WAR: WIIGF 23 (Patreon)

Chapter 23

It was a low note droning against yet another set of cracked asphalt that kept him locked in and in his own head, four wheels spinning fast as the world blurred by. The streets of the Blud whined, wailed, and roared as rush hour traffic continued moving as slow as ever, allowing Kenny the perfect pace to cut through the half-frozen cars. Near-sunset in the city was a cursed hour, sky more bruised fruit against the thick smogline of the harbor, throwing long, distorted shadows across the street. Nothing even close to the elegant orange he’d seen in shots of other cities, but it was still pretty in its own way. 

One of the few times the city stood out for anything other than its own ugliness, honestly. 

Ken pushed off hard with his right foot, cool skateboard under his feet as he kept on rocketing forward. Left hand gripped tight to his new haul, he kept himself balanced with the black suitcase somehow helping with that for some weird reason.

He couldn't stop the grin, though. Ken tried, he really really did.

Biting the inside of his cheek worked a little bit, but every single time his eyes trailed down to the suitcase, that smile just kept spreading bigger and bigger until he was sure he looked like he was on something. 

I got a fuckin’ armory. Well, not exactly, but it was still a whole handful of everything he could need to do what he was planning on. 

The new fit, especially, was going to save him some time and effort. 

The clothes folded beside the steel and wire in that case looked exactly as he remembered it on the screen years ago in another lifetime, and much tougher than it looked as soon as he touched it. Dark and layered, it was definitely built for moving fast and hitting hard. This is going to make everything so much easier. 

They wanted to bench him? Fine.

They could play holy war in the basement for as long as they wanted. He was gonna bring his own damn war to the vampires, and he had the gear to back it up too.

Even as he grinned though, his mind drifted back to the court, the image of Luigi kneeling over the open suitcase playing back in his head. The Italian kid hadn't been looking at the kunai or the katana or anything else, copper eyes locked dead set on something else.

Ken had followed his gaze, tracking Luigi’s attention all the way to the small, weird-looking silver bells hanging on a string. Tucked into the side of the suitcase, it was almost separate from everything else. 

Almost.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

“Yo, Weeg,” Ken’s blue Foamposites nudged at Luigi’s black Vans, the other boy blinking more at the contact than the sound of his name. “You good?”

“Y…yeah, but, uh…” Luigi swallowed a mouthful of nothing as he nodded, a shaking finger raised up and pointing right at the bell. “Bro. Lemme, uh, lemme get that.”

Ken blinked, looking at the bell. “Okay?” His eyes slid over to the one of the three ninja swords resting on the foam. “Like, there’s a tanto right here if you want it. Why you want a bell?”

Luigi just shook his head, fingers twitching toward the silver balls like they were magnetic. “Nah, I…”

“Weeg?”

“I swear I’m crazy but…”

Ken rolled his eyes. “Bro, spit it out.”

“I swear on my life that’s a Mystic Code, bruh.”

“...fuck is that?

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Ken kicked off again, skateboard jerking past a pothole that he knew would have sent his ass airborne — and probably the rest of him too. Luigi had spent the next five minutes giving him a half-breathless rundown about Mystic Codes, which was pretty much unnecessary by the end of it. 

Bro could have just started off by calling them gay little magic wands with one spell. According to Luigi, though, they were rare, stupid expensive, and crazy useful for a Magus.

Considering Ken knew he was certified dogshit at magic, he hadn't cared all that much as he tossed the bells over to a wide-eyed Weeg. All he had told him was to figure out what it did, and make sure he let Ken know and they’d be cool. Sides, long as Weegee stays breathing when the fangs were out, I don’t care. 

The familiar sight of his block came into view, the neighbor two doors down still with the sagging roof. Ken slowed the board, green eyes automatically scanning the curb.

Empty. At least where it counted. 

Harry's beat-up Ford wasn't in its usual spot.

His good mood spiked even higher at the sight of nothing there. Harry had been spending most of his time out the house whenever Ken was in it, at least over the last few weeks. Apparently, the man didn’t know how to deal with being challenged by someone who could dish it out if they felt like it.

His mom might not have liked him saying that whenever she could here, but it still didn’t stop Kenny from thinking it as much as he wanted. No Harry. No yelling. Just me, Cece, Ma, and a suitcase full of lethal weapons. He kicked the tail of the skateboard down, nose slamming up into his free and open palm as it popped up.

Grin wide as the day was long, he tucked the Uchiha deck smooth under his arm.

The front steps of the brownstone were swallowed up two at a time, Kenny still smiling as he pushed the front door open.

"Ma, I'm h-"

If Ken had been flying high before, both he and his expression felt the crash and burn as his good mood dropped intp a fiery wreck at the bottom of his stomach. What the hell?

A certain redheaded father sat on their faded -couch, a delicate porcelain teacup balanced on his knee. Kenny knew those cups and, more importantly, he hated those cups and they thankfully only were ever brought out for Thanksgiving. He didn’t know what thanks they were supposed to be giving, but he was having no part of it.

Father Keane looked up as the door opened, the man still in his black clerical shirt and white collar from this morning, whatever deep conversation he was having with Madelyn King pausing for a second.“Hi, Kenny!"  His mom turned around from the armchair, face bright and light with an uncomplicated smile that hit Ken right in the chest. It wasn't the tired, strained smile she gave Harry, or the exhausted, fraying smile she gave him after a double shift either.

It was real.

 “...uh, hey mom.” Ken blinked at his mother’s greeting, blinking her way as she sat on the loveseat. “What's, uh… what’s going on here?" The words stumbled out of Ken's mouth as he fought to keep his eye from twitching. He's in my house. The vampire-hunting priest is in my fucking house.

"Kenneth…" Father Keane’s expression was a mask o  priestly calm without a single trace of the shouting match from the office. "Good to see you again."You saw me like five hours ago. 

"Father Keane was just telling me how much you’ve been throwing yourself into work at the church, sweetie.” Her hands smoothed themselves over her blue scrub pants. "He's just here to thank me, personally, for letting you volunteer. I was just telling him it was all your idea."

Volunteer. Yeah. Volunteering to cave in skulls with a steel pipe. Great extracurricular. Kenny nodded slowly as he stood frozen in the entryway, suitcase suddenly feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds. He didn’t bother moving it, hoping against hope his mom wouldn’t get curious and ask what was in it.

She didn't even notice it, eyes flicking between the priest and him as she kept talking. "And he says he's planning on having the Bishop write recommendation letters for you for college along with the one he’s writing. Can you imagine that, Kenny? I didn't know you were doing such good work at the parish."

Ken kept his eyes fixed dead on the father in his living room, muscles in his jaw ticking as Keane lifted his teacup to take a deliberate sip. "You know me, Ma, I don't like to brag."

His mom stood up and crossed the small living room, Ken’s eyes just a little bit wide as she wrapped her arms around him tight. "I'm so… so proud of you.” The words were quiet, whispered low into his shoulder. "I know I’ve been getting on you recently, Kenny. You just had me a little worried. With the fighting at school, and the secrets… you've been so different, so distant. But you've just been doing good this whole time.”She took in another breath, Ken closing his eyes and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Helping people. You’ve got no idea how happy I am right now."

Ken bit back a sigh as all the heat in his chest he’d been carrying since the office drained right out of him, along with the venom, both leaking out through the soles of his boots. How am I supposed to be mad at him now, ma? 

Hell, he still wanted to. 

He was even trying to, but he just couldn't. Not when the lie — the masterful bullshit the priest had spun out of thin air — had made his mom light up like he hadn’t seen in forever.

She pulled back, hand patting his cheek. "I'll go check on dinner."

As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, Father Keane stood up and the teacup went down, settling quietly atop the coaster on the coffee table. 

"Well," Keane smoothed the front of his shirt. "I should be heading out. I trust you’ll tell your mother something came up at the parish."

"I'll walk you to the door.”

He dropped the suitcase and the skateboard by the stairs and followed the priest out onto the front porch, door shut quietly behind the both of them as they stepped out into the cool evening air. Streetlights flickered on as the sky began to darken, already buzzing dull orange in the twilight.

Ken walked down the cracked steps and stopped, his back up against the iron railing. "Thanks for that." 

"I didn't do it for thanks.” Keane didn’t look his way, eyes on the decaying street. "You just deserve more than to be used for a war that will chew you up and spit you out."

Ken narrowed green eyes at the priest. "That what happened to you?" 

Father Keane simply smiled, lips turned up as green eyes met green. “Why do you think that, lad?”

That’s… Ken nodded slow. That’s not a no.

"You can tell me, you know," Ken pressed, arms crossing over his chest. "I've heard a lot about the Church recently. Specifically from a guy who knows. You guys are pretty crazy, apparently."

"What God demands of His devoted may seem… extreme to those outside the Church."“Yeah, I bet, bruh," Ken shot back. "But like... I hear you people kill wizards. Magi. Whatever they call themselves. You don't like magic. But you saw me using an ice ju—... an ice spell the other day at the clinic. You didn't even flinch. You just walked right past me while I was freezing a hallway."

"I have a more… lenient view on the use of abilities such as yours. "Sin of pragmatism, as I told you."

"Uh-huh." Ken didn't buy it for a second. 

At least, not all of it.

"Anything else?" Keane adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves.

Ken was quiet for a long moment before something that had been burning at the back of his mind the last twenty-four hours demanded to be heard. "Just one question."

Keane let out a long-suffering sigh, the sound papery as always. "Ask away, Kenneth."

Ken pushed off the railing to look the priest dead in the eye, the red of the Sharingan threatening to spin to life in his pupils.

"...what's a Dead Apostle?"