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To say Alfred was upset wasn’t right. The worry was eating him from the inside. It was simply upsetting at first, when Arthur had left without a word, and he was told the news by Patrick, always cheerful and recommending to Alfred not to give much thought to it. Arthur had left for an important business trip, and he’d be back in a few days.

But a whole week had passed already, and no sign of Arthur.

Alfred had enough. That evening, he gathered the Kirkland siblings (and Matthew, of course) demanding answers.

“There are things you don’t want to know.” Dylan warned him. That stoic expression reminded him his mother, always doing what she thought best.

“Well, the little git thinks he wants to know, let’s see how much he likes that story.” Alistair countered. “About our little brother.”

We’re all from different mothers, but I suppose you figured that out, right? I mean, you’re not as stupid as you look… Anyways. Each one has a different mother. Except the twins, of course. Our father… Well, let’s say that he wasn’t an example of virtue. He bedded many women, perhaps a different one every other night. Three sired his sons. Eire Connor, Lily Black, and Christa Evans. Eire was Patrick and Adam’s mother, Christa was Dylan’s, and Lily was my mother.

“What about Arthur’s?”

I’m getting there. Don’t be hasty.

“Okay.”

We were raised in that place. The four of us together, with our mothers. It’s beyond me why they did it. Maybe they thought it safer for us. Maybe they aimed high to get advantage of his influence. Maybe they liked it being with a bastard like him.

Allistor’s words were bitter and harsh. Even Alfred, who could be completely dense from time to time, could tell that he hated his father. And maybe his mother on some degree.

Dylan cleared his throat, and continued.

It was my mother that found Arthur, and completely on accident. It wasn’t pleasant, neither pleasing to the eye or the heart.

A small boy that looked no more than a year old, his straw blond hair covered with gore and dried blood, messy and touching his frail shoulders. Naked, and his body in a condition similar to his hair. And close to him was the body of his mother, completely mutilated, with pieces of flesh and whole organs missing.

My mother felt pity of the boy, and did anything in her power to adopt him, despite our father refusing. He claimed that, the little boy, human as he was, would end up being eaten by us.

In fact, it was the exact opposite happened. Arthur was the one to attack us. Everyone thought it was some sort of survival instinct. Our father asked mother if she knew anything about his mother. She said the boy was found next to a mutilated woman. She described her as young, with a dark shade of blond for hair and dark, ocean blue eyes.

‘Britt!’ our father had exclaimed. I remember him calling that name well. She was one of those women he slept with from time to time, then? That’s what I thought. I was quite hurt, to be honest.

You understand what happened at Arthur’s birth, right? Britt died while trying to bring her boy to the world alone, but didn’t manage it. She died. In a command of instinct, Arthur did the only thing he could. He opened Britt from the inside, searching desperately for air, biting the flesh that stood in his path. Until the day he was found, and whenever he felt hunger, he fed on his mother’s corpse.
“That’s disgusting!” Alfred cut Dylan’s story.

Conor laughed. “For human standards, and for someone who was no idea of what it’s like when instinct takes over, sure.”

“Meaning?”

It was Matthew who sighed, and explained. “It happens in the nature, Alfred. Snakes eat their mother from the inside. It’s all because of instinct. They need to breathe, and they need to feed. These are basic instincts, for everyone, be it animals, humans, or ghouls.”

“See? This lad here gets it!” Patrick laughed, ruffling Matthew’s hair.

Conor decided it was his turn to continue.

It took years for Arthur to treat us less hostile, starting developing a sibling relationship. But that didn’t change Arthur’s appetite, of course. Even if human flesh tasted better, he had become accustomed to eating ghouls. He even went out hunting at night in secret! You can imagine how enraged our father was when he found out. He claimed that Arthur’s choices put everyone in danger.

And Arthur was fifteen or sixteen by that time, I think. And being a teen, he had broken almost every single of father’s rules. He went on a public school, along with other humans, unlike us, who were homeschooled. He had human friends, well, close enough to be friends. He hunted once every three weeks exactly, he was precise at that. He always hunted ghouls. And he always made it seem like a murder. Teenagers do that a lot. Breaking the rules their parents set for them, that is.

“Well, normal kids don’t commit murders.” Alfred commented.

“We hadn’t our first kill before thirteen.” Alistair replied, slightly aggravated. “Arthur had set himself on that schedule when he was nine. We trained against each other, but Arthur was the one who truly battled. Who really hunted. He was the one who actually lived. I was so jealous of that. We all were.”

“Well, back to the story!” Patrick commented, deciding to take over his twin’s narration.

Arthur had challenged our father in battle. You know, like lions do. Winner gets all sort of thing. If father won, he’d had the right to do anything he wanted, even having Arthur killed, and Arthur could do nothing about it. If Arthur won, he’d have the right to kill father, even eat him. But most importantly, he was to become the new lord of the family, and command the rest of us, our mothers, set his own rules over us, everything.

Father laughed at what thought was foolish, and accepted. He was more experienced in battle, but Arthur had a great disadvantage: his kagune. I’m sure you know it already, Arthur’s kagune is Ukaku-type; wing. It wasn’t simply a type disadvantage. Arthur had a single wing for his weapon instead of a pair.

You can imagine father’s surprise when he saw Arthur levitating, using that one wing to fly, and actually manage it. I think we secretly wished for Arthur to win. Show him that he was wrong on his rules he forced on us. Arthur used another powerful weapon he possessed: his wit. He taunted father, laughed at him. Father was always easy to piss off. Without realizing it, he used stronger attacks, which Arthur easily and gracefully avoided, laughing at how pathetic he seemed. It was a fierce battle. At one point, we could tell Arthur was exhausted.

‘Not so mighty now, are you?’ he laughed, ready for dealing the finishing blow.

But his attack was forced to a stop, only a few centimeters away from him. Father was confused, Arthur smirked. And we could see it.

Arthur’s other wing. Not fully developed, frail as a thin glass frame, but strong enough to stop a few attacks like that one. His second weapon we had no idea he had. A weapon we thought it was only a myth, nothing more.

A kakuja.

‘I guess cat’s out of the bag now’ Arthur spoke, and used that element of surprise to extend his hand towards our father and rip out his heart.

As a proof of dominance over the other, Arthur tasted his heart, dropping it after that first bite. ‘Vile.’ He had muttered. ‘If ghouls are supposed to taste bad, you’re worse than any I ever had, or ever will.’ He added. ‘As for what happens to you, I’ll let your family decide. Correction: my family.’ He laughed in hysterics after that, and withdrew himself in his room. He only emerged three days later, calm and seemingly sane. Mother had implored him to consume father completely. Arthur accepted.

When Arthur became nineteen, we came here. But he returned there on occasion, something like twice a year.

Alfred was left speechless. “But Arthur had said…..!”

“Kakuja ghouls are unstable. And that makes them dangerous.” Dylan completed. “It’s not that Arthur is 100% sane, either. Sometimes, he loses himself.”

“But hey!” Conor cheered. “We’re family, that’s what family is for!”

Matthew was standing by the window, observing the street. “There’s something happening there.”

Everyone ran by the window. There was a fight. One against many. And normally, Alistair wouldn’t mind, unless it was someone he cared about.

The word came out without even realizing.

“Arthur!”

~

Alfred and Matthew felt like they were shot back in that night when Arthur had killed his father. But unlike that time, there were so many to fight against him, but he was a more experienced fighter than he was back then.

Matthew felt terrified of Arthur. Francis had always called him ‘the English demon’ but he could never understand why, even after Arthur became his caretaker. Until tonight.

Alfred, on contrary, was in awe. His hair was covered in blood and gore. His clothes, black as the night, seemed untouched. With a pair of wings erupting of his back, one seemingly torn from a glass angel sculpture, the other belonging to a beast of myth, a sadistic smirk on his face. He was just like a warrior angel. Or even better, a fallen one.

And for those who were sent against him, tonight Arthur had become their Devil.

Description
To say Alfred was upset wasn’t right. The worry was eating him from the inside. It was simply upsetting at first, when Arthur had left without a word, and he was told the news by Patrick, always cheerful and recommending to Alfred not to give much thought to it. Arthur had left for an important business trip, and he’d be back in a few days.

But a whole week had passed already, and no sign of Arthur.

Alfred had enough. That evening, he gathered the Kirkland siblings (and Matthew, of course) demanding answers.

“There are things you don’t want to know.” Dylan warned him. That stoic expression reminded him his mother, always doing what she thought best.

“Well, the little git thinks he wants to know, let’s see how much he likes that story.” Alistair countered. “About our little brother.”

We’re all from different mothers, but I suppose you figured that out, right? I mean, you’re not as stupid as you look… Anyways. Each one has a different mother. Except the twins, of course. Our father… Well, let’s say that he wasn’t an example of virtue. He bedded many women, perhaps a different one every other night. Three sired his sons. Eire Connor, Lily Black, and Christa Evans. Eire was Patrick and Adam’s mother, Christa was Dylan’s, and Lily was my mother.

“What about Arthur’s?”

I’m getting there. Don’t be hasty.

“Okay.”

We were raised in that place. The four of us together, with our mothers. It’s beyond me why they did it. Maybe they thought it safer for us. Maybe they aimed high to get advantage of his influence. Maybe they liked it being with a bastard like him.

Allistor’s words were bitter and harsh. Even Alfred, who could be completely dense from time to time, could tell that he hated his father. And maybe his mother on some degree.

Dylan cleared his throat, and continued.

It was my mother that found Arthur, and completely on accident. It wasn’t pleasant, neither pleasing to the eye or the heart.

A small boy that looked no more than a year old, his straw blond hair covered with gore and dried blood, messy and touching his frail shoulders. Naked, and his body in a condition similar to his hair. And close to him was the body of his mother, completely mutilated, with pieces of flesh and whole organs missing.

My mother felt pity of the boy, and did anything in her power to adopt him, despite our father refusing. He claimed that, the little boy, human as he was, would end up being eaten by us.

In fact, it was the exact opposite happened. Arthur was the one to attack us. Everyone thought it was some sort of survival instinct. Our father asked mother if she knew anything about his mother. She said the boy was found next to a mutilated woman. She described her as young, with a dark shade of blond for hair and dark, ocean blue eyes.

‘Britt!’ our father had exclaimed. I remember him calling that name well. She was one of those women he slept with from time to time, then? That’s what I thought. I was quite hurt, to be honest.

You understand what happened at Arthur’s birth, right? Britt died while trying to bring her boy to the world alone, but didn’t manage it. She died. In a command of instinct, Arthur did the only thing he could. He opened Britt from the inside, searching desperately for air, biting the flesh that stood in his path. Until the day he was found, and whenever he felt hunger, he fed on his mother’s corpse.
“That’s disgusting!” Alfred cut Dylan’s story.

Conor laughed. “For human standards, and for someone who was no idea of what it’s like when instinct takes over, sure.”

“Meaning?”

It was Matthew who sighed, and explained. “It happens in the nature, Alfred. Snakes eat their mother from the inside. It’s all because of instinct. They need to breathe, and they need to feed. These are basic instincts, for everyone, be it animals, humans, or ghouls.”

“See? This lad here gets it!” Patrick laughed, ruffling Matthew’s hair.

Conor decided it was his turn to continue.

It took years for Arthur to treat us less hostile, starting developing a sibling relationship. But that didn’t change Arthur’s appetite, of course. Even if human flesh tasted better, he had become accustomed to eating ghouls. He even went out hunting at night in secret! You can imagine how enraged our father was when he found out. He claimed that Arthur’s choices put everyone in danger.

And Arthur was fifteen or sixteen by that time, I think. And being a teen, he had broken almost every single of father’s rules. He went on a public school, along with other humans, unlike us, who were homeschooled. He had human friends, well, close enough to be friends. He hunted once every three weeks exactly, he was precise at that. He always hunted ghouls. And he always made it seem like a murder. Teenagers do that a lot. Breaking the rules their parents set for them, that is.

“Well, normal kids don’t commit murders.” Alfred commented.

“We hadn’t our first kill before thirteen.” Alistair replied, slightly aggravated. “Arthur had set himself on that schedule when he was nine. We trained against each other, but Arthur was the one who truly battled. Who really hunted. He was the one who actually lived. I was so jealous of that. We all were.”

“Well, back to the story!” Patrick commented, deciding to take over his twin’s narration.

Arthur had challenged our father in battle. You know, like lions do. Winner gets all sort of thing. If father won, he’d had the right to do anything he wanted, even having Arthur killed, and Arthur could do nothing about it. If Arthur won, he’d have the right to kill father, even eat him. But most importantly, he was to become the new lord of the family, and command the rest of us, our mothers, set his own rules over us, everything.

Father laughed at what thought was foolish, and accepted. He was more experienced in battle, but Arthur had a great disadvantage: his kagune. I’m sure you know it already, Arthur’s kagune is Ukaku-type; wing. It wasn’t simply a type disadvantage. Arthur had a single wing for his weapon instead of a pair.

You can imagine father’s surprise when he saw Arthur levitating, using that one wing to fly, and actually manage it. I think we secretly wished for Arthur to win. Show him that he was wrong on his rules he forced on us. Arthur used another powerful weapon he possessed: his wit. He taunted father, laughed at him. Father was always easy to piss off. Without realizing it, he used stronger attacks, which Arthur easily and gracefully avoided, laughing at how pathetic he seemed. It was a fierce battle. At one point, we could tell Arthur was exhausted.

‘Not so mighty now, are you?’ he laughed, ready for dealing the finishing blow.

But his attack was forced to a stop, only a few centimeters away from him. Father was confused, Arthur smirked. And we could see it.

Arthur’s other wing. Not fully developed, frail as a thin glass frame, but strong enough to stop a few attacks like that one. His second weapon we had no idea he had. A weapon we thought it was only a myth, nothing more.

A kakuja.

‘I guess cat’s out of the bag now’ Arthur spoke, and used that element of surprise to extend his hand towards our father and rip out his heart.

As a proof of dominance over the other, Arthur tasted his heart, dropping it after that first bite. ‘Vile.’ He had muttered. ‘If ghouls are supposed to taste bad, you’re worse than any I ever had, or ever will.’ He added. ‘As for what happens to you, I’ll let your family decide. Correction: my family.’ He laughed in hysterics after that, and withdrew himself in his room. He only emerged three days later, calm and seemingly sane. Mother had implored him to consume father completely. Arthur accepted.

When Arthur became nineteen, we came here. But he returned there on occasion, something like twice a year.

Alfred was left speechless. “But Arthur had said…..!”

“Kakuja ghouls are unstable. And that makes them dangerous.” Dylan completed. “It’s not that Arthur is 100% sane, either. Sometimes, he loses himself.”

“But hey!” Conor cheered. “We’re family, that’s what family is for!”

Matthew was standing by the window, observing the street. “There’s something happening there.”

Everyone ran by the window. There was a fight. One against many. And normally, Alistair wouldn’t mind, unless it was someone he cared about.

The word came out without even realizing.

“Arthur!”

~

Alfred and Matthew felt like they were shot back in that night when Arthur had killed his father. But unlike that time, there were so many to fight against him, but he was a more experienced fighter than he was back then.

Matthew felt terrified of Arthur. Francis had always called him ‘the English demon’ but he could never understand why, even after Arthur became his caretaker. Until tonight.

Alfred, on contrary, was in awe. His hair was covered in blood and gore. His clothes, black as the night, seemed untouched. With a pair of wings erupting of his back, one seemingly torn from a glass angel sculpture, the other belonging to a beast of myth, a sadistic smirk on his face. He was just like a warrior angel. Or even better, a fallen one.

And for those who were sent against him, tonight Arthur had become their Devil.