Bloodlust I

Unlike many would believe, training a strength as great as Irwin's comes not in droves, but in increments. The first few days had his mentor subject him to a grueling, fast-paced workout routine that would make even the devil beg for mercy. At least that's what Irwin thought at that moment.

By the fourth day, Joaquin, for all his mercy, added another part to his routine. Though this one less balls-aching than the others. All he had to do was to meditate for an hour every night using a transliterated Bhuddist mantra. Irwin didn't know the significance of the act, but, since he had already exorcised a demon, nothing else matters. To his wonder, however, since he decided to meditate, the agony he faced every morning continued to lessen. A welcome surprise, one that he dare not delve into. Because, again, he had already exorcised a fucking demon.

Nevertheless, these past two weeks have been entirely fruitful. Although he hadn't tested his strength and speed from before the start of his training, he can now, with a proper suit and strap, deadlift 472 kg (1040 lbs) and run a 100-meter dash in 10.32 seconds. Not quite the best, but then again, he had only started training it in the last few weeks.

Physical strength is not the only aspect of his abilities he trained, however, as every morning before he goes into Archibald's study, Irwin tested his magical might against the metal-lined dummies in the manor training grounds. And like his physical abilities, it too had gained fruit.

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|Skills|

[ Personal Skill/s: Marksman (Lvl 01 -> 02); Minor Alcohol Tolerance; Natural Order (Lvl MAX); Unarmed Combat (Lvl 01); Swordsmanship (Lvl 01); Krousurgy (Lvl 01) ]

[ Job Skill/s: Human Magic (Lvl 01 -> 02); Arcane Resistance (Lvl 02 -> 04) ]

[ System Skill/s: Natural Immunity (Lvl MAX); Enhanced Physique (Lvl 01 -> 02) ]

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|Magik|

[ Personal Magik ]

▪︎ Mind Guardian (Lvl 01 -> 02) (Human)

▪︎ Flame Whip (Lvl 03 -> 04) (Human)

▪︎ Blood Scry (Lvl 01 -> 05) (Fairy)

▪︎ Blight Hex (Lvl 01) (Human)

[ System Magik]

▪︎ Ward Of Obviation (Lvl 01) (Pagan)

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His spells have leveled up quite a bit, with most of them gaining further spell ranges or effectivity. He focused most of his time with leveling up Flame Whip and Blood Scry. He used the metal-lined dummies for the former and spying on the people of Lisbon Valley for the latter.

Turns out, he can now lock onto the owner's blood and use the spells as camera, effectively spying on them. And not just supernatural entities, even normal people now. It seemed that there was a qualitative change to the nature of the spell. Although he easily gained numerous scandalous information from the spell, he did have trouble scrying on any of his vacationing family members. He even had the misfortune of getting telepathically scolded by Lady Anastasia.

The Flame Whip, on the other burning hand, advanced quite a lot. He had shortened the invocation to merely one word. All he had to do was hold the hex bag, invigorate his magik, and chant, "Flagello!" to cast the spell. Unfortunately, he seems to have stumbled upon a barrier when advancing the spell to level 5. Although, like the Blood Scry spell, he had a feeling that the difficulty of further advancement would construe a qualitative upgrade to the spell, he figured he would let it happen naturally. He had neither the information nor the time to figure out how to advance it.

What was more exciting was that after two weeks of chanting and meditating, as Charlotte had advised, he had finally learned an entirely new personal skill: 

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▪︎Krousurgy▪︎

Level: 01

Type: Personal Skill

Classification: Elemental Manipulation; Natural Order

Activation: Name Activation

Range: 50 meters | Fifty (50) meter per level

Effect: Manipulate or shape any glass within the spell range

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Unlike his other offensive abilities, Krousurgy seems vague. 'Because it's not in its full form yet', Irwin consoled himself when the name appeared on his skill list.

Since glass is a non-crystalline solid, if he can further advance the spells level, then it might be possible to even move sand or plastic. A powerful ability in the modern world. When he advances Flame Whip to level 5, then he'll prioritize Krousurgy next.

Irwin now sat on his father's seat inside of his office for before the old man had left the estate, he had a conversation with his dear son.

●●●Two And A Half Weeks Earlier●●●

Archibald stood longingly at the workers paving the courtyard with lime and cobblestone. His back is straight and narrow as ever as the noon rays of the sun begin to diminish over the growing cloudy skies.. Behind him was his son, Richard, diddling with his latest contraption called a Erishkigal's amulet. 

"So, how's the 40 I gave you doing?" He asked amidst the silent scenery.

"Oh, that. I may have lost a quarter of it in a bet," Irwin replied, a sweet smile on his face as he placed the amulet back on his neck. "Well, not yet, at least. I've already liquidated it and have it sent to a separate bank account. FIFA finals. Outright win: Italy."

"That's quite the assumption. I, myself, am partial to England." Archibald remarked, removing himself from the glares of the sun and sat on his chair.

"So does other people."

"Odds?"

"The only reputable bookie I had took 17.00." He replied.

"For 10 million?", Archibald whistled. "Well, if you're certain of the outcome, then I won't harry you any longer. There is another matter we need to discuss."

"Am I being written out of the will?" Irwin jest.

"Oh, that's been done long ago," Archibald joked back. "What I meant is that we're going on a long trip."

"Oh, Archie. I don't have time for that-"

"Not you. Us. Little Annalise, Me, and Anastasia." He supplied further. He then took out a paper from under his desk and handed it over to Irwin. "This is a list of duties and responsibilities you will temporarily inherit whilst I am otherwise indisposed."

"Oh, Joseph, Mary, and baby Stalin. Archie, I have too much to do. And look at me? I can barely see straight with these fucking bandages on my head." Try as he might to get out of it, Archibald holds one thing over his head: forty million dollars.

"Should I call the lawyers, then?" He threatened. 

●●●Two And A Half Weeks Later●●●

"Knock, knock." Said Ella, barging into the room. Irwin could not help but guffaw at the red sweater dress and tight black skirt enveloped around her curvaceous form.

"Wow." He said. "You look hot as fuck."

"Of course. Since you're now the 'Lord of the Manor'," She said in a mocking tone, "I figured I should dress like a proper mistress-slash-secretary."

"A blue-balling mistress, if ever." He muttered, much to his instant regret.

Ella's form quickly stood by his side as she leaned in, her sweater showing enough of a skin to arouse most men. "What you say, pup?"

"Nothing, my sweet dear Ella," Irwin showed his teeth in a harmless smile. "Why, uh, are you here again?"

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood." She turned back and sat on the chair opposite him, noting the nondescript black notebook barely hidden by the paperweight atop it. "That's new?"

"Hunter's journal." Irwin lied. A partial one, for that matter, for he did not need an actual hunter's journal thanks to his Supernatural Record. The notebook was a project he started two weeks ago to record all his memories regarding 'Supernatural'. The show this world is currently playing. He had guessed that if he integrated further into this world as Richard Greythorne, there would be a time where he would forget everything he knew in his past life. Of course, he would try his best to restrict such an outcome, but, then again, precaution is warranted.

Currently, he had written about two seasons' worth of memories, as well as the personalities and abilities of every relevant character during Erik Kripke's era. In fact, one of his priorities was to make contact with either Bobby Singer or Ellen Harvelle. Both being a connective hub to a whole slew of hunters, broke hunters to be exact.

If forced, though, Irwin had always been partial to Ellen Harvelle. Not just because he had a crush on her since he was a teen, but also because who in their right mind would bother a drunk with a shotgun?

"Good for you." Ella smiled. She was delighted Irwin was taking a step towards a more healthy mind. But, like always, work comes first as she produced her phone and looked for their schedule. "I have your 8:30 meeting in the lounge. Froggert 'Frog' Collins, owner of Frog's Junkyard, is here to discuss the ownership of said establishment. Next is Deputy Mayor Erich Greene, who will be here in five minutes. She's here for the proposed private garden near Willintel Lake. And, oh, Garth's here. He just finished reading the books."

"I see. Fuck me, thought I had more time." Irwin scratched his head in annoyance. Archibald had given him some leeway and finished most of the paperwork business beforehand. For two weeks, all Irwin had to do was sign some payroll and nothing else. Alas, all good things must come to an end. "Bring in Frog."

Not long after, a mousy, pot-bellied, middle-aged man entered the room. The stench of rust immediately spread in the office as the man removed his bonnet and slightly bowed at Irwin.

"Morning, sir. I'm... uh... Froggert. I own the junkyard east of here," He said as Irwin motioned for him to take a seat. "Thank you. Well, my son, Neil, and I owned that. Used to, he's been missing for a month now, you see."

"Ah, that's unfortunate." Irwin gave a sad smile. "Well, I assume you're here about my proposal to your junkyard."

"Yeah, you wanted to buy it, didn't ya?" He responded, now with a broad smile on his face. "It's not much, especially for you, but it has sedental value."

"Sentimental," He corrected. "But that's not what I meant. I propose an investment in your business. I invest half a million dollars for the use of business properties."

"So, I still own it, then?" Frog ask puzzled. "You just do your business and I still get the money from the metal?"

"Yes, all of it. You just need to allow us to build a small space within the yard and expand the building and basement." Irwin expounded, emphasizing the last bit. "That's it. $500,000 in your bank account."

"Well, damn. That's not even half of what I made in the last decade." Frog laughed in delight as he stood up and tried to shake Irwin's hand, but the latter politely rejected.

"Good, Mr. Collins. But before we proceed with the deal. I need you to sign these forms." He handed the man ten pages worth of legal paperwork, all of them faxed over by the firm that handled all the Greythorne businesses. "Then, in a week, we'll be starting construction on your property."

Given that Frog Collins was happier than ever, the details of the matter didn't even matter to him, not even if it was a good idea to sign things without his own lawyer looking over it. Within five minutes, they had done a deal and talked about a few more things and, before he knew it, he was left alone in the office.

"That wasn't so bad," He muttered to his own irritation as Ella entered once more. "Fuck me. What now?"

"Oh, testy, aren't we?" Ella cooed. "Mrs. Greene is here. And she's pissed!"

As soon as her words landed on Irwin's ears, the unmistakable clack of shoes hitting the pristine floorboards came in the room. In came a gracefully aged woman clad in a moss green pencil skirt and alabaster white blouse. Typical of her age, she wore a thin orange pince-nez around her wrinkled brown eyes. And, by the look on her face, she isn't happy being sent here without a moment's notice.

"Mrs. Greene," Irwin greeted, a plastic smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," She replied curtly. "It's best if head straight to business, Mr. Greythorne."

"Of course, I wouldn't want to interrupt your afternoon siesta with the Kovalengko babushka, won't I?" He said as he removed his suit jacket.

Erich Greene spluttered about like a drying fish before she could find her words. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

Irwin expected her to deny, so an even more vicious smile appeared on his face. "Last night, about 10:45-ish. Poker in the basement of a Chinese restaurant. Thought you had them with your full house, but, turns out, Elena Kovalenko beat your sorry ass with a straight flush," He snapped his finger, startling Mrs. Greene. "Just like that, five grand down the drain."

"H-how do you know that?" Mrs. Greene broke down in tears. Not too long after, Ella peeped in and saw Mrs. Greene weeping.

"Not. My. Fault." He mouthed over the crying lady. "Look, Mrs. Greene, we-"

"Please don't say anything to anybody. Please, it could ruin my entire career!" She then became distraught, much to Irwin's annoyance and Ella's delight.

"I won't!" He had to yell his reply so that the woman could hear him. "Mrs. Greene, I won't tell anyone."

As if there were never there to begin with, Mrs. Greene ceased crying as if she had done so and sighed with relief. "Well, thank you, Mr. Greythorne. Now, tell me why I could get such a courtesy."

"Because five grand ain't shit to me, but it is to you!" He lied with as much cocky confidence as he could muster. Although he had been slowly growing accustomed to a wealthy life, there were still parts of him nagging at the feeling of wasting thousands of dollars on frivolous things. But she didn't need to know that. "So, I'm offering to payback that lost money and then offer you some more."

Mrs. Greene snorted derisively, before lowering her glasses and asking, "How much more?"

"Enough that the Russian mob won't chop your head off when you lose," He replied, holding out a checkbook. "That is, of course, on the agreement that you expedite our plan to build a garden park north of the lake. As well as further projects in Lisbon Valley."

She hummed in contemplation. Eyes gazing over Irwin before agreeing with one caveat. "I agree to being your patsy for what? Just $5,000?"

"Every month."

Erich Greene smiled and took Irwin's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Like the junkyard owner, Irwin took time to hash out all the details within a five-minute window. By next week, construction will begin on the northern forest patch of the Willintel lake where, hidden in plain sight, Irwin will plant the Seed Of Eden.

He grinned at the surprising usefulness of Blood Scry. Ella had earlier that night told him of his meetings in the morning and, by sheer inquisitiveness, procured a blood sample of Erich Greene, which he got from the small clinic near the general store. Given that the spell was now third level, he had immediately made contact and saw the deputy mayor of his little town getting conned by an 80-year-old grandmother of a Russian mobster. 

Truthfully, Richard of old had a bit of a gambling streak, often taking out thousands of dollars in a single night. Gaining notoriety as a hedonistic slut in criminal circles, he became a constant ATM for down-on-their-luck gangsters in southern California. Irwin had used those to his advantage, contacting Mikhail Kovalengko, grandson of Elena and an enforcer in the Krovavaya Meri Gang, to pay for Mrs. Greene's current and further debts.

"Oh, Agent Spears. Good day!" Mrs. Greene greeted Garth as the latter walked.

"Morning, ma'am." Garth winked at the old lady, checking out her ass as she closed the door on her way out. "So, boss, all my reading's done for the day. Are we going on a hunt? 'Cause believe me, if we don't my muscles are gonna shrink." Garth pulled on his long-sleeved jacket to show his biceps.

"Muscles?" Irwin chuckled. "Admit it, Garth. You lost the genetic lottery."

"You lost the genetic lottery!" Garth copied in a mocking voice. "I'm serious, muchacho. I lost a one-eyed cousin to muscle shrinkage!"

"Fine. I'll give you a hunt." Irwin acquiesced to his partner's demand. He had already planned to send him on a hunt, but it never hurts to let your workers think they're having their demands met. That's how you stop a union from forming according to Archibald. "But, first, do you have it?"

Garth smirked, taking out two pieces of paper. "Bobby's number and the roadhouse's address."

"Good," Irwin took the paper and delicately placed it between his journal's pages. Sensing Garth's excitement, he procured a manila folder out of the table's drawer and handed it to the former. "Southern Wyoming. A cemetery there, Calvary Cemetery, is your target. The mission is recon and intelligence gathering."

"That's it?" Garth was aghast, disappointed by the mission. "C'mon, dude. First you tell me to stop any hunts without your approval, then you have me read books! Now, you have me go ghost-"

"Demon hunting." Irwin clarified.

"What? Demon? Like, black-eyed, smoke-possessing, flies-in-your-head-because-you-stink demon?"

"Yeah. According to my Intel, there's a possible group of demons hanging around that area. I need you to go over there and rent a nearby apartment," Irwin then began explaining parts of his plan to handle the opening of the Wyoming Devil's Gate. "I'll be sending a lot of stuff there and I want you to be my man on the ground."

"Wait, what for?" Garth asked. He was more than happy enough to actually 'garth' some demon, even more so considering the amount of training and resources Irwin had poured into him. But his boss' tone, had set off an internal alarm in him. "Is something big happening?"

"Don't worry, Garth, if anything happens, I'll get your back." Irwin placated his friend, putting a trusting hand upon his shoulder. He then took out a card from his pocket: Monster Banishing Sigil. "Here. This'll help you in a bind. One-time use, but as long as you can touch yourself or any creature, it can teleport the target anywhere in the world."

"Wow. I thought this was like super-rare!" Garth held out his hands, accepting the card as if a holy artifact. "What's going on, man?"

"The less you know, the better," He replied. "Now, are you in?"

"I mean, yeah. As long as you hand me those demon Devil's Trap bullets and-"

"I got you. The van's packed with everything you need." Irwin said. He had even placed the item with whom he traded Agatha, the 300-year-old, witch. "There's a surprise for you in the glove compartment. Good luck!"

"That's it? You're just sending me off?" asked an incredulous Garth as Irwin leaves the study. "Where the crudge are you going to do, then?"

Irwin smiled, excitement coursing through his body. "I'm going to a Roadhouse!"

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Author's note: I screwed up when researching for Krousurgy names. I read glass as 'crystalline' but, on second look, it is non-crystalline. In fact, it is the prime example of non-crystalline solid. Fuck me!