Our Mother the Mountain

11. Jochen

Chapter Text

Ethan could sense Miranda the same way that he sensed the Duke–it wasn't due to anything external, simply some internal magnetism that drew him toward the forest beyond. This was the south bank, where beyond the trees lay the ruin of Otto's Mill. It was one of the few buildings that survived at least some of Redfield's explosives, being far enough away from the center of the village and the cavern underneath the ceremony site.

That didn't mean he was excited about going this way. Karl and Moreau came here often, to move scrap and use resources, but Ethan had already voiced a desire to burn it down. He didn't like it, or the Forbidden Forest beyond it. The forest that not only housed the former Lycan den, but had a very well-worn path, taken by Miranda when she went to her witches pond, to move the souls of those she'd taken from the mold's consciousness.

In other words, there was nothing good there. Ethan restrained from transforming again, though it was obvious the Black God wanted him to. His hands at least changed, the same ink-tipped claws from earlier. Ethan didn't pause when he crested a hill and the dark, foreboding ruin loomed, still smelling like death, sweat and blood. The creek was flooded here as well, and its sheen looked like broken glass all around the hollow.

She was close. Ethan closed his eyes, summoning the liminal space once more, and when he opened him, he was shocked to see a chaotic place where reality was barely reflected. The mill hung from the sky, upside down, mycelial roots branched up like trees. The silvery flooded creek was crimson. Miranda stood on the other side of it, her arms crossed haughtily, as if she had been waiting on him. Jochen stood by her, suspiciously bloody. His own blood? Moreau's?

Ethan didn't have time for him, though. He began wading across the water the old-fashioned way despite the creature inside's pleas to jet across it supernaturally.

"You? A vessel for the Holy One?" She was pissed, even though she tried to hide it. Miranda's laugh was hollow. "Surely you don't think this makes us even."

"Shut up," Ethan snapped. "You lost, Miranda."

"Did I? I still have what you want, Ethan."

The crystal. Karl's. Shit. Ethan glared at her, but he saw the subtle shake from Jochen. His body language was so like Karl's, so supernaturally similar, that by not looking directly at him, Ethan swore it was Karl himself. And he knew what the subtle head shake meant. Don't fuck with her right now.

But, did Ethan believe him ? Could he? Was he trying to protect Ethan, or protect himself?

"Likewise," Ethan snapped. He remembered how Miranda had effortlessly withdrawn the crystal from her form, gloating over it, and he put a hand over his chest. "Shouldn't have shown me that trick."

He felt the urge to taunt her, though he couldn't say why–it must have been influenced by the Black God, because Ethan was rather notorious for not mincing words while fighting.

What happened next was not in Ethan's control at all; the blackened tips of his fingers pulled away the warm, glowing stone, when it left his body, and he felt a crushing grip from his hand: ten times his own strength. The crystal shattered, exploding into dust, startling Miranda and Jochen.

She screamed in rage then, and Ethan blanched; what had he done? Was Moreau going to be okay? They had purposely not destroyed Donna's fragment from fear of the unknown. Several whispers hissed at him, emanating from the back of his neck. Whose voices? He recognized what he thought was the Duke's, as well as Godric's. There were others. Alcina?