Baram threw the monster – a real monster, a beast, a so-called returned god, a shit who had been attacking his neighbors – through the front wall, and jumped after him. The thing had ripped out a few of Baram’s ribs, and done something unpleasant to his stomach, but right now, he didn’t care. He’d care later, maybe, when his house was safe.
He ripped the weapon out of the god’s hands and shoved it through the creature’s face, swearing incoherently at him, spitting blood all over the thing. He jammed the weapon into the creature again and again, spewing profanity and bodily fluids over him, until the thing was in pieces. Then, only then, did he look up.
In the doorway of the house, a bunch of kids – more than he thought there ought to be by nearly double – were staring at him. In the gate to the backyard, his women were standing, holding up, loosely, a bleeding Grigori.
He looked back and forth between the groups. His women. His family. His house. And strangers. He showed teeth to the Grigori stranger, who took a cautious step backwards into Jaelie. She, in turn giggled.
“He followed us home,” she offered, pointing at the ruined side wall. “Can we Keep him?”
The Grigori wilted under Baram’s gaze, which made him smirk through a mouthful of blood. “Only if he’s useful.”
“Jasfe Eperu τεῖχος,” the man offered, and, behind Baram, the wall put itself back together.
“All right,” he allowed. “As long as he doesn’t piss on the carpet, same as the dog.”
“Wow.” A kid’s voice he didn’t recognize brought Baram’s attention back to the doorway full of children. “Your dad’s awesome.”
“He’s not…” Gerulf started, and then met Baram’s eye. “Yeah,” he said, as a small smile crossed his face. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”
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