growing up with the knowledge that the world is not as normal as it seems can be a little scary for a young, and impressionable child. but keandre was no normal child – not by a long shot. he has always been interested in everything really – his courage, sometimes reckless acts of curiosity, sure sparked some fear inside his mother’s heart. they moved to jeju when keandre was one year old – he did not get to enjoy the sunny weather of mykonos. they were forced to move back to his mother’s birth place, and his father, whose name he never learnt, stayed behind. of course, keandre could not help but wonder why this wonderful man his mother admired so deeply decided to stay behind – they were clearly in love. but keandre did not understand feelings like most humans do – he has been called cold for it, emotions just did not impress him. nevertheless, he figured it had something, if not everything, to do with the fact that keandre was born a warlock – his hands held magic that was almost certainly a supernatural gift. and with his daring nature, keandre could not help but learn the darker side of his gift – and his mother could not complain much, given that she passed away when he was only sixteen.
learning based on touch – is what keandre decided is the best way to satiate his desire to know everything. his thirst for knowledge earned him the title of ‘nerd’ in school, he did not mind it much. keandre always enjoyed moving around – being a scholar was not his goal, let us just say that. but he could get very absorbed by books, by history, by knowledge. there was nobody to teach him the ways of magic – so he taught himself, as much as he could. there were no books he knew of that dealt with this peculiarity, and he kept his gift hidden from people – being called harry potter was not really something he wished. as he grew older, his need to trace his roots got unbearable – he started researching everything about greece, its culture, its religion. keandre, knowing the supernatural is quite real, grew attached to every story he read – and he believed most of them. when he was old enough to run his own business, he did not hesitate to open an antique shop – in hopes that someone will drop some invaluable object, or information right on his desk.
he was not disappointed.
one fated day – for he cannot call it otherwise – someone dropped a rare book, one that spoke of gods and monsters, and what happened to them. where did they go after the ancient greeks and romans forgot about them? the book mentioned a large scale journey, most gods finding a piece of land on earth where they could rest for eternity – they have supposedly been disheartened by mortal ignorance. keandre called it utter bullshit, he believed in gods alright, but who would be foolish enough to believe this? he had to scoff when he read the locations of the gods – lo and behold, the mighty ares, god of war, pain and blood, was buried in a mountain on – get ready – jeju.
keandre put the book in his bookshelf, not opening it again. he thought it was disrespectful to write something so false – but his curiosity was munching on his brain. what if it was real? he would go on a quest just for the heck of it, not that he believed in this foolish tale – but his curiosity. fine. call him what you want, but he packed his backpack, his warlock practice notes not missing from it, and sought refuge near hallasan. he was not going to be a hermit – forgive him if he needs human company and interaction – but some peace and quiet might help him connect with some spiritual power.
❝ bathe in boar blood, sing the song of war. . .
it took keander some time to compose a ritual that might work. he was not one to give up – he was quite set in his ways, and his ambition ran in his blood. of course, that required months of solitude, of peace, of being stuck inside a wooden cottage near the mountain. he gathered objects that ‘belonged’ to the god – symbols, if you will. a spear, a boar’s head – do not ask how he got that – boar blood, a torch, and a helmet. he acquired a bear pelt – mind you an authentic one, as much as he hated it, he needed it for the ritual. when he considered he was ready enough, he started his journey – hallasan was a shield volcano, so there was a lake keandre knew of. considering its importance, he thought it might be just where ares chose to be. mind you, not in the water – no, that was poseidon’s domain. ares would likely be stuck inside a rock – or a rock wall, maybe a cave. in any case, keandre’s journey began, and it lasted for a week.
a week-long, he sought for the place – he was getting tired of it. and at some point, he decided to stop at just any rock formation – call it dumb luck, if you will. he had a feeling about this one, and he was too impatient not try his hand at it. this was a complete waste of time, he knew it – still, he put a lot of effort into his ritual for unknown reasons. he placed the boar head before the rocks, and put the pelt over his shoulder. he dipped his fingers in the boar blood, and dragged them across his cheeks. he put the helmet on, and lit the torch. he placed the speak next to the head. the sun was slowly sinking behind the mountain, and the sky was blood-red. it was the perfect setting, keandre was careful – it was the right environment for ares to return. of course, if he was even around. keandre dipped his fingers in blood once more, and dragged them across the rocks in a circle, then a line to cut the circle – one of the known symbols of ares. he started chanting in greek, his pronunciation as good as it gets – he no longer had the native touch.
Θεός Άρης, αναμένεται. Ακούστε την προσευχή μου τώρα, οι θνητοί ζητούν τον πόλεμο. Ευλογείστε μας με τη θεϊκή σας τιμωρία, κάνετε τη ροή του αίματος. Σκοτώστε τους εχθρούς μας, κάντε τη ροή του αίματος. Άρη, ξυπνήστε τώρα.
god ares, you are awaited. listen to my prayer now, mortals call for war. bless us with your divine retribution, make the blood flow. kill our enemies, make the blood flow. ares, wake up now.
THE process of arresting anyone involved with the mafia was daunting to say the very least. cases involving mafia were out of reach, and frankly, the police did not like getting involved with criminals like that. but perhaps the fact that they were so restricted was what intrigued xavier in the first place. he was not someone to accept ‘not possible’ or ‘do not get close’ when it came to justice. his hunger for it was insatiable, so he knew very well that he had to do something about the entire situation. he created his mafia alter ego a few years ago, and has since grew quite fond of his identity. baek minjun was your typical broken home boy, who enjoyed rebelling against everyone, and anyone. a master of many hidden arts, he was the one responsible with getting information whenever it was required. he has gained some popularity for his brutality – of course, they all enjoyed violence.
xavier tried to stay lowkey, and only rarely went undercover as minjun. of course, since he was already known in the mafia scene, it was easier to stay away for longer – too much bad influence would mess with his mind. he closed several cases revolving around small mafia members, most of them associates – he could not get one of the important people, it would raise suspicions. he has long worked on finding out who exactly leads the entire operation, and after reading file after file, he came out empty-handed. and his team was no help, the situation rested on his shoulders – and xavier did feel the pressure. but he was good, very good at his job – and at overworking. he would stay up for nights in a row, popping modafinil, drinking coffee, smoking – to the point that ethan’s worry made him stay with xavier every single day. no matter how many times he would tell xavier to rest, the latter would not listen. and ethan resorted to the only thing he knew – stick by his side, help along, sleeping whenever he got the chance. whilst xavier would have been disturbed by any other presence while working, he was alright with ethan – the boy learnt to be obedient over the years, so he would not speak if he did not have to. it was thanks to ethan that xavier ate, drank water, and took a few minutes break.
just when they thought xavier pushed himself enough, another case rolled in – a tight connection to the mafia. a homicide that needed immediate and close attention – xavier accepted it, like he accepted a lot of cases, regardless of how tired he was. luck has it, that his team cared enough to take most of burden, helping the investigation along. ethan ended up slipping a sleeping pill in his friend’s coffee, knowing that rest should help his recklessness. xavier dozed off on his desk, sleeping soundlessly for more than half of the day. when he woke up, and realised he has been knocked out for eighteen hours, he stormed off – and fair enough, ethan was glad he did not punch him, or anyone else in the process.
xavier was in his car when he decided it was time for minjun to step in – his team did not know about his covers, and it was best to keep them ignorant. he started putting his piercings in, his hair luckily dyed black this time. he applied the fake tattoos, took his blue-grey contact lenses out, and put his tongue piercing in. he drove his car back home to change it – when he was minjun he had to use a different car, one that he would not regret smashing against every wall. because that was what minjun did, he chased cars around, he crashed them – hence why he preferred his motorcycle. however, the bike has been at the repair shop for too long, and xavier had no time to waste. his mind was filled with case details, some a little blurry – his mind was hazy from his sleep, and he wanted to curse ethan. he knew deep inside that the sleep actually helped, but his stubborn mouth would never utter a ‘thank you’.
xavier, no, minjun drove to one of the mafia’s frequent hangout spot. it was outside the bar that he witnessed a transaction – drugs, and fuck. minjun dodged the gaze of the police officer, who was cleverly dressed in perfectly normal attire. his breath stopped, and anger crept in – the officer was dirty. with all the evil in the world, he could not stand the thought that those who were supposed to bring justice turned a blind eye. he got out of his car, and walked towards the group of people. the two bad guys greeted him cheerfully – they liked him. his grave look, however, made them swallow their tongues.
“‘re you idiots? this is a cop,” minjun’s speech was heavily influenced by the streets. it was nothing compared to xavier’s beautifully polished, artistic speech. his ability to easily switch languages, accents, and registers was admirable – and a great source of entertainment when he wanted to make someone giggle, or blush. the guys looked at the cop, but minjun was quicker. he grabbed his collar, and punched him in the face – blood started to drip down. he broke the guy’s nose as if it were an old branch. “now, tell us, mate. you’ve told your cop friends about this?” he shook him, pushed him until he crashed against a wall. the guy was barely breathing, his mouth was full of blood.
“no, I-I-I s-swear nobody kn-knows,” the guy stuttered, but minjun did not believe him. he passed him to his ‘friends’ and gave them the signal to finish the job. he turned away and walked inside the bar, hearing the groans, and screams. he convinced himself he did not care. he had to convince himself.
he walked in, and a lot of people came up to him. they respected him, they were in awe of his accomplishments – and word has it he was more powerful than he let on. they believed he had an important role in the entire operation – and that was exactly what he wanted them to believe. he wanted to be famous, needed that recognition in order to attract the attention of his person of interest. and for the first time, he realised, it worked.
“mj, there’s someone who’s dying to meet ya,” one of the people minjun regularly talked to approached, and urged him to follow him to a secluded room. the bar was lively, but once they left the main area, everything became silent. the room he was brought to was filled with smoke, laughter, alcohol, and beautiful girls who were there for a good time. minjun definitely did not fit in this scene, his distressed jeans, leather jacket, piercings, and tattoos were in opposition with the neat, clean look of everyone inside. there was one person who caught his attention – he was surrounded by girls, giggling in his ears, and he exuded power. xavier’s gut feeling made him extremely careful, this man was someone he did not want to upset. this man was someone who should never know his real identity.
“boss, this is the guy we’ve been tellin’ you ‘bout. he just beat up a cop,” the guy laughed and pat minjun’s back in admiration, minjun smirked satisfied. he did not like to brag about his accomplishments, but he was clearly satisfied. he fixed his leather jacket, some dried blood still visible on his knuckles.
“surprised nobody smelled him out before,” minjun said it casually, not meaning it as an insult. It was rather a show of his modesty, something to gain him respect. as if he was saying ‘no big deal, I got this, I am your man’. he laid his eyes on the man, and waited, almost holding his breath in the process.
are we allowed to bring cameras to the bap loe concert? I have a Nikon p510. It isn't huge, but it isn't like a small, pocket digital camera?
Hello , powerhouse hasn’t said that you can’t take pictures. So i’m going to assume you can but “no commercial or flash photography of any kind is permitted”. I’m not sure about the camera though. hope this helps :)
