Living on an isle came with a few downsides. There were places one could go to get away from everything, such as the woods Jean liked to explore as a child, plenty of room to roam for exercise and contemplation, and familiar company was never too far away. But if one wanted new company, new sights, sounds, and experiences, travel by aircraft or watercraft was the only way to find them.

Jean rode Spider towards the main port some miles away from the Cellar. Once the calming smell of the ocean reached his nose, he steadily relaxed, leading his horse from a gallop into a trot. As he came closer, he diverted to a garage that was near another horse stable that only held one other which belonged to Elaine. Initially, he considered taking Spider to the mainland with him but thought better of it. He had a more suitable mode of transportation for his destination on the mainland.

Another stablehand was waiting for him. After approaching, he climbed off Spider and gave him a gentle pat of thanks. The reins were handed to the stablehand, and he walked inside the garage. There were several cars, all covered, but there was also a small, slender vehicle. He took the cover off, revealing a marvelous silver and black cruiser bike with blue accents. Instead of riding it, he brought it over with him on the short walk to the piers. Upon seeing him, the deck foreman left his station to approach, taking off his hat in respect.

"Master Lowell. What is your destination?" he asked, moving around to lead the motorcycle after Jean departed to approach the docks. Jean's strides were long, with purpose. "The mainland. I'll take it from there."

"Very good, sir. Will you be staying long?"

"No. The Astrolabe will remain docked until I return."

"As you wish."

He looked ahead to where he could see the boats anchored. The foreman approached Jean's personal yacht, the Astrolabe, with Jean following. He ignored the conversation that began between the foreman and his yacht's helmsman, even when the thought from earlier about the family servants tried to creep into his mind.

He shook his head to clear it, striding forward to near and then board his boat.

The ride from Isle Veni to the Connecticut shoreline was pleasant. He was glad he decided to leave so abruptly. During any normal occasion, leaving to the mainland was fine, so long as enough men were left behind that could participate on a hunt. But the recent events were making that difficult. Despite this, his men had proved they could handle themselves if a hunt arose.

He needed this.

He stood on the deck, overlooking the water with his arms resting on the front rail and his eye closed. Listening to the sounds of the waves crashing, the sounds from the yacht and the distant calls from seagulls, he felt at peace for the first time since the incident over ten days ago, now.

His brows furrowed. Had eleven days truly passed since then? Considering he spent six of those days unconscious, he figured that was why it seemed so recent.

It was a peaceful trip. His mind didn't wander off into the same regurgitating, self-deprecating thoughts he had of late, and he didn't even think about what had happened before he left the isle...or about a certain inhuman.

The Astrolabe docked at a wharf some hour later. He took a moment to observe the many other sailboats docked to the pier and moved to where the helmsman lowered the gangplank. His bike was already standing beside it, and without breaking his stride, he led it down the ramp and onto the massive boardwalk.

He looked around, taking in the sights of fishing boats and boathouses lining the boardwalk's waterside. Several fishermen were returning from fishing for the day, their glances following him as he led his bike to land. He didn't pay their looks any mind, as they were at least visually familiar with him.

The wharf was located roughly half a mile from a large town, which was several miles more away from an even larger town. That larger town was where he set his sights. It was a few minutes' walk down the length of the wharf, but he enjoyed the smells of the ocean, the sounds of activity. The second his bike hit concrete, he moved to sit upon it and donned goggles that hung from the handlebars. Turning the key in the ignition, he revved his bike to life and took off, temporarily leaving his worries behind him.

It was dusk, as evident from the orange-blue tint in the sky. It was difficult to see without light, so he drove with his headlight on. In the distance, he could see the gentle glow of lights from the town serving as a beacon for him to navigate to along with the aid of the lightly paved road. He traveled on the right side of the road to pass wagons also returning to the town. Some softly honked at him, and he gave a nod in response.

Instead of entering the closer town, he took the path that diverted around it. There was some initial traffic nearer to the town, but it cleared up considerably once he was past its border.

The setting sun was a beautiful sight. One would think he noticed it more often since he lived on an isle with such open land, but the truth was he did not. He was usually working, on a hunt, training, or something else that kept him from appreciating life. He simply spent too much time fighting to protect it.

Homestead after homestead, smaller villages, and some forests later, he neared yet another soft glow of a town's lights. The moderately tall three-story buildings glowed with the aid of warm illumination. Once the town's sign became visible, he slowed considerably. He passed under the stone and wood arches, entering the town of Cadron.

The town was moderately occupied with pedestrians walking to the far left and right sides of large streets. He kept his gaze forward, staying to the left of the road. As it was after rush hours, the lights were dimmer and lamplighters were making rounds. The peaceful flickers of candlelight set a comforting atmosphere even as the sounds of activity bustled about at the height of the evening.

He passed through the steadily quieting town's main streets until he came to one leading to the town's cemetery. It was even wider than the normal streets, bare of people or any sort of sound save for the loud noise of his bike. Two paths diverged off at the far sides of the cemetery's entrance, and he took the one at the right. It brought him off the pavement and onto a dirt path surrounded by trees. His motorcycle's headlight led the way. He picked up in speed, the sound of rustling leaves brushing past.

Eventually, he came upon open grounds with a small sign indicating private land. Some distance past the sign stood a moderately-sized tall building that appeared similar to a barn. It had an entrance with closed double-doors but looked completely abandoned and unkempt. An old tree stood in the far distance behind it, whereas the surrounding area was bare of any significant life or other buildings. There was some land between it and the open entrance of a lighted gate, which he approached without hesitation.

Leaning against the wall of the gate was a man dressed in hunter garb wearing a wide-brimmed hat. He stared at Jean for a moment but didn't stop him from entering. After passing him, Jean climbed off his bike and walked it up to the building. He felt the eyes of the man on him but paid no mind while looking forward.

A small symbol seemed to be stamped beneath the building's doorknob. It looked simple and harmless enough, colored black with ram-like horns curled over a human fist made from runes. It could be mistaken for a syndicate or an obscure occultist symbol, perhaps, and it wasn't too far off from both. The door was barred, locked and in disrepair. Or so it seemed. It was a hunter staple. What no ordinary human could tell, on top of that, was how the entire place was warded. He removed his goggles before knocking on the door.

Almost too soon, a port on the left door opened. Even then, he couldn't see inside. "Name," a deep voice demanded.

"Jean-Luc Lowell."

"Proof." Another, larger port opened beneath the first one where what looked like a cup of water was offered through the slot on a tray. Beside the cup was what looked like a glowing yellow crystal.

He took the crystal first, showing the back of his left fist and hovering the crystal over it. The same symbol upon the window appeared in glistening silver on his skin by the crystal's light. There wasn't a response, but he wasn't expecting one. He lowered the crystal to drink the water in the cup. The cool liquid went down smoothly, which in turn soothed some vague concerns. He was still human, of course.

Licking his lips, he hummed, "Zamzam? How did you get your hands on it?"

The voice chuckled, "We have our ways." The tray retracted, the ports shut, and the doors opened, revealing a tall, muscular woman with long black hair in a ponytail and a scarred lower lip. "What happened to you?" she asked upon seeing his scar. She unlocked the grates. "I didn't even recognize your voice."

"Long story. Don't want to talk about it. What, the news didn't make it here?" He moved past her, bringing his bike inside, and handed her the cup. The area behind the door was full of men and women alike standing or sitting in a rather dark room that appeared similar to the inside of a warehouse-esque barn. There were horses within stables and several motorcycles. He knew there were even more somewhere else within the outpost. The hunters nodded at him, and he nodded back.

The woman took the cup, then glanced around behind him before locking the gate and closing the door. "Oh, it did. I just want your story," she said, moving to give the cup to another man. Her hand was kept out, and the cup was replaced with another cup of water that was already waiting. "Ioan's here, taking a break, of course."

"Thanks, Jesca. Put my bike in the lower garage, would you?" He left his bike to one of the men, who nodded at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Get a move on. I'll hear your story, eventually."

He scoffed but didn't respond as he descended a long, dimly lit staircase at the back of the room. Stepping from the last stair, he looked around with a slanted eye through the warm-colored lights above him. He softly chuckled with a shake of his head, recalling the first time he arrived at this particular hunter outpost.

He stood atop a large ledge, looking down the funnel-like center of the area. At the very center was a large marketplace-of-sorts where he could see items on display even from his distance. Along the stair-like walls were rooms, alcoves and passageways leading into other underground locations. Everywhere he looked, people were walking, conversing, and selling. It was an eye-opener and one of the larger outposts in the south of the country.

Nearer to the marketplace was a sign indicative of a bar. Initially thinking otherwise, he found himself wondering, why not. He walked down the left staircase and then alongside the wall, looking out for any familiar faces. In truth, he didn't visit the mainland's outpost as often as he should have. The northeast of Clovure's coast was considered part of his group's territory, and while they partook on hunts in the nearby areas frequently enough, interactions with the outpost itself were regretfully rare.

As if in tune with his thoughts, as he neared the bar, he caught sight of a television mounted on the upper left of the bar displaying news of the Ridridge District's "deadly" quarantine. Several eyes of other hunters were locked onto the news, and he slipped onto an empty bar stool to listen.

"...was just yesterday when authorities and first-responders lost contact with the district. The Clovuren Disease Control and Prevention Office came onto the scene when several authorities lost their lives upon entering, eventually calling the district a quarantine zone. Neighboring districts and concerned persons worry what may have caused the deaths and of what happened to friends, family and loved ones."

He shook his head, deciding to block it out. It only reminded him of what happened before he arrived at the outpost.

The barman, who was also watching the television, finally turned from it to flash a friendly smile upon seeing him. "What can I do for yo—Jean?"

There was much noise in the area, so Jean once more quietly thanked Trevor for the modified earpiece. A small smile formed on his face, and he turned it on as he turned to shake the man's hand. "Hey, Ioan. It's been a while."

"Damn right, it has!" The older man placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward. "Gods, Jean. Let me guess. A certain inhuman did that to your face?"

Jean huffed. "You're the second person to ask such a question, and I'd rather not talk about it."

Ioan scoffed, fixing a non-alcoholic drink. "Jean, with an injury like that, people are going to want the details. I reckon you're probably blind in that eye."

Jean placed his chin on his palm, resting his elbow on the counter. Though he didn't say anything about it, or even complain about it, he was still getting accustomed to his new handicap. He suffered in silence but had hopes. "I am."

The short answer seemed to be enough of a hint for Ioan to let it go. He slid Jean a mug of sarsaparilla. "So, then. What brings you to the ol' Plight?"

"Just trying to get away for a little while. Clear my head, maybe." Jean took a sip of his drink, keeping his head lowered.

"Do that."

Jean gave an inquisitive glance up at his friend, who cracked a small smile.

"We didn't think you'd make it after the news spread around the outpost. Any more news on that Celezar bastard?"

Frowning and lowering his gaze to the counter, Jean took another, larger mouthful of the soft drink. "No."

There was a small bout of silence. Ioan huffed. "Well, no one's been quite the same since the increase of attacks. Many have died. I suppose you've heard the news of what happened to the Kwons?"

Jean deeply exhaled. The Kwons were another old family of hunters, even older than the Lowells. He recalled reading a report of the incident. "Yes. Yeong-gi is dead. Who is the leader, now, then?"

"His son, Bon-hwa."

Jean almost sputtered into his drink. "That kid?"

He was given a look. "As if you weren't a kid when you became leader." Ioan took up and began to clean a stein. "In fact, he's nineteen, now, so he's had three years' experience."

This was news to Jean. "He started at sixteen?"

"Mm hm."

"Huh." Jean quieted himself by taking another drink. Most hunters became leader at age twenty, but depending on the family or family's tradition, sometimes younger. He, for instance, started at age seventeen. But that wasn't quite what was on his mind; several thoughts began floating through his head at the mention of other hunters.

Caden was going to grill him for not staying in contact with other groups.

He softly scoffed at the reminder.

There was another momentary silence between him and his friend, Ioan interacting with other patrons and Jean lost in his thoughts.

When Ioan went back to idly gazing about the outpost, Jean finally exhaled softly, staring at his drink. "We've...had no luck finding Celezar. I wouldn't be surprised if he went back to Inferno—or wherever he's fucking from. Then, we dealt with Ridridge." A slight shiver went down his neck at the reminder of something he couldn't remember. "Askuwheteau is also dead..."

"Heard about that. May he find peace. They've been talking about Ridridge all day. What's the real story?"

Jean shook his head. "There's something else out there. Something worse than anything we've ever dealt with before. Worse than a Demon Noble, even."

"Gods...Does Holloway know?"

"Not yet." Taking an angry sip of his drink, Jean glanced away. "Fucking asshole's going to want every detail of information...Not that there's much."

There was another brief silence, then Ioan pointed to the taps. "Are you sure you don't want a drink? You sound like you could use one."

Jean barely reconsidered. "I'll pass. Kind of have to. I won't be here long; just wanted a change of scenery."

"Understood."

Conversation continued for a while longer. Jean had a refill, and then spent the remainder of his time people-watching while sipping leisurely on his drink. The hustle and bustle of activity was welcomed in comparison to the slow drone that was the norm back home. It wasn't that he didn't find that comforting and familiar; he was merely troubled by the budding dissent in his group.

For six years, he knew Celezar. He remembered when they met at the Memorraw, an even larger hunter outpost, and recalled being a bit intimidated by the man. He was broad-shouldered and taller than Jean at six-foot-eight, flashing a sly grin, as if he knew something Jean didn't. More than anything, Jean remembered how mesmerized he was by his large, olive-green eyes, gemlike and keen.

It had been a bad time for the Lowell Hunters. They lost some of their men and were looking to refill their ranks with good, competent hunters. From the excursion to the Memorraw, they met Lucas, Robin—youngsters, but regardless skilled—and Celezar. Jean and Celezar became relatively fast friends, and Celezar's incredible talent with dual-wielding swords and his agility aided them greatly.

Scoffing softly, Jean took another drink. An inhuman would have such skills.

But, to make things worse for the better, now said inhuman was going ahead and healing them, aiding them, saving them. Such an impossibly perplexing matter was bound to cause a divide between his already confused men.

Jean finally turned to place his empty mug on the countertop. "Thanks, Ioan," he said, flipping a token from a pocket and into Ioan's waiting hand.

"Don't mention it. You need to come back more often." Ioan gave him a small, almost sad smile.

"Eventually." Jean made a sure nod before walking away.

There was another rail just a few paces from the bar preventing anyone from falling off to the craggy platforms below. He stood there for a moment, looking around, wondering if he should head back home.

Then he noticed.

Standing across from him on the other side of the open center space stood a black figure behind the rail. It appeared to be a tall, slim bald man with pallid skin. He wore a simple long-sleeved button up, tie, slacks, and dress shoes—all black. His obviously non-hunter clothing made him stand out, and he was staring directly at Jean.

Slanting his eye, Jean slowly turned his gaze away. But only for a moment. He moved away from the rail and began to walk to his right, his gaze returning to look across the way.

The man was still staring at him.

The more Jean stared back, the more the man's features seemed to distort. He lacked a nose and a mouth, beady black eyes impossibly shrewd. No one seemed to notice the man, not even the people nearest to him. Just as Jean was beginning to think of the inevitable, his heart skipped a beat when someone passed right through the man.

An inhuman was amongst them.

His eye widened. Not just any inhuman; his sixth sense blared this much to him. This thing was not an ordinary creature. He couldn't remember it; he just couldn't remember it. The hold Celezar had on his memories was truly great. Regardless, there was something itchingly, horribly familiar about this...thing.

Narrowing his eye, he quickly darted away from the bar and navigated through the outpost before nearing the far southernmost wall. He didn't dare glance back to see if it were still watching him before he slipped down a hall that would take him to the outpost's garage. Normally, if one arrived by vehicle, they would enter through the garage, but since he brought one as small as a motorcycle, he was able to enter from the front.

Up some stairs he went, opposite to a ramp, and entered the garage. The windows were tinted, the floor was lightly paved and there were stone pillars, indicating he was no longer inside an underground area made of stonework but within a building. This building served as the cover for the outpost on the outskirts of the town which stood as an ordinary but private garage. He found his bike easily amongst the others just as a sudden shiver went down his spine, effectively assuring him the creature was indeed following him.

Again, he didn't bother to look for it but spotted something black out of the corner of his eye anyway. Straddling his bike, he revved it to life and navigated through the rows of vehicles towards the exit, which was guarded by a handful of armed men. The overhead and lower doors opened as he neared it, revealing an empty street he gladly sped onto.

Where was he going?

Not a clue.

Did it matter?

It did not.

The dark streets were dimly lit and jarringly empty, but that was supposed to be the norm. Instead, it came across as menacing. As there were no traffic police out at night, drivers were to obey the rules of the road at their own discretion. But he was speeding, pushing nearly forty miles per hour through the streets. He still felt the sensation of being watched, that something was near. This was unusually terrifying to him.

He traveled down the main street and left the town from the western side. Stretches of land were between him and the next town with several homesteads in-between. He couldn't lead the inhuman to them. Frowning, he turned his bike into the direction of the nearest woods off the road.

It didn't take long before he noticed the light of his motorcycle wasn't reaching as far as it should have. The darkness around him steadily became stifling, unnatural, yet the sky was still visible.

He slowed his bike until he came to a stop at the edge of the woods. There was no longer a reason to keep going or even to attempt to return to the wharf if that was the case. Taking a deep breath, he briefly closed his eye before looking around. His heartbeat was too loud, but damn him if he didn't admit he was afraid.

Then the chill went down his back, the flush of fear from realization that something was behind him.

Slowly, he forced himself to move off his bike. In the end, it might not do him any good, but he unholstered Ringe and spun around, pointing it forward.

Several feet from him, standing out with its pale complexion in the moonlight, was the same man-like figure. The near-white hands were steepled together, lowered at the abdomen. Loudly, he exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. What was the appropriate move to make in such a situation? He innately knew he was outmatched. Ringe wouldn't be able to harm the creature, but maybe magic could?

"Jean-Luc...Lowell, is it?"

He startled. The voice covered the distance easily, as if the creature were standing directly before him, with a humored, almost playful tone. It did not bode well.

"Lowell. I recall such a family of inhuman hunters. Ah, how you have fallen. Once, you were worthy of the word 'respectful'. Now, not at all. You've fallen so pathetically low, become so insignificant."

"Yes, yes, that's all very informative."

Jean spun around, only for the tip of his gun to be lowered easily by a single brown finger. He stared into yellow eyes with black pupils that bore into him from a man several inches taller than him, but that wasn't the most jarring feature.

The man appeared heavily pregnant. There was no other way to describe the way he looked. Furthermore, he only wore simple black pants, not even shoes, from what Jean could make out with the aid of the moonlight. Lastly, a spaded brown tail swung lazily behind the man's back.

Paling, Jean took a step back. A devil in human form.

The devil from Ridridge. The distended stomach gave it away. Which would make the pale figure...

"Domien."

He went rigid, his sixth sense telling him the other creature was closer to him.

"Get behind me."

The yellow-eyed devil scowled. "It's only a human." His voice was unusual with a strange accent and strong inflection that was foreign to Jean.

The second after this left the devil's mouth, the breath left Jean's lungs as he was lifted into arms and the world spun. When everything stopped moving, panicked, he fought against strong arms and looked up to see a familiar face.

He went still with shock. "Celezar!"

Celezar held Jean against him, crouched low and situated some distance in the woods from where the two other creatures stood. "What do you want, Hobboilen?" he snapped at the pale creature.

The beady black eyes narrowed. Tendrils emerged from the back of the one named Hobboilen, and it pulled the creature Domien behind it, causing Jean to blanch again. "I simply wish to see the one you are going through so much trouble with up close."

Celezar hissed, a literal loud, deep sound emitting from his throat. "You had enough of an eyeful of him yesterday, as I recall."

At this, Jean tensed up. He began to remember what it was he saw the night before. As he looked at the pale creature, the image overlapped. He suddenly cried out and startled horribly in Celezar's grasp upon seeing the towering, terrorizing black figure looming further ahead of them. His face was suddenly turned against Celezar and his body was shifted so he was somewhat behind him.

"Hobboilen!" Celezar growled.

"Why not kill them both?" said the devil with a derisive snort.

There was a low, amused croon. It sent shivers of fear through Jean's body. "Because, my pet, that would cause unnecessary violence. Have some respect for the child; he dared to face us for the sake of merely a possible future mate," said Hobboilen. "The human has not even decided, yet."

Decided? This caught Jean's attention, and he peeked from around Celezar's body to look upon the creatures. Decided what?

As if it could see Jean looking at it, which it surely could, Hobboilen's head tilted to the side. "Jean-Luc Lowell," it said, ominously enunciating Jean's name. "Hear this: Your...partner...is young, so painfully juvenile. Yet, he is aware of what it means to defy an entity such as myself. For your sake, he has risked death. Do remember this while you make your decision to become...inhuman." It crooned the last word with a smile in its voice.

Heat from terror rushed through Jean's body at these words.

"You're going to let them go?" Domien demanded. Without even waiting for a response, he made a scoff of disgust. "I will never understand you damn hallows," he said, turning a yellow side-eye onto Hobboilen.

"Domien."

Suddenly, the tall creature's tendrils curled around Domien's legs, stroking him suggestively. One in particular curled around his gravid middle, causing an audible grunt to escape him. But Hobboilen didn't so much as look at him.

"Do remember who your mate is," it warned.

"Fuck you," Domien spat with a scathing sneer.

Only then did Hobboilen glance at him, and then back at Celezar and Jean. "We will see each other again, youngling, Jean-Luc. In the meantime, pardon me. I must...educate my young, volatile mate."

Domien shivered, and Jean had a feeling "educating" was both a terrifying and exciting activity between them. "Huh. Fine, old man. So long as you don't fuck me in that form," Domien said, yet again with disgust as he looked upon his mate's humanoid form.

Hobboilen's head slightly tilted to the side, and then it softly chuckled. That was when Jean noticed the fog that grew around them. It was everywhere, so thick he was sure he would be able to feel it if it touched him. It slowly engulfed the two further ahead until there was nothing to see. In moments, it dissipated, taking the two creatures with it.

The world appeared to come back to life, the sounds of crickets chirping and calls echoing from distant animals that Jean hadn't even noticed were absent. The gloom that had surrounded him and Celezar eased. The abnormal darkness had lifted.