Curses and Cream Puffs

This fight had been going for nearly twenty minutes now. Damien could feel blood dripping from his nose and from a cut at his hairline. His opponent held him by the back of his hair and slammed him against the wall, a smug grin on his face the entire time. Louis was taller and stronger than Damien.
He always had been. Damien may have been smarter in most aspects, but that didn't matter in this situation. Damien managed to block Louis before he was able to punch him in the gut and shoved him away. He wiped sweat and blood from his forehead and tried to stand up as straight and firm as he could.

Louis staggered back. He was in better shape than Damien was, but Damien had good some good hits in. His lip was busted, at least. Louis started towards Damien again, but paused and looked up at their small audience. Rupert Astor looked down at the two of them, seemingly deep in thought. Next to him was his wife, Emelia. She looked concerned, but she knew better than to interfere. Rupert placed a hand on his shoulder and moved inbetween the two of them.

"I think I've seen enough," he said gruffly. "Louis. Sit down."

"He can still fight," Louis argued. "I was going to move from fists to swords."

"You'll have another opportunity to pummel your brother," Rupert snapped. "I told you to sit down."

Louis was reluctant, but gave Damien one more threatening look before going up to sit by their mother. Damien made sure not to look grateful. Weakness was the biggest shame in his family. Louis was always ready to become a warrior without a question, but it took Damien a little longer to get to where his older brother was. Still, he wasn't sure why he wanted to be there. The dynamic of their family was unconventional. Most households didn't have a training arena in their basements, where fathers watched their sons beat each other to a pulp.

Emelia started to wipe at Louis' cuts while Rupert took Damien to the side, patting him on the shoulder. Damien didn't speak, but he anxiously waited for his father's thoughts on the spar. Damien hadn't exactly won, but he didn't lose either. He watched as his father took a deep breath, then finally looked at him. He didn't wear a pleased expression, but he rarely ever did. He was a terrifying man to look at, nearly seven feet tall and muscular with heavy scars and a patch covering where his right eye used to be. He scratched at his beard absentmindedly.

"You were sloppy in your stance," he finally said. "It's no wonder Louis was able to knock you over so easily."

Damien looked down at his feet.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Those monsters won't take it as easy on you as Louis did."

"Louis took it easy?" Damien asked, raising a brow. "He would've killed me if he had the chance."

"He would have killed you if you were too weak to defend yourself," Rupert corrected. "But you're not dead. That must mean something."

"What does it mean?"

"It means you're ready," he concluded.

Louis shot up from where he sat, eyes wide.

"Ready?!" he exclaimed. "You must be joking. Send him out there and he'll make a fool of our family name."

"Sit. Down," Rupert yelled, his deep voice echoing through the arena.

Louis slowly sat back down. Their mother gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to your father," she said softly.

"Five generations of the Astor family have fought back against the soulless crimes of witches," Rupert said. "As long as we fight, the good people of Charnesse can sleep easily. This is the burden of our family name. A responsibility that my father placed upon me, and one that I pass on to my sons. Both of my sons."

Louis looked away and scoffed. Damien tried not to take it too personally. His brother never did have much faith in him. He wasn't so sure his father did, either.

"If you think I'm ready to fight, then I'm ready," he said firmly.

"Good," Rupert nodded. "After years of training, I hope you won't disappoint me."

He gave Damien another pat on the shoulder before going back up the stairs. Louis, still annoyed, followed after him. Always following him, like a little puppy. Emelia stood up and slowly walked towards Damien, making sure Louis and Rupert were gone before putting her arms around her younger son and pulling him into a hug.

"Mother, please," Damien sighed. "I'll get sweat and blood all over your clothes."

"I'll buy a new one," she said softly, brushing his hair away from his face. "Damien, are you sure about this? I can talk to him. You don't have to-"

"Fight witches?" Damien finished. "And then what? Shame my family? He'll disown me."

"He wouldn't do that," she said. "It's important, the work your father and brother do. I know it is. But I worry about them every day. What those terrible beasts can do to them. My nightmare is to outlive my own child."

"Mother, I'll be alright," he promised, lifting her hands to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"Alright," she said reluctantly. "Well, wash up for dinner then."

"I only came for the challenge," he admitted. "I didn't plan on staying."

Emelia pursed her lips together. She hadn't been overjoyed with the idea of Damien moving out of Astor Manor to live in a small cottage by himself, but she nodded and hugged him once more before letting him go.

The truth was, Damien hated ever moment he had to spend in Astor Manor. On his way out he passed by the portraits of his predecessors, all witch hunters. And successful, at that. Rupert had been strict in training his sons to fight. He had personal reasons to hate witches. Not only were they the reason he wore an eyepatch and walked with a limp, but they had taken the lives of Rupert's family. A powerful coven had taken upon themselves to destroy the Astor hunters, and in the process killed Rupert's parents, sister, and brother. This only motivated Rupert to make sure Louis and Damien revived their family.

Louis didn't mind the work and training, but Damien never felt quite so close to the cause. He didn't need to live in a house where those portraits would constantly stare down at him, forever gazing shamefully into his soul.

As he made it back to his small home in the outskirts of town, he finally let the exhaustion hit him. He heated up some water to draw a bath, tossing aside his bloody clothes and taking a little while to just soak in the hot water and scrub the blood off of himself. He had cuts on his knuckles from Louis' teeth. Damien wondered if he had knocked any of them out. He hoped he did. Then he felt guilty. Why would he hope to knock his brother's teeth out. He shook the thought from his mind, sinking down into the tub.

He stayed there a while until the water began to go cold. Eventually he pulled himself back up to his feet. His entire body protested, and as he looked at his reflection he found cuts and bruises he didn't even know he had. He knew there must have been an injury or two underneath his shaggy brown hair, and there was a cut on his left cheek. His green eyes looked dull and tired, and there was a massive bruise on right side.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath as he got dressed.

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but it was nearly noon the next day when a banging stirred him awake. He shuffled to the door and opened it, surprised to see his brother standing there.

"Louis. Uh, come in-"

He didn't get a chance to finish what he was saying before Louis let himself inside, slamming a piece of parchment against Damien's chest. He winced at the pressure against his bruise there.

"What's this?" Damien grunted.

"It's your first target," Louis said. "The report came in this morning. Father things you're ready to handle it."

"And you?"

"Don't get so smug," Louis warned. "Mother and Father might have faith in you, but I know how weak you can be. Just don't embarrass us."

"Thank you for the words of motivation, dear brother," Damien said.

Louis rolled his eyes. He slammed the door shut on his way out. Damien looked down at the parchment, which had simple directions on it to a small village just outside of Charnesse. From there, Damien would have to find his target himself. He figured it couldn't be too hard. Such evil would be easy to spot in a village of that size.

He knew his father would be impatient to hear back. There was no time to rest. He got dressed and strapped his weapons on. A long dagger strapped to his thigh and a crossbow on his back. His family emblem was displayed proudly on the sheath of the dagger. He did better at close range, but he needed to keep his options open. He had yet to feel what it was to kill something.

By the time he trekked to the village, it was just beginning to get dark. He looked around for a moment, but his thoughts were interrupted when a young woman suddenly ran past, slamming into him. He caught her before she fell over, but her basket of flowers wasn't so lucky.

"Oh my," she squeaked, getting down to her knees to pick them up and put them back in the basket. "I'm sorry. I was just in such a hurry to get home."

Damien knew that if it had been his father and brother they would have sneered and moved on, but he felt a slight twinge of guilt. He knelt down and helped her put the rest of the flowers in the basket.

"Go home," he told her. "It can be dangerous out here at night."

"Oh," she frowned. "That's not good. Stay safe."

She gave him a bright smile before she scurried off. He watched her go. She really didn't know about the danger in the village? He would have assumed that news traveled fast in such a small population. He shrugged it off. There was work to do.