Alfred paused, standing in the middle of an open clearing, surrounded by tall, dark trees. It was dark outside, around eleven at night.
He felt power flow through his body, and he imagined his mother watching him. Glaring at him. He could feel her gaze, the sense that his body was starting to shake. His veins and arteries were starting to glow, his fingers seeming to try and press his claws out more.
He threw his hand. The blue flames went up to the top of the a hundred foot trees in front of him, and he spun around, feeling the electricity flow through him, and he struck the dirt. Blue light flashed off the bark of the trees, the clearing lighting up with fire and power and pain before being watched in water and earth.
He spun and did a thrasher, feeling the wind rush around him, slicing through the air. It went straight for one of the big, old trees, and cut right through it.
The tree started to fall towards him but he didn't waver, spinning and creating a whirlpool of fire with his steps before aiming a blast. The entire top of the tree was gone.
He could practically hear his mother say, "not good enough. Try harder. I want this clearing bigger. Now."
He growled and shut his eyes, focusing again on the magic flowing through him. He remembered all of what he had been told.
The natural magic of the non-sentient, the magic in words, the magic in ritual, the magic in divinity, and the magic in focus.
He focused. His black claws lit up a startling blue, before becoming white, and he opened his eyes and aimed his blast at the ground. He felt the ground beneath his bare feet and the power in his legs and jumped at the last second, the barreling fire that stemmed from the ground never touching him.
The trees at the edge of the clearing were charred black and rotted, and he landed softly, the wind making sure he wouldn't get injured. He never liked trusting the wind.
The trees each fell in, hitting each other and creating a tent around him. He looked toward where the sky should be, and curled his toes into the earth, feeling it start to shake. The burned trees turned to ash, and collapsed around him.
He looked around. The clearing was definitely bigger.
He sighed, and tried to calm his breathing heart, tried to make himself forget about the smell of smoke around him, and he thought of growth.
Green pulsed through the earth until it came out, the black ashes hatching long, green grass and wildflowers. He even added a few small fruit trees and berry bushes for fun, before focusing on the trees he's destroyed. Around forty in all, each about four-hundred or so years old. They started regrowing from their spots, and Alfred felt his mind go inside the trees and count the coiled lines in them, growing them out, and up until they could be mistaken for being five-hundred years old.
Then, he opened his eyes and followed them along the edge of the clearing, spotting a few who were definitely not there before.
"Nevada, Wyoming, Colorado," he said, loudly enough for them to hear. Nevada was standing there, his mouth hanging open. He ran a hand through his fluffy brown hair before running over, Wyoming and Colorado following behind him.
"That was so cool!" he exclaimed, and Alfred smiled, "I wish I could do that."
"Sweetheart, you aren't an elementalist, but you have other skills," Alfred smirked, and Nevada stared at his hands.
"Being lucky shouldn't be a magic power," he muttered, and Colorado and Wyoming both laughed.
Being half-or-more human, Alfred's children didn't tend to get the magic that he had, the true, unadulterated power. But they got the strength, and that was pretty good.
Wyoming was big and burly, with wide shoulders for being fourteen. Two bison horns stemmed out of his hair, just above his ears. His fingers ended in long, thick black claws, and his toes were similar. His eyes were a light, bright pink, practically white in the centers, and his hair was a darkish tawny color.
There were black, ringlike patterns going completely around his neck, a few dropping down to his chest.
Colorado was pretty humanoid for a demon. He had black hair, and black eyes, and the tan skin all his desert states had, with black claws. And, like Utah and Wyoming, he had horns. The long, curling horns of a bighorn sheep coming from his hair, just above his ears. He had a few grey-brown blotches on random parts of his body, but that was it. Unlike his other horned children, he didn't have clawed toes. He was around fifteen physically.
Nevada was tan, with dark hair and dark eyes. He had brown spots going under his eyes and strong, sharp claws. He was muscular, and definitely one of the more dangerous states. He could fight anyone and win, because he was just that lucky. Luck was his skill.
That was a child who could get away with murder- and has gotten away with murder on multiple occasions.
"C'mon Nev-awh-da," Wyoming said, elbowing him in the ribs, "it's not that bad, I mean, shit, my power is looking like an animal and being able to ram head-first into things."
"It's Nev-ah-da, don't be a dick," the boy hissed, and their mother shook his head.
"What are you three doing out?" he asked, and they shared a glance between themselves.
"Hunting."
"Hunting what?" Alfred asked, tilting his head. There were no more large prey animals in the valley, besides ones under his protection.
"Rabbits," Colorado said, and Alfred looked him over again. He wasn't wearing a shirt in the middle of fall, and he was wearing green cargo pants. One pocket had stuff in it.
He would bet money it was cocaine.
"So, where'd you get the cocaine?" he asked, crossing his arms, "Wait, let me guess. Lucky guessed the password to the storage unit, and you guys swiped what you believed wouldn't be missed."
They looked between themselves, before nodding. Colorado handed him the bag.
"You know I don't want you guys doing anything except cannabis and wine."
He'd been trying to cut his kids from indulgence. He knew it could get dangerous for a personification to be an addict. China had told him what would happen.
"We know." they repeated.
"Then why are you trying to sneak this?" Alfred asked, looking unamused.
"My people, they're... craving," Colorado said, looking at the bag with regret. Alfred was able to figure out he was regretting giving him the bag. He wanted it back now. Nevada nodded, Wyoming just looked away. Alfred was pretty sure Wyoming's most popular drug was still either meth or heroin.
"Go back home," he sighed, putting the bag in his pocket, muttering about getting a handprint lock instead of a number one. The children walked in front of him, almost not noticing Alfred panting. His burst of magic was leaving him tired. He hadn't done that in a long time.
When the kids were inside he locked the doors and went into the bar, walking behind the counter and grabbing a bottle of Stolichnaya and a glass, pouring some before downing it and pouring some more.
He pushed himself up onto the counter and ran his hand over his stomach. He could feel it bulging. It felt like there was a brick attached to his skin. Of course, that brick was hollow, and had two little babies in it.
It pressed up against his organs, trying to make space between them and the wall of skin, making just enough room to hold the two kids. He knew it could get so much worse if he was having more than two.
He sipped his glass. He didn't care about the burning. It didn't affect him. Not anymore.
When the second glass was gone he washed it, and put it back in the cupboard, and put the vodka back, before heading into the hallways to a storage room. He put the bag back, before destroying the keyboard. It would be locked until he decided to open it.
He went towards a staircase, one that went down to one part of the basement, and went down it. The area around him became dark, but he could still see everything around him, almost as bright as he would if there was a light in the basement. A cat chased a rogue mouse, a kitten following the example given with a roach.
There were hardwood tables of stuff. A lot of stuff. Nothing inherently magical. Femur bones and a gorilla hand a rabbit spines and cow skulls. Large crystals dotted around the area. A lot of teeth, human and non-human. Snake sheds. A jar of cat whiskers.
It was an organized mess.
But that wasn't what he was focusing on. There was a hole in the floor, like a small pit, or a pothole on a road, and it went deep. He sat down in front of it and closed his eyes.
He heard tiny, light footsteps come out of the hole.
"Something more to do?" a small voice squeaked. Brownies.
He knew what they looked like. He had seen a few dead after large houses were destroyed in the war. Afterall, only large houses really needed independent brownie colonies. Cities normally had a few that served everyone.
They never got seen alive. They didn't like it.
They had brown skin, and every one of them had blue eyes, and they all had long, black hair that they'd tie in braids and buns.
They had small claws on their hands and feet to climb, and large heads for their bodies, with big ears.
The most important parts about them was that they were fast, and they were extremely good at repair and cleaning. But really, they liked any task.
"Make sure the children do not get into any form of drug or alcohol besides cannabis and wine."
"Yes," the brownie said, and there was the tiny pitter-patter of small feet before he opened his eyes and left the room, going up to his own. He could hear them working in the walls, like normal, but he could hear a large group of them going under the flooring to get to the storage containers and bar.
He went up to his room, his body screaming at him to just stop, and rest there. But he knew it wasn't far.
Ivan was asleep when he got in, and he went to the bed and sat on the other side of it, petting his husband's hair and smiling to himself. His eyes were starting to hurt, and his entire body was starting to ache from being awake for too long. The brick in his belly was aching too, a warning to go to sleep before something bad happened to the young ones in his stomach.
He laid down, and just looked at Ivan. He didn't notice it when he opened his eyes, he was lost, in a daze. His mother would be pushing him now, fighting him herself. Forcing him to become strong. But now, now he was so, so weak. He was tired. And he was hungry for something he didn't know. He wanted to go back out into the forest and stay there, knit a tree into a home and stay in the cold.
But he knew that he was being foolish. He was just old, he was just used to suffering. He needed to be okay with living like this, like his children. His beautiful children... what would his mother say about them? He knew what his father would say:
"You did so good, so wonderful, carrying on your mother's legacy, a powerful breed."
He could hear his father saying that, but his mother?
"Oh... they're human. They have the blood of humans. None of my line should have the blood of humans."
Even though they weren't humans. They were just from across the ocean. His dad was kinda human too- no, he was half divine... what god was he from again?
He was like Ivan in that sense. Except he didn't know what god Ivan was descended from either.
"Kitten, why are you still awake?" Ivan said, his voice groggy, "It's time to sleep, dorogoy."
Alfred nodded, before remembering something. Grigori had told him (a few weeks afterward, when he bugged him about it) that Ivan had been bathed in fire to hide his divinity.
After the forest is burned it must grow back, even though the green can get hidden under all the ash.
Alfred closed his eyes and reached his hand out, brushing his cheek as he focused. Ivan didn't really seem to understand, touching his hand lightly, brushing his knuckles with his thumb.
Alfred opened his eyes, and saw that Ivan's cheek and hand were a deep blue silver. His fingernails were black but not clawed, and his eyes and hair were the same color. There were black spots under his eyes.
Of course. Nevada was his child. The spots came through.
He looked ghostly, like a creature of ice, but he was still the same man. He was still... beautiful. So beautiful.
Alfred leaned forward and kissed him deeply. He lost his focus, and the silver faded from his skin, going back to white. His black fingernails went back to being pink, and the spots under his eyes were hidden.
Whoever these children would be, they would be incredibly powerful. The grandchildren of an unknown god, and the most powerful demon from a powerful clan? He didn't know how to feel. He wanted to know them better. He wanted to hold them already, too see them growing.
Ivan grunted as the kiss broke, burying his face into Alfred's chest, feeling Alfred wrap his arms around his head and his leg get tossed over his chest and he felt Ivan's hands run over his back and he went to sleep on impulse, knowing, for sure, he was safe, and he was content. Yet, he still wanted to see what Ivan would look like, truly.