world-ender || l. castellan

ix.

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ix. exiled

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          "WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO SAY, it better be good." Noemi drags herself to the couch and lifts her shirt. Nothing. No blood or redness, nothing to show for the pain flaring under her patched skin. Just tears and emotional turmoil. "As you can see, things are a bit chaotic here."

         "Wonder what caused it." Ares says, tossing himself in her stepfathers lay-z-boy.

         "I'm not in the mood right now." Noemi's voice raises. She feels so mad she wants to crush something... again. "Say your bit and go."

         His jaw clenches, but he tries to soothe it over with an amused grin. It doesn't look pleasant. "What if I were to say that I just wanted to drop in? That I was summoned by your anger and your fighting? Hmm? A good dad visits his kids occasionally. I wanted to see you after you got out of your coma."

           "The coma you put me in?" Noemi asks incredulously.

         "Do you really think that you would have survived that bite without me, Noemi? That gryphon ended you. You were dead, you understand that? It takes fifteen minutes for a soul to travel to the underworld— it may feel immediate to them, but people die everyday— with all that traffic the highways get pretty backed up. I got to you before you could pass. I put you in that coma for the sake of your body— and I did something that hasn't been done in centuries. You think that shit was easy? All of the gods were against it."

         Noemi looks away, hating that there's sense to his words. But all of the gods? That's offensive. It's not like she's personally set fire to their thrones. "What's happening inside of me? What did you do to me?"

         "I had to do a little magic on you, replace some stuff, too. It was gruesome work, not as easy as waving my hand. You'll be out of it for a little while, but you're the greatest warrior of your generation. Even this can't stop you." Ares seems satisfied, but not because he admires her for this, but because he's had part in it. "Don't let that give you a big head. Your brothers and sisters get too cocky."

         "I wonder who they get it from." Noemi fumes. "But it doesn't make sense that you'd come here. What, do you feel bad? You could've helped, you know. Growing up they've all given me hell. You could've told them it's not my fault. You can still tell them now."

         She looks at Jaime, who's glaring at the spot that she'd been in with such hatred and venom she thinks she can accept that he means it.

         He truly wishes she'd stayed dead.

         "Your older brother has always envied you." Ares comments, assessing the scene. Luke is grabbing at the front of Jaime's shirt, face livid. "You'd leave him in the summers with a brother who always loved you more and a mother who is constantly worried sick about you— leaving no room in their minds for a boy with no talents or personality. He bonds over his hatred for you with your stepfather, but to an extent. He has threatened to call the cops before, when that man is in a mood at you. For your safety. It's not gone well for him, because while your stepfather would never hit you, it doesn't mean the same for little old Jaime. He blames you for that too."

         Noemi frowns, turning to her father. "What? He hit Jaime? No, he couldn't have— they're like the same person. He loves him."

         "And he sees parts of himself that he hates inside of him." Ares' voice goes softer, not by much, but enough that it's noticeable. "Like I see myself in you. Not so admirable parts. Sometimes it feels like you can crush it inside of them before it gets worse. It never works."