means half of the people who orders at his job spits, demeans, and yells at him.

By the time he clocks off at twelve noon, he'll begrudgingly trudge downtown to meet his sister, whom some junkie got pregnant at an early age and now needs extra money to feed her child. Now, Irwin doesn't hate his sister, neither does he love her, but, still, a part of him hates the fact that just because she fed him for two years before he got a real job, doesn't mean she could begrudge off of him for almost a decade. But, he doesn't say that. No, he says he is thankful for her help and if she somehow could budget the fifty dollars, he gives her this week. Which, by all means, is what all he has.

Then he's off to his second work, he works he actually likes where he'll spend eight hours watching and talking to people whose lunch and dinner is his monthly salary. But all that was worth it when Dr. Giselle Braullheim, German sex therapist, clocks off and spends a few minutes ordering him around and generally loitering around the office.

They would about anything, everything, and, essentially, nothing. Just filling up both person's daily socialization quota, barring, of course, the people they talk to during office hours as that was purely for business. Irwin, back then, had rad enjoyed working in her office. She would often advise him on his personal and familial relationship, easing him on days where his sister would scavenge him like a vulture on meth. Of course it wasn't a one-sided friendship, Irwin being a blue-collar worker had learned to spot verbal cues and body language, or so he says, and would often recount the things he noticed on the doctor's client, before and after their sessions.

But now? Now that he's rich, handsome, and powerful? Irwin would never have to do that again, at least not out of necessity. Every action and decision in his life would be on the comfort of financial stability. A concept millions had deign to achieve yet few have possessed, and now he is one of those people.

A laugh escape out of Irwin as he held his hands behind his head, lounging on his large bedroom, atop his enormous bed, viewing the sloping hills and the crystalline sunrise of the Lisbon Valley port. It was quite a view, one that was worth thousands, yet here he was, enjoying it all to himself. "This. Is. The. life"

Bang!

"It certainly is."

The door to his room closed with a bang as a curvy figure entered with a snarky remark. Ellaisa, wearing her usual skimpy maid outfit, trudged towards Irwin, in her hands is a silver tray bedecked with an ornate glass bottle of an orange liquid, a plate full of smoking hot pancakes topped with cinnamon maple syrup, a shot glass full of chocolate syrup dipped with peppermint sticks, and a bowl of chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs.

"Master Richard."

"W-What? oh, sorry. Was I drooling?" Irwin wiped his mouth of the saliva as he beckoned the tray towards him. "Give me."

Ella cleared her throat as she raised an eyebrow. "What's the magic word?"

"Screw you?" He snorted, but seeing Ella's stern glare, he stopped. "I'm sorry. Give it to me. Please."

Ella merely hummed, pleased by their changing relationship, before placing the tray atop his lap. "Enjoy."

"I sure will." He replied, taking a deep breath before diving into his meal. He folded his pancake and gave them a chocolate bath before devouring it whole, moaning in delight as he munched the chocolate coated fluffy cakes. "You know, you don't have to wear that thing. You look like a pervert in that."

"Says he who made me wear it." She retorted, casually sitting on the bed as her hands drifted towards the tray of food, which was gently slapped away.

"I don't share my food." Irwin's tone brook no argument yet he dare say that her aggrieved expression would melt anyone's heart. "Fine. Pick one."

She hummed joyfully as she circled her hand above the tray like a vulture eyeing its prey and pounced upon the peppermint sticks. "Thank you. And I adore the outfit. Sue me."

He hummed in return, fully concentrating on the food before him which he shared with her. Comfortable silence reigned in the room as they enjoyed the food.

"So," Irwin started, breaking the stalemate. "You good?"

"A vague question to start off a morbid topic, is it?" She observed, a sweet smile on her face. "But I suppose anything you say would sound like a terrible start."

"Hm. I never remembered you to be this much critical of me. Ella." He too observed back, not daring to match her gaze, which was boring into him.

"Call it character development."

"In just a dew days?"

"Bad character development, then." She retorted. "It's not like I wanted to. I killed my mother for you."

"Right. Well, you know of the werewolves in the clan, right?"

"Yes. Though mother said it was some form of Gift given for meritorious service." She expounded on her understanding of the situation. "Being a werewolf is one of them and that my mother would gift me that... werewolf gift."

"That's the gist of it." He nodded at her explanation, impressed by her somewhat nonchalance regarding the supernatural. "But to add on. Um, the Ancestor, the old guy we were fighting, and Wallace were part of the family's dark past. Not relevant to our story. But they wanted to come back to England to take revenge for this organization, the Men of Letters, for killing much of our kin, our clansmen. They needed control of our family and its assets and, since Archie handles all of that shit. Now, both Archie and I refused them, so they tried to kill us. Which failed, terribly so, and thus ended our werewolf bloodline, seeing as I cured Annalise, and the family's vendetta against the Men of Letters, barring, of course, a couple of our clan members return to the manor and infect all of us again. But that's like a nil chance of that happening."

"Wow." was all she said after hearing his spiel. Of course, no one could blame her for even Irwin, who was part of the clan and had experienced half of his words first hand, was still unbelieving of the events.

"It's a lot, I know. But it's in your best interest to know that your mother was indoctrinated and was following a hopeless cause. She became a werewolf to kill people, Ella. And we had to stop her. In this case, you had to stop her. You did a good job."

Ella stared at him for an entire minute, breathing through her nose as if digesting all the information she was just given. "Thank you for telling me that."

"No problem. Look, if you need help or want me to at least have a funeral for her..."

"No, no. I'm the only family she had. Dad died when I was young. I was like 5 or 6, I met you and had this crush on you."

"You did?"

"Yeah, yeah. You were so confident, but a bit of a dick to my mom. Which I hated, but I thought, you know, I could fix you and all." She chuckled at her words, thinking back to their childhood.

Irwin joined her once the system brought back the memory from within his mind. "A bit would be understating it."

"You know I wanted to go to college? Wanted to major in film design, but Mom told me to just be here. Help her and all that."

"I remember you leaving for a year, though."

"I had to be rebellious, you know. It can't always be you." She chuckled, biting her lips to stop the tears. "She was so mad at me for that when I came back. But still... she welcomed me back."

"I remember helping you get out. I mean, I wanted to come with you, but we needed a scapegoat. So, why'd you come back?"

"I-I just felt like it." Although she remained taciturn regarding the reason for returning to the manor, Irwin could not help but notice the tears that fell one by one atop her crystalline eyes.

"I really am sorry, Ella. I hope you forgive me." He changed the subject soon after. "I would really need a friend right now."

She hummed, gently wiping the tears. "I'll forgive you, but I won't forget it. And you owe me one."

"Of course."

"Oh, and I get to have half of your food."

Irwin hesitated for a second before reluctantly nodding. "Not the nuggets."

"Oh, and I won't wear this slutty outfit anymore."

"I told you to remove it."

"No, you didn't. Pervert." She muttered, bringing her hand across her chest, hiding it from him.

He chuckled at her actions. "So... friends?" He tried to sound hopeful as he brought his pinky up to her.

Ella had an amused expression on her face as she sighed before meeting his pinky with hers and enveloping it. "Friends."

"Nice." Irwin laughed, relief pervading his senses as he now had at least gained the initial trust of a member of the manor. "Now get the fuck out."

"What? Why?" She then looked at their touching fingers and had realization on her face. "Oh, god. Don't tell me you're going to masturbate at this?"

"What? NO!"

"Oh, my god. You're such a creep." A smile on her face betrayed her angry tone as she removed herself from the bed and moved to the door in disgust.

"I-no! I don't masturbate." Her accusation perplexed and shamed Irwin as a blush came upon his face. "I-I have sex!" He stated, a bit too loudly.

"Haha! Yeah, sure." She chortled as she closed the door with a chortle.

"I don't- I have--"

Bang!

"Nope, forgot about all of that. That did not happen." Irwin closed his eyes and tried to bury the embarrassment deep in his mind alongside his original cause of death. "That did not happen."

●●●●●

"Now that breakfast's finished..." Irwin dusted off the crumbs on his nightwear as he commanded his system.

■■

Name: Irwin Bellios/ ...Richard Greythorne IV

Age: 23

Race: Baneblood (Human)

Blood Type: 0 Negative

---

Level: 01

Job: Please Select!

Last Hunt: Pure-blood Werewolf (2nd Generation)

■■

'What's the job thingy?' He asks.

[Job: refers to the integrated power system in the Great Hunter System. Added to the system by the second iteration, |Job| allows the host to gain, match, or surpass the prowess of most, if not all, supernatural entity through a natural progression called Leveling. Initial |Job| choices consist of three archetypes that includes; a set of skills, customised weapon, and a special item in theme with the selected ||Job|]

"Coolio." A grin appeared on Irwin's face as he took a sip of his orange juice. "Select Job."

■■

[Initial Job Choices:

▪︎ Demon Hunter

▪︎ Silver Squire

▪︎ Wiccan Apprentice

Next Job advancement will be on Level 05 ]

■■

"Elaborate all three." He ordered, getting the hang of establishing controls with his system.

■■

[Demon Hunter:

Skill Set: Blessed Blood [Lvl 01]; Infernal Tracking [Lvl 01]; Meat Suit Depravation [Lvl Max]

Weapon: Customized ranged/melee weapon coated with the effects of |Divine Aura|

Special Item: Samael's Coin]

[Silver Squire:

Skill Set: Bound Armor [Lvl 01]; Fortitude [Lvl 01]; Extreme Force [Lvl 01]

Weapon: Customized ranged/melee weapon forged from Silvered Star

Special Item: Van Helsing's Trench Coat]

[Wiccan Apprentice:

Skill Set: Human Magic [Lvl 01]; Natural Order [Max]; Arcane Resistance [Lvl 01]

Weapon: Indestructible Hex Bag

Special Item: Ereshkigal's Amulet]

■■

"Hmmm?"

Irwin was now stuck in a crossroads, metaphorically. He would never be at a crossroads if he had a choice.

The Greythorne's were originally part of an order of knights called Silvered Knights, so he figured that might be what the job is alluding to. Although most of the skills are physical in variety, seeing as he'll eventually become a knight, the specialized artifact is rather enticing. "Show information regarding 'Van Helsing's Trench Coat'"

[Van Helsing's Trench Coat: A piece of clothing belonging to the ancestor of a clan of vampire hunters. Enchanted by the Grand Coven Matriarch, Olivette, the coat provides the host, with thermoregulation and protection from all unenchanted weapons and projectiles. It also contains the host's scents and movement preventing creatures from hearing or smelling the host.]

A pretty good item, he thought, practical and stylish.

Irwin then imagined himself wearing the coat and hunting down vampires atop the roofs of Los Angeles. His double-action revolver in hand as he unloads a dozen bullets at the monster, its body tumbling down the alleyway. He will then take out his grappling line and descending next to the monster, pointing his gun at the shuddering vampire. He'll then say, "I thought bats could fly?" and explode his head.

"Eh, pretty good." He took another bite of his nuggets, thankful he didn't let Ellaise devour it like she did the other food. "Now, do Samael's Coin."

Probably relates to Lucifer, he thought. "Jesus, fuck. I forgot about Lucy. Know what? Led the brother's handle it. They can handle it, yeah."

[Samael's Coin: Named after its creator, the favourite son, Lucifer, the coin contains a sliver of his primordial grace and liquified essence. It allows the user to command, compel, or order Infernals and Spirits whose essence ranks lower than Samael of the First Light. The host's command, compulsion, or order have varying degrees of success, the higher the entities' rank goes compared to the host's. Also provides the host with one (1) free consumable ticket to Hell.]

"Not bad. Free ticket to hell without going through official demon channels, Purgatory, or opening up a Hell's Gate might be good." He muttered, dipping his nuggets in the chocolate cup before devouring it. "But that command of the demon and ghost thing might be better..."

Irwin imagined himself leading an army of demons and ghosts against the host of heaven. The Hell Knight, Abbadon, at his helm commanding his army with the help of his Demon Prince Generals. His Dullahan cavalry taking out the Grigoris while his revenants and Soul Eaters make sure all the Angel's blade belong to him in the aftermath.

"Hehehehehe" Irwin chortled as he took a sip out of his chocolate cup. "I could get used to that."

He would've chosen that job then and there, but he restrained his impulse and asked for information about the amulet.

[Ereshkigal's Amulet: Fashioned out of the Great Earth Mother's blood and bones, the amulet holds a great power that allows arcane practitioner or magical entities over their hold of magic. The crystal embedded within its center provides the host with a conduit with which to use magic for, allowing such to free their hands for more practical uses. Allows for easier commune with the Sumerian pagan gods.

"Interesting." He imagine himself controlling a skyscraper as it launched itself towards a gigantic figure whose form was hidden by the white clouds. The esoteric inscriptions traced around his body as it unleashed a volley of crimson javelins, hurtling towards the cacophony of demons as it pierced and assaulted their possessed meatsuit. He could just feel the enochian magic pervading his essence as he travels back in time and kill baby Hitler. Or baby Stalin. Whichever was the easiest, he suppose.

"Yeah, shit's the best." He muttered. "Plus, it'll help me set up the Ward."

Torn between Demon Hunter and Wiccan Apprentice, Irwin stood up and walked towards his room's balcony. He disregarded the Silver Squire for its reliance on physicality and general vitality, seeing as he's physique would probably not match up to the demands of the job. Also, although the trench coat was practical and cool as hell, its effects were not up to par compared to the other two.

He took a sit on the balcony chair, overlooking the men littering around the courtyard as they prepared their tools. Speaking of which, Irwin thought of Samael's Coin and its handy manipulation abilities. Yes, it could force demons and spirits to bend to his will. They could still resist if powerful enough or if he was having a bad day. Too much uncertainty for an artifact meant for dealing with creatures that were raised from the worst place in the universe. Though the job skills complimented the Coin, it was far too specialized to his liking.

And that leaves the Wiccan Apprentice, a job that allows him to wield magic and warp reality as he knows it. "Pretty fun."

"Alright, System. Select Wiccan Apprentice as a job."

■■

[Congratulations! You have selected |Wiccan Apprentice| as your initial |Job|]

[Congratulations! You have activated the sub-function of the |Skill| Window: Magik Skill]

[Ding! Added Human Magic [Lvl 01] to your |Job Skill|]

[Ding! Added Natural Order [Max] to your |Personal Skill|]

[Ding! Added Arcane Resistance [Lvl 01] to your |Job Skill|]

[Ding! Ereshkigal's Amulet and Indestructible Hex Bag can now be retrieved in |Rewards Counter|]

■■

[Detected a Spell Scroll in |Trade Counter|. Would you like to add the spell into your |Magik Skill|?]

■■

"Uh, yeah."

■■

[Ding! Added Ward Of Obviation [Lvl 01] to your |Magik Skill|. You can now cast the spell using the system function.]

■■

Irwin hummed in joy as he perused his skill window, which was now much thicker than his previous review of it. "I think this might be enough to handle a few demons and, wait, 2006... so that's where Azazel was recruiting his kids, right?"

Irwin cursed himself for forgetting much of the early Supernatural plot, though he could blame no one but himself seeing as he had just binged the show not but three weeks ago. He remembered Azazel's children being fed blood on their birthdays and that most of them had live mothers. Only a few mothers interfered in the feeding process and got toasted alive. One of them being Mary Winchester.

"Alright. So, John's dead, which is a shame, to be honest. The dude is a dick, but he's a skilled hunter. The two are probably doing the Rakshasa case, or being shit on by Gordon Walker. But— No, I shouldn't interfere yet. Sam could kick my ass with his damn long legs. Need experience or just level up and see if I can get more skills." Irwin decided so. It's not like they or anyone important will die in a while, he reasoned out.

"Don't let it fall on you!"

The yells of the worker brought him out of his reverie as he stood up, finished his meal, and prepared to leave the room. "Time to snuggle up to a rich old man."

●●●Main Study●●●

Following the death of the Greythorne Ancestor and his werewolf lackeys, Archibald decided it would be best to abscond with the bygone duty of his family and begin anew, hoping it would usher in a new era for their youths. Per his son's suggestion, which astonished him, accomplishing his new, grand task could do well with starting by demolishing the ancient oak tree planted atop the courtyard. And so, Archibald hired a local logging company to remove the tree, but, much to his further astonishment, his son soon had another suggestion.

"Hiring the local highschool?" Archibald asks, raising an eyebrow at his son's suggestion. Setting down the newspaper and his coffee, he locked eyes with Richard, who had a forced smile on his face. "Why?"

"Well, we just had an FBI agent investigate around town, and, according to him, someone pointed out our rather peculiar activities. Archie, we need to protect our family's image and, first things first, is to donate that dead tree to the local highschool. In fact, maybe we could involve them in the removing process, have some press picture us replanting it on their campus, and, I don't know how rich we are, but maybe donate to the local library." Irwin, who was having a terrible time when called Richard, explained his reasoning. Although he agreed with Archibald's idea of regaining a semblance of normality in their screwed-up family, his ideas were large scale.

'Don't forget about the little guys, man.' He thought as most of Archibald's idea involves the Governor of California.

Archibald's face contorted over his son called him 'Archie' yet felt that his words had meaning to them. He had a pensive smile as he said. "Hmm, a rather interesting thought. It would be a shame to get rid of such a fine tree. Well, then I will get right down the town and talk with the mayor—"

"No. I'll do it, and you stay here to supervise the workers who know what they'll uncover in that courtyard. Jesus, there might be the bones of dinosaur there." Irwin quipped, chuckling at his little joke.

"My word, you really did change these last few days, son." Archibald said, though he could not hide astonishment on his wizened face. Although Wallace had passingly mentioned his son's new persona, it never really did click for him until now. "If I may, what happened?"

Irwin chuckled, gazing at the portly man before him who, by the end of that night, seemed to have aged a decade. "No, nothing like that. I just felt like a new man is all."

Archibald hummed, cracking a smile. "I suppose we all feel like that today. I have never felt the day be brighter that it is today. Like the Ancestor was but an enormous cloud, darkening our hopes and dreams."

"I suppose that now he's gone and you're free of your brother's incessant hounding," Irwin said, eliciting a short chuckle from Archibald. "Would it not be best to just... I don't know... retire?"

Archibald's explosive laugh startled Irwin, his hands over his enormous belly as he clapped at his son. "Oh, my boy. Never lose your humor. One of the things I like about you."

Irwin, on the other hand, had an incredulous expression on his face, clearly not enjoying the man's laughter. "I am serious, Archie. I mean, how rich are we?"

"Oh, you're serious?" Archibald asked, biting his lip to prevent another bout of laughter. "Well, were... uh... well off."

"Yeah. Is that rich guy code for extremely wealthy?"

"Well, not extremely." Archibald shrugged.

"Numbers. Take a guess." Irwin suggested as he stood from his seat, opening the hollow globe and pouring himself a drink.

"Hmmm. By now... counting inflation... the contra wars... and 9/11... our liquid assets would be close to 2-300 million."

The hand holding the glass filled with a dark malt trembled as Irwin visibly shuddered in excitement. Three hundred million dollars, by his account, is, was, and will not be just 'well-off'. In his previous life, even one percent of that would alleviate all burdens and problems in his life. He praised the Entity Beyond Human Comprehension for his gift as he swallowed his drink in one before turning to his father. Yes, Archibald was not his father and he his only heir. 'No more hesitating.' "Oh, well, that's quite a large amount, Father." He replied, quickly sneaking in his recently decided form of address for Archibald.

"Hah. I'd rather have you call me 'Archie', son." He said with a laugh before taking on a more solemn expression. "It's more endearing than you clinging to my leg like a dog asking for crumbs."

The two silently stared at each other for an entire minute, only broken by the sudden shout from the courtyard. Archibald stood from his chair and opened the large windows of his study, letting in the fresh air of the blissful morning. Irwin soon joined beside him, their gaze locking onto each other before dropping towards the men that were working on removing the half-dead tree.

Irwin nodded at the workers, his lips tasting the rancid embrace of the dark malt. "Crumbs it maybe for one such as, but for them..."

Archibald grunted, his hand snaking towards his dented cane. "I suppose. I trust whatever venture you seek would not be detrimental to our family's standing?"

"Quite the opposite."

"Hmmm. How much?"

"How much would you give?" Irwin raised an eyebrow.

Archibald grinned. "I can start you off with 10 million."

Although Irwin felt giddy about the prospects of having more than a thousand on his bank account, his face employed the same content smile. He was a man who had seen the future, both real and fictional, and with the knowledge.

"So, what'll you do with it?" Archibald asked, though he knew not to ask of his son's thought for he never admitted any of it. He figured with his renewed persona, his son would be more amiable, which he thought correctly.

"The fight with the Ancestor got me thinking, Archie." He started, a wistful expression on his face. "I'm woefully unprepared for the oncoming storm. In fact, I would never truly be prepared because I alone can't handle the shit that's coming. I need friends. Allies. People like Garth..."

"Garth?"

"Agent Spears, pseudonym. And other hunters who fight these monsters for a living."

"So, you're going to employ them? As some sort of personal army?"

"Exactly. An army to my beck and call. Wouldn't that stoke my ego?"

"Sounds to me that you're employing the same tactic as the Men of Letters."

"Oh, I'm different from them."

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm Richard fucking Greythorne... and I don't make mistakes."

--

Hey! New set of chapters incoming. At least within this week, so add a review if you could or vote or donate to a local charity, preferably one that helps dogs.

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