“IS IT REALLY THIS WAY?”
Episode One: Funeral of a Father, Rise of the Sons
By Otis the Rounder, Who Don’t Miss
It began with silence.
Not the kind that brings peace—no, this silence had weight. It crouched on the shoulders of the Blackman bloodline like a waiting storm. The wind that morning didn’t move, but everything else did. Eyes moved. Rumors moved. Grief moved. And above all, the Queens moved—three of them, veiled and glittering like vipers in mourning gowns, not a tear among them.
Because this funeral wasn’t just a burial. It was a ritual execution.
And everybody who mattered knew why.
The Casket Was Closed.
You didn’t show a body like Dramond Blackman’s—not after what Ellis had to do.
Not after what the Queens made him become.
He was once untouchable.
The ruler of the streets, father to over 30 children, a god to fools and a ghost to lawmen.
But there were two things Dramond Blackman never did:
- Disrespect the code of the Blackman men.
- Lay hands on a woman.
That’s why they all knew something had gone wrong.
That’s why Ellis, just fifteen, had to do what a son should never do.
He killed his own father.
Not for power.
Not for revenge.
But because Dramond—possessed, twisted, screaming her name like a curse—was trying to kill Alicia, his mother, the woman who’d loved him despite everything.
And Ellis didn’t hesitate.
Steel flashed. Screams followed. Blood painted the kitchen walls of their Bronx apartment.
And by the time the spell broke, it was too late.
Alicia took the fall.
She wore the blood like a veil, told the cops the story like it was her own, and walked herself into a jail cell before Ellis even understood what he’d done.
But Jean-Pierre—Dramond’s quiet older brother, the one who had turned his back on the empire years ago—he saw through it all.
He went to the Queens. Made a deal with the devils in lace.
Told them he’d come back to the fold.
Told them he’d run Blackman Mansion the way it was meant to be run.
In return, Alicia walked free.
But the Queens weren’t just watching Jean-Pierre.
They were watching his son.
The Funeral:
James Blackman stood beside Ellis, and neither boy said a word.
They had never met before this day.
James was the quiet one from the hills, raised on a western Pennsylvania farm that doubled as a sanitation business—scrubbing death off the land like it was holy work.
Ellis was the wild one from the Bronx, known for fists, footwork, and fire behind his eyes.
Two sons from different worlds.
Same blood.
Same legacy.
Same buried thunder in their bones.
Jean-Pierre stood between them. One hand on each boy’s shoulder.
Venus, his wife and James’s mother, stood on one side. Alicia, Ellis’s mother and Venus’s younger cousin, on the other.
And behind them?
The Queens. Watching.
Smiling.
Plotting.
Later That Afternoon – The Schoolyard
It wasn’t long after the funeral that the chaos began.
The boys had walked down to the open blacktop near St. Maria’s Elementary, just trying to get air.
They didn’t expect a crowd—didn’t expect half the damn neighborhood to be there, kids playing hopscotch and uncles slapping dominos down like hammers.
Didn’t expect to see them.
Three girls.
Braided. Bright. Beautiful.
Watching from the fence line like shadows in silk.
India. Maria. Orisha.
They hadn’t remembered who they were yet—not fully.
But the air shimmered when they stepped closer.
Their eyes glowed with a forgotten war.
The Gang Came Loud.
Five of them. Older teens. Built like athletes.
Muscles tight. Eyes glazed with Archonic possession.
They swaggered in like they owned the earth—and maybe, just maybe, something under it.
They called Ellis soft.
Called James a hick.
Said the girls were theirs to train.
James moved first.
Fast. Clean.
Haymaker like a hammer off a Blacksmith’s forge.
But they caught him.
Dragged him down like hyenas.
Ellis jumped in.
Kicks sharp. Elbows brutal.
But even he was outnumbered.
Until they moved.
India screamed. A name. Not hers. One from a past life.
Maria’s feet left the ground—levitated just enough to twist gravity.
Orisha’s hands shimmered with blue fire no one else saw.
And the boys?
They changed.
Something in their blood roared awake.
Their DNA wasn’t just human—it was First One.
The ancient kind.
Born of gods.
Bred for war.
Fist met jaw.
Knee cracked ribs.
A scream split the summer sky, and every child watching forgot their popsicles.
When the gang ran—bloodied, broken, hollering that “those kids ain’t natural!”—
the crowd erupted.
Old folks cheered.
Young girls cried.
One elder whispered:
“It done started again.”
After the Fight – In the Car
Venus drove. Alicia rode shotgun. Jean-Pierre sat in back, arms folded.
James and Ellis sat between him, still breathing hard, knuckles scabbed.
Venus smirked in the rearview.
“Y’all out here showin’ off in front of your little girlfriends already?”
Ellis looked down, grinning despite himself.
James said nothing—but his eyes stayed on the rear window, watching the girls fade behind them.
End of Scene.
The war hadn’t begun yet—but the gods had taken their first steps onto the stage.
Would you like Otis to write the next chapter?
The night they remember the dreams…
The Queens’ next move…
Or when James first hears the drums from the Blackman Mansion basement?
Say the word, and I’ll swing the pen again.
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