Chapter 2
Chapter 3
His Little Lord is five when his Lord passes away in his sleep.
Its one of the few times in Jager's life that the teen finds he doesn't quite know what to do.
Bermuda was still so young, too young, for the pressure the elder knew would be crushing down upon the child. Yet society would not care. Volker von Veckenschtein is dead, leaving Bermuda to face the wolves alone. There is no doubt in Jager's mind that many who attend the funeral would be looking to influence if not outright extradite the newly orphaned Veckenschtein Scion.
Judging from the look upon His Lord's face, Bermuda was well aware of what was awaiting him outside the carriage's walls.
"Lord Bermuda, If you do not wish to do this you do not have to."
It was a lie, they both knew that. Many would challenge his Right to Inherit if he did not show. Yet a part of Jager could not help but wish Bermuda would take his up on his offer and turn around- go back to the safety of the Manor.
"No. Thank you, but this is something I must do Jager."
"Of course, Lord Bermuda. "
He says nothing at His Lord's expressionless face, the wolves outside the carriage's doors would tear His Lord apart if he showed even an ounce of emotions, as their carriage stills to a complete stop.
The funeral is a solemn affair, Jager spends it as he has many other events: As Lord Bermuda's shadow. As far as the wolves are concerned Lord Bermuda had arrived alone yet Jager is there observing the deplorable eyes that descry His Lord's every breath. If any had made a move forward with Ill intent, Jager would not hesitate to terminate the filth before their shadow could even grace His Lords being. Still, Jager finds himself highly tempted to end this farce in a bloodbath the moment an overweight mid-aged man with thinning brown hair all but drags one of his daughters towards His Lord.
Perhaps making his such a happy occasion can help one overcome the recent tragedy, Indeed.
If not for the emerald eyes glancing his way with a perspicuous warning, Jager would have decimated the man for his boldness alone. After all, he wasn't supposed to be there; it would be embarrassing if he was caught due to his inability to stifle his temper. Still, he doubted anyone would question it if the man suffered an unfortunate accident during one of his midnight strolls.
He has discovered the source of all evil.
Emerald eyes narrow at the dangerous foe across from the child as a scowl easily slips onto his face. Despite his best efforts he just couldn't seem to best the foe that sat less them five feet away, mocking him with its very existence.
"Lord Bermuda, glaring at the paperwork will not cause it lessen. "
Emerald eyes slowly- cautiously as he was still certain the monster was breeding on his desk- glance away from the Devil Incarnated and onto his own personal angel, only to resist the urge to cry upon noticing a good two-foot-high stack of papers within his angel's arms. He's honestly tempted to burn it all, to use it as kindle for the fireplace keeping the study warm, but he knows better.
Personal experience had taught him better for no matter how many times he burned the Devil Jager- a secret sadist angel who thought ahead on everything- would show up with extra copies he had made 'just in case'. Bermuda does his best to forget what he was certain was demonic chuckles that left the sadist angel when the younger had busted into tears after the twelfth failed attempt to free himself of the Devil Incarnated.
Yes, paperwork was the Source of all Evil and it had obviously hypostasized Jager's sadist side into using it as a form of torture.
Nothinganyone said would convince Bermuda otherwise.
"Jager," Bermuda lifted his head from it had slammed onto the desk as his pile tripled to meet the teen's golden gaze, "Whatever I did I would like to formally apologize now."
Now if he knew what he had done to deserve Jager's subtle form of torture.
Despite Bermuda's higher intelligence, or rather because of it, Jager finds it easy to forget His Lord is only a child. Other times reality decides to remind him first hand on how much of a child His Lord actually was, right now was one of such times.
"Lord Bermuda, Please slow down."
He couldn't help but call after the child as golden eyes watched the black blur rush about their hotel room. If he ever figured out who left the damn coffee and sugar where His Lord could reach, Jager swore he would kill them.
Crash!
The mirror shattered as the blur impacted with it and Jager could feel his eye twitch as His Lord blinked slowly from where he had bounced back and into the bed.
It would be a slow and agonizing death, Jager would personally ensure that, as he watched His Lords smile grow at his newly fount trampoline that was once their bed. Unfortunately, murder would have to wait as the teenager currently had a bigger problem to deal with; such as getting His Lord unstuck from the bedroom's chandelier. It didn't help His Lord was still moving and with every moment, Jager could literally hear where the back of the other's coat was caught was slowly tearing.
No one was around to hear the loud crash that followed as Jager bodily threw himself across the room to catch his suddenly free-falling Lord in time.
Oh yes, someone was defiantly going to suffer for this.
Though Bermuda would never confess it aloud, he was desperate.
Nervously emerald eyes glance towards the Grandfather clock: Four-fifty A.M.
He needed more time. He wasn't ready yet time was something, not even magic could spare him- at least not without a time-turner which currently doesn't exist- as every tick of the clock is like a Death Sentence slowly creeping closer.
At exactly Four Fifty-five am all like in the room ceases as the floorboards creak from an upstairs bedroom. His wide eyes meet those of the servants around him and if asked Bermuda wouldn't quite know who had spoken the only word to pierce the silence:
"Hide!"
He feels as childish as he looks hiding in the lightless den under a table with several of the servants but he was willing to do practically anything not to be caught in the crossfire. At exactly Four Fifty-Nine the stairs creak softly underfoot as a dim candlelight manages to partially illuminate the room but not enough to reach their hiding spot. Its Five am and they are out of time as footsteps move closer towards them.
Nodding to the servants, Bermuda gives the signal.
"Happy Birthday Jager!"
If later asked, Jager would forever deny jumping a good five feet in the air or throwing the candle in his hand at the nearest figure that lunged out of nowhere. Bermuda would forever deny thanking any God willing to listen for his sudden 'Short' status as the candle embedded itself halfway into the wall only a good half inch above his head.
"Surprise?"
The word fell from his lips a bit weaker then he would have liked but considering how Jager had almost- literally- taken off his head just moments before with an old-fashioned candlestick, Bermuda would like to think he could be forgiven for that.
When it came to gifts Bermuda knew his gift probably wasn't the best or the fanciest, but it was heartfelt. The first part of his gift had been to burn all of Jager's current -coughRagscough- uniforms and clothes only to replace them with suits and everyday clothing made of the same material as his own.
What? Jager went with him everywhere- even if the other was never seen- might as well dress him accordingly.
He made sure to firmly reject Jager's attempt to reject his gift since it wasn't 'proper for someone of his status'. Like he honestly cared about the Caste System society seemed determined to rely upon here. Something Bermuda more than proved with the second part of his gift.
For the Second Part of his gift, Bermuda announced Jager to be his Vassal with all the appropriate papers and legal terms tied so neatly not even this twisted system would be capable of undoing it. Thus elevating Jager's own social status in society from a Fourth-class Servant to a Second Class Vassal for the House of Veckenschtein. It took a moment for the truth of what he had done to register in Jager's mind but when it did:
Crash!
For a moment, all Bermuda could do was stare blankly at Jager's prone form lying on the hardwood floor before glancing towards the other servants in confusion.
"What is something I said?"
Bermuda was home.
Life was a cruel and harsh place but no matter what they faced, Bermuda had always been his home from the moment Jager had discovered the toddler in that crater. Bermuda was warmth, comfort, and safety. He was peace and acceptance, someone who had seen that side of Jager, not even Jager could bring himself to love, only to smile and accept even the darkest parts of him without a problem.
Bermuda was Home.
Bermuda was missing.
Jager could feel his nail pierce his skin drawing blood that slowly dripped down his palms and onto the wooden floors below but the sixteen-year-old couldn't find it within himself to care. Someone had stolen his home. Just the thought alone caused the fire in his veins to blaze into an inferno of rage and fury.
He wants to find the one who dares steal his home from him and rip them into pieces with his bare hands. He wants to watch as the life leaves their eyes as he through eradicates their unworthy existence from this word and the next, but it won't be a quick death.
Oh no, they had stolen from him and for that, they would suffer.
He wants to hear their screams as he breaks every bone in their bodies, as he tears their flesh from the skin and strips them down to the bare bones. He wants to tears them into pieces so small no one would ever be capable of locating them again. And he will but first, he had to find out who had stolen his home from him and where they were cowering.
Then and only then would he be capable of tearing apart this new threat to both His Lord and his home.
Then and only then would the raging inferno beneath his flesh be allowed to feast on the fools who dare steal from him.
Jager was going to kill him, of that Bermuda was certain.
Attempted kidnapping wasn't anything new in his life- many looked at him: a ten-year-old Lord to a very old fortune that only grew in years and saw an opportunity- but it was rather new for them to get this far. Usually they never even made it to his being before Jager was there to put them down with extreme prejudice. Unfortunately, this one seemed a bit clever than the last, as here he was; sitting in a darkened bedroom and Jager nowhere to be seen.
Of course, Bermuda- while alone- was far from defenseless.
Jager's 'Gift' when he turned eight had been tutoring-complete and utter torture- on different forms of combat and self-defense. Bermuda was utterly convenience Jager had just used it as an excuse to hide his sadistic nature and to get away with beating him until he was literally black and blue all over. He was practically a master of Jager's form of 'Self Defense'.
The shuffling of feet outside his door drew Bermuda's attention as a voice reached his ears.
"-nothing in the contract about the Hit being on a Sky-"
And there was that term again, it was one that seemed to follow the emerald-eyed boy just as the term 'cloud' followed Jager. Bermuda wasn't quite sure what it meant and Jager never asked before he permanently incapacitated his potential assassins- it wasn't like they could just sit down for a cup of tea and small talk after all.
"-worth more alive than dead-"
Well, that was nice to know. Though it wouldn't be helping the man's soul once Jager got his hands on him.
"-Triple or no deal-"
That was if there was anything left of the man for Jagger to get his hands on.
After all, while Jager makes a great knight; Bermuda is no Cinderella, he would much rather be the dragon.
By the time he manages to find the run-down house the kidnappers are holding His Lord in, the place is as silent as the grave with a strong metallic scent coming from within. Jager all but breaks the rotting door off its hinges due to the sudden urgency to get inside, only to freeze once he was.
His home, His Lord, is sitting at the head of an old table eating what appears to be cake- of all things- with a teen that could only be a few years younger then Jager himself. Honestly, the other teen looks as though he has seen better days; His clothes worn with age and torn, his dark crimson locks matters, his sunken earthly crimson eyes, and what appears to be rope burns around his wrists Malnourishment, neglect and outright abuse are rather obvious in both looks and actions as the noise of the door slamming into the wall has the rouge flinching slightly while attempting to shrink into Lord Bermuda's side at every chance available.
Next to the teen is Bermuda. His Lord does not look any worse for wear but there is blood splatter upon his clothes, under his nails and staining his childish face. Jager has no doubt the splatter has something to do with the broken corpses he had caught sights of within the corner of his eyes.
"Jager," Bermuda's voice cuts through the silence like a hot knife, "This is Jack. We're taking him home with us."
A part of Jager wants to say no but he knows His Lord well, if he said no now Bermuda would find a way of smuggling the teenager into their home and Jager wouldn't find out about it until the other almost tears out his throat in a misguided attempt at protecting His Lord- he had learned that the hard way with the last stray; a wolf pup, he refused to allow His Lord to keep. His Lord had been most upset when Jager had killed the thing -he outright refused to call it Snuffles- in self-defense.
Maybe letting Bermuda keep the other teen could be his way of apologizing?
"Of course, Lord Bermuda. "
If the other turned out to be feral, Jager could always put him down and claim he ran away when Bermuda would eventually get around to asking. For now, though, Jager needed to see what injury His Lord was attempting to hide from him.
"Lord Bermuda, what's wrong with your arm?"
Jager couldn't help but narrow his eyes as His Lord froze with a fork of cake halfway to his mouth.
"Wrong?" The younger's eyes seemed to dart around the room as though already plotting an escape. It wouldn't really surprise Jager if the younger actually was. "There's nothing wrong with my arm Jager. Everything is perfectly fine."
"Then you won't mind if I look it over with my own eyes, now would you?"
The fork fell from His Lord's hand. By the time it clattered upon the table top, His Lord was already up and running.
Never attempt to run from Jager.
It never ends well.
Ever.
Unfortunately, that would be one lesson Bermuda would never quite learn no matter how many lifetimes he lived through.
Jack, on the other hand, seemed to have learned his lesson rather quickly and developed a rather strange phobia of Jager every time the elder came within ten feet of bandages or a medical unit. Jager would forever claim he honestly had no idea how the younger teen's strange phobia came about.
Chapter 4
"So this organization-"
"The Mafia."
"Right, the Mafia is hoping to form itself as a secret society with people capable of -"
"Dying Will Flames. "
"-Dying Will Flames by kidnapping people capable of achieving such feats?"
It sounded ridiculous when Jager put it like that and Jack obviously thought the same yet the older gave a stiff nod.
"And they actually expect that to work?"
"Yes."
Honestly, Bermuda felt he should be surprised but seeing his track record with Secret Society's willingly reviling themselves to him upon his eleventh Birthday, but to be honest; he wasn't.
The Founding of the Mafia, Multiple attempts at Kidnapping or outright murder, supposedly secret magic powers and a whole society that knew long before he did- why the hell not? It was just his sort of luck. At least Jack had finally decided to willingly come clean instead of water for some Dark Lord and his minions to show up on their doorstep.
"-And Lord Bermuda is a Sky?"
"A Cloudy Sky actually."
"There's a difference?"
"A major one."
Well, at least Jager was taking this well, even if he did seem a bit skeptical he wasn't outright attempting to lock him inside a vault yet so Bermuda would consider that a win.
If Jager was honest, he thought Jack was insane.
Secret Societies, Mafia, Superpowers, Cloudy Skies, Rainy Clouds, Storm, Harmonization.
It all seemed like something out of an action novel or a fairytale. Yet His Lord seemed to take the other's talk seriously and Jager himself couldn't sense any lies in the red head's words, only a warning of a rapidly building threat towards him and him. After all, if he understood Jack correctly this new organization targeted Skies and Cloudy or not His Lord was a Sky and a powerful one at that. They had already attempted to acquire the younger multiple times; there was no telling when they would bore of their constant failures and finally up their game so to speak.
If he understood Jack's words, the only thing that could even save His Lord was some mythical, magical 'Harmonization' which would supply His Lord with Guardians. Apparently the more Guardians he had the safer His Lord would be, yet he could not force Bermuda to Harmonize with anyone and at the moment he was His Lord's only Guardian.
Maybe he could just lock Bermuda safety away in a padded vault?
There would be no need for Guardians then- it's not like Bermuda needed anyone else- as His Lord would be safe and well out of anyone's reach. Still, Jager knew it would only upset His Lord if he actually did so, even if he had the best of intentions in mind. His Lord never did like the idea of confinement and he utterly hated it when one used the reasoning of Greater Good.
A heavy sigh left the dark haired teen as his eyes moved from Jack's form and onto His Lord's thoughtful expression. He knew that look- Jager still had nightmares that evolved around that look alone- nothing but trouble ever followed it. Slowly his gaze locked onto Jack's crimson orbs, the younger was a Storm, so maybe he could recruit the other into helping to keep His Lord alive and Whole.
Share the insanity and all that.
"Congratulations on your new occupation, Jack."
"Thank yo-Wait...What?!"
For not the first time, Jager wondered how this had actually become his life. After all, the golden-eyed teen was certain no one else had to put up with the madness he dealt with on a daily basic.
"The Storm is always the right hand!"
"Not in this Household!"
Bermuda couldn't help but wince as a loud crash followed by a colorful array of words filled his ears.
Jack, it would appear was a secret masochist, since there was no other logical reason for the redhead to constantly be challenging Jager over what position they belonged to. Honestly, one would think after being beaten through a wall -for the sixteenth time in the last half hour alone- the crimson eyed teen would have given up or at least figured out Jager was a sadist who was getting far too much pleasure out of torturing- or sorry, he meant teaching- the other his place.
Maybe he could leave? It wasn't too late, was it? Emerald eyes glanced toward the window- two stories couldn't be that far of a drop....Right?- as the sound of destruction moved closer to his bedroom. Slowly the eleven-year-old stood and began to make his way silently towards the window and in turn free.
"Bermuda, If you set one more foot towards that window I will break it!"
Only to freeze as Jager's voice rang irrefutably from the floor below.
"Ha! Threating the sky just proves you're not worthy of being the Right Hand!"
Crash! Bermuda could hear something shatter below followed by Jager's voice.
"Bowing to his every wish is spoiling him, not proving one's position Mutt. I am Bermuda's right hand- everything I do is for his sake- not you."
For not the first time Bermuda wondered how this had become his life. Well, that and wither or not he was willing to risk a his limbs in an attempt to escape the madness slowly moving closer to his position. Slam! His bedroom door embossed itself into the wall as Jack rushed towards him.
"Lord Bermuda tell Jager I'm the Right Hand."
Only he never quite made contact as a chain darted from the hallway and wrapped around Jack's lower legs, unbalancing the redhead until he crashed onto the floor. For some reason Bermuda was reminded eerily of one of those horror movie Dudley always seemed to watch- despite how terrified him- as the rouge was slowly dragged out of the room- leaving rather impressive nail marks and maybe a couple of fingernails in the wood- and into the darkness where a pair of glowing eyes waiting.
"My apologies for allowing him to disturb you," Jager's voice rang from the darkness, "Please continue on with your paperwork Lord Bermuda."
Bermuda couldn't help but shiver as his door slammed shut followed by a high pitched scream.
He didn't see Jack for a week after that and when Bermuda finally did the other would have a hunted look in his eyes while flinching every time Jager casually mentioned the words: Right Hand. Bermuda would never gain the courage to ask where exactly Jager had gotten the chains from, instead, he would mentally place the question in a 'Do Not Want to Know' file while attempting to Obliviate himself.
He only tried once and would forever deny the scream that left his lips when chains managed to block the spell by covering him from head to toe.
His Lord was miserable, it was painfully clear in Jager's eyes as he watched the small form attempt to bury itself further within the depths of silk and quilts. Jager couldn't fault the other though, he had left Jack to care for the younger after all. It was a mistake on his part. He should have known Jack couldn't take care of a goldfish let alone an actual child.
"You are not feeding that abomination to Lord Bermuda."
Golden eyes narrowed suspiciously at the purplish glob that was the redhead's attempt at 'Cooking' though the last time Jager had looked cooking wasn't supposed to emit a foul smoke that literally killed the nearby plants; let alone move. Matter of fact, it wasn't supposed to be blinking up at him either. Thank God he had returned before his monstrosity had left the kitchen or Jager feared he might have returned home to a dead Lord.
Crimson eyes blinked at the dark haired teen in confusion.
"Why? There's nothing wrong with it. It happens to be one of my best attempts to date."
Forget caring for a goldfish. Jack obviously couldn't care for himself.
"Jack," Jager kept his voice calm as he met the other's gaze, speaking slowly as one would a toddler, "Its literally crawling off the plate."
"Wait, what? God damn it, I told you to stay dead!"
Jager slowly edged his way out of the room as Jack attempted to brain- if that was even possible- the food(?) with a wooden cutting board. The sound of destruction and curses followed the teenager as he turned to the nearest maid.
"Imelda, please head into town and buy Lord Bermuda some soup. I believe the kitchen shall be out of order today and possibly longer depending on how bad the contamination truly is."
Jager did not wait for a response as he quickly made his way back towards His Lord's bedroom and locked himself inside. He chose to pointy ignore the screams- that sounded rather suspiciously like Jack's voice - of 'Jager, Help me! It's mutated!' and 'Oh God, its trying to eat me!' coming from the kitchen in favor of sitting at His Lord's bedside.
It was Jack's dilemma, not his.
If it was possible to die of embarrassment, Bermuda was certain he would keel over at any given moment.
"Jager, have I ever told you how much I hated you?"
Amused golden eyes locked upon the child with what many would assume to be innocent naivety but Bermuda knew better, he could see the demonic satisfaction within those orbs.
"Its just a painting Lord Bermuda. Every family does one."
It wasn't the painting that would be the cause of Bermuda's death but rather what Jager had forced him into.
"Then why am I in a dress?"
A pink, frilly- straight out of his worst nightmares- dress with cute little bows and ribbons here and there, enough ruffles and laces to fuel his nightmares for centuries, mountains of glitter he knew would stick around for months, rosebud stockings and probably worst of all: high heels. If not for Jager's constant hand upon his shoulder, Bermuda had no doubt he would have been introduced to the floor multiple times while wearing the Devil's product.
Of course if not for Jager's hand upon his shoulder, Bermuda also would have kicked off the shoes and ran for it.
"Because you stained your suit in a fit of childish rebellion, Lord Bermuda. The dress was all that was left."
While Jager may have sounded apologetic, Bermuda knew the older teen was anything but. Jager's words were filthy lies as the younger's closet- completely full of fresh, clean suits- was just up the stairway. It wouldn't even take him five minutes to change but Jager would not have it.
"I'm sure you will try to be more careful in the future. "
Bermuda cannot help but shiver at the sharp smile on the other's face alongside the sadistic gleam within those golden eyes. The silent threat is so clear, Bermuda is certain even a dead man could understand it.
"Not to worry My Lord. The dress suits you so well, no one will ever even know you're not an adorable little girl. "
Bermuda swears he can hear the tattered remains of his pride shatter like broken glass at Jack's well-meaning but completely obvious words. Jager attempts to muffle his snickering but Bermuda hears it echoing within his head alongside Jack's words as clear as day.
"Well then Jack," He drawls out the other's name as glowing emerald eyes lock upon the redhead,"If you seem to like it so much, why don't we get you one as well. I'm sure Jager can find one well within your size."
"T-There's no need my Lord. I wouldn't want to trouble Jager-"
"Oh its no trouble, Jack." There's something terrifying about the growing smirk upon Jager's voice and the smooth tone he spoke in, "Matter of fact, I already have one set aside for you."
The rouge quickly turns on heel- no doubt with the full intentions to make a run for it- but he doesn't even make a step before Bermuda's voice rings within the silence.
"Stupefy."
When the artist finally arrive Jager is the only person still within their previously assigned outfits. The man doesn't bother questioning where the two daughters had come from. After all- nothing a Noble did ever made sense- he was paid to paint the family portrait not to choose now of all times to start asking questions.
When the portrait is finally done, Bermuda would hide his copy within a chained up chest in the attic. Jack burned his copy at the first opportunity. As for Jager, Jager hung his copy of the portrait above his bedroom's fireplace mantle for all who entered to see. No amount of begging, pleading, bribing, or threatening would convince him to remove it.
If anything it only had Jager inviting more people into his room- for the smallest of things even- to show it off.