Rain poured heavily onto the world outside the Catholic funeral home. Inside, Raul Camilo and his surrogate brother, Drake Rowan, were attending the private funeral of Raul’s mother, Cassandra Camilo. She had perished three brief days ago during the late night just after she had come home from attending to “business” overseas, and was found dead by a distraught Raul in the early morning afterwards. The funeral was hastened at his behest, so the wake and liturgy would both be held on the same day. By the will of the deceased, her remains would be cremated in the event of her death and her ashes would be committed at whatever time Raul found appropriate to part with them.
The room they were in was large, yet sparsely decorated with only several benches lying parallel to one another and the common figure of Jesus Christ on the cross that hung from a wall. Besides the poor seating and bland crucifix, there was a contrasting grand altar supporting an open mahogany casket that prevented the chapel from perfecting the cheap, empty mood it gave off. If Cassandra was still alive she’d laugh at how excessive both of them were, especially the casket. There was no need to spend so much on something you’d be burning or burying even if it was to supposedly honor someone you loved.
Seated in the front row on one of the wooden pews that furnished the almost desolate chapel, Raul stared up towards the open casket in shock at the slack, dead face of the woman that had been his mother for over sixteen years. The morbid sight made his stomach churn and his heart ache immensely. Besides his runaway father, Cassandra had been the only real blood family he had left ever since the death of his beloved grandfather, Agustin Camilo, three years ago. His passing had caused a young Raul to go through an intense nervous breakdown. It was a horrific incident that left him unstable for several months, which left psychological damage he never really recovered from.
A loud slam resounding from Raul’s left snapped him out of his daze. He turned to see a frowning old man dressed in full priest garb, much like the outfit Drake was wearing, complete with a recently closed bible in hand. He stood upright proudly in the middle of the pathway leading to the altar. The priest’s name was Edwin Rowan and he was many things: Drake’s adoptive father, the caretaker of orphan children, ironically, Raul and Cassandra’s godfather; and the church’s local overseer.
“You didn’t listen to the liturgy I performed just now whatsoever, did you?” He questioned with disappointment dripping from his tone of voice.
With that, Raul let out an annoyed sigh and pulled back the left sleeve of his black suit to reveal the glowing green lines that covered the entirety of his left arm. It was his family’s prized crest that had been passed down for generations from the family head to their favored child. In his case, it had been passed from his long dead brother, Cruz Camilo, to his four-year-old self. Cassandra had transplanted the crest from herself to Cruz shortly after his birth ten years before Raul was born. Its purpose was to store the knowledge and research of magic that the Camilo family heads had accumulated for over several centuries. To clergymen like Edwin it was the symbol of a heretic, a fact that Raul liked to remind the man whenever he tried to preach his beliefs to him and when he’d foolishly forget what he was.
“Hmph.” The old man let out childishly. He then turned his attention away from the somber Raul and gazed solemnly towards his fallen goddaughter. “It’s time,” Edwin said, “say your final farewells while you still can.”
Raul parted his lips but no words escaped them. He opened them again only to falter a second time. The lingering pain in his chest would grow to silence every attempt.
“Goodbye, Cassandra.” Drake spoke aloud softly from the pew parallel to his. “I didn’t really know you personally but you meant a lot to two people close to me.”
“And you Raul?” Edwin asked.
Raul responded ashamedly with a grim shake of his head.
“So be it,” the priest sighed, “let us carry our dear Cassandra to the crematorium to honor her last will and testament.”
The two young men quickly stood up and together, with their shared spiritual father, walked up the small steps up the funeral alter. Drake would take the left end of the casket, Edwin would support the center, and Raul would take the right.
“A shame Maxwell and Jacob couldn’t be here to act as pallbearers.” Drake bemoaned. “Those two muscle heads would’ve really helped lighten the load up a bit.”
“And leave sweet sister Maria to take care of all the children on her lonesome?” Edwin asked. The children were already enough of a handful when all five of the clergymen could spare enough time to babysit them. The hell that awaited one foolish or unfortunate enough to take care of all of them at once had no end.
“Sweet isn’t exactly what comes to mind when I think of that harsh voice and ever-present sneer.”
The old man let out a disappointed sigh. “You really haven’t learned anything about people in the past three years you’ve been away.“
“What does that have to do with any-“
The sound of someone audibly clearing their throat stopped Drake from finishing his sentence. Both clergymen tore their attention away from one another and turned their heads toward the right side of the altar. There an annoyed Raul glared angrily back at them.
“U-um,” Drake stuttered nervously.
An upraised hand from Raul stopped him from continuing. The young man then cast his gaze downward toward Cassandra’s resting face and his glare quickly turned back into a mournful stare. With a weary sigh, he hardened his heart, laid a heavy hand on top of the casket lid, and slammed the lid shut. The resounding noise it made was loud enough to cause the two clergymen to wince.
“…Well then,” Edwin spoke aloud, “let’s get moving shall we?”
Both young men nodded and carefully lifted up their respective ends of the casket.
“Hmm,” the old priest hummed thoughtfully while examining the coffin, “can you two carry that on your own?”
“You’re joking, right?” An irritated Drake scoffed. “This thing weighs, like, two hundred pounds not counting the body inside it.”
“I thought the both of you were trained to be strong enough to handle more than a simple wooden coffin.”
“Punching power is not relative to lifting strength!”
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
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