A Scripta

"Alex, buddy."

The group of Thorns turned to face Grimaulkin, stopping their summoning in mid-chant. The man in the center of the circle toppled to the ground.

"How dare you disturb me," the mage snarled at him.

"Cut the shit, Alex. I'm done working for you." He tossed a bag to the ground, near the man whose soul they were going to rip out.

"I heard things were lucrative," the mage said, and glanced at a couple of Thornites, who drew their swords at Grim.

"Very lucrative. I got everything I needed. See, I can summon creatures such as that, but with slightly more power than yours. As a matter of fact, I can tear their souls out of their bodies and use that." Grim slowly advanced, grinning at Alex. "Bet you didn't think anyone could do that, huh?"

"It's...not unknown," Alex said hesitantly.

Grim tossed a bone to the ground, and a creature in chain mail rose from the earth. He carried a sword, but stayed in a passive position. "Bet you didn't think I could do this, either? I found myself a relic of a medieval knight, if you believe it, and the Legacy Chain so kindly let me use it to summon that knight - and there's another one that the Lost allegedly has, too. Look what he can do!"

With a snap of his fingers, the creature drew his sword and stabbed Alex straight through with it. Alex - and the Thornites - moved in slow motion as Grim conjured a pit of blackness at their feet. The knight dispatched Alex, then turned to the Thorns. There were only three of them, also easily dealt with.

He turned to the bodies and took a bone from each, wrenching off their pinky fingers and then tossing a teleportation disk onto them. They'd realize something was amiss after a few weeks of seeing enemies return to the Zig, missing their pinky fingers. Poor Idaho, he thought, laughing.

With his athame*, Grimaulkin probed the edge of the summoning circle and got shocked for his trouble. The only thing inside it was a set of chains in a long, loopy circle at the perimeter.

He began the chant to summon his demoness there, and she appeared, in the form of a beautiful red-skinned, red-winged, naked woman, suspended in the air. "What do you wish now - " then she noticed the chains.

As she attempted to leave, she found that Grim had uttered something in the spell to lock her into the circle. She flittered back and forth, trying to keep within the center, away from the chains.

"Zoreteth," he said quietly, though it boomed within the circle, "be still."

She dropped to the earth. "How dare you!" she cried. "Who told you?! When I am free I will tear them - "

Grimaulkin ignored her as he continued the spell, pointing the athame at the chains. "Bind Zorteth tight, bind her unto me."

"NEVER!" she howled, her voice attempting to break through Grim's concentration. His thoughts centered entirely on watching the chains rise of their own volition and wrap themselves around the suspended body. She struggled as the chains climbed up, wrapping themselves haphazardly around her, even looping around her wings.

The last link left the floor and tucked itself into her waist, sealing itself with the other open link. She began to glow a bright, almost angry yellow.

"What do you expect to get from me, mage? I have given you power and spells, even your brother! Am I not generous?"

"Bound thou art to me," he replied with a smile. "I take thy power from thee, not bend to thy will; thou shalt bend to mine, Zoreteth. Thy host of underlings art mine. Thy power is mine. Thy knowledge is mine. Thy soul is mine. Thy soul..." He took the athame, held it by its blade as if he was going to throw it. "IS MINE!"

He threw the blade through the boundaries of the summoning circle, and it pierced the center of the demoness's chest. She howled in agony, the yellow growing brighter; the athame turned black and slowly the chain wrapped itself around it as well. Slowly, she disappeared.

As the last of her faded away, the knife fell, clattering to the floor. He did not touch the chain-encased black blade, leaving it there as if it were still hot from the forge. He summoned Louie instead. "Take that and put it in the desk."

Louie looked at his brother, doing as he commanded. Grim could feel rather than hear the word "Free?"

He grinned at the shade. "Are you kidding?" He passed through Louie and turned instantly into his old self. "You'll kill me." Then he laughed, falling over, his laugh becoming more maniacal as Louie mournfully put the dagger in the desk.

*athame: a blade, usually a dagger, that is used to direct a witch's power. Can be used interchagably with a wand.

Grim shivered and stared at his cup of coffee. It was near midnight, and he couldn't sleep. Dysio remained in bed. He heard the main door opened and looked up to see if anyone would come into the kitchen.

His eyes widened when he saw the man walk in. "Grim, hey." Dark hair, dark eyes, very big and broad. Grim would have loved to have his way with him, but the opposite had happened, just this past Christmas. Dysio had already threatened him, but it didn't seem to make a difference. And he did fool them for a while by coming aboard as "War Mace", but as soon as Grim heard the dark chuckle, he knew exactly who the man was.

"Masonry," he spat.

The man paused while pulling a chair from the table. He looked up and continued his motion. "Yeah," he replied.

"You owe me an apology, you son of a bitch."

Masonry leaned forward on the table. "I'm sorry. Look, I need your help."

Grim found himself leaning back, regarding Masonry. "That didn't sound very sincere."

"What else do you want out of me?"

Grim sipped his coffee and smacked his lips contentedly. "What help do you want out of me?"

"I want to know how to get a soul released."

"No, sorry, can't help you."

"That was fast."

"I wasn't sincere." He grinned.

Fire leapt into Masonry's eyes as he got up, slamming his palms on the table. "Fine. I'll find me someone who can help me."

"I don't know anyone who would help a rapist and a murderer."

He turned from Grim, then turned to look back at him. He thought to say something, but shook his head instead and stormed out of the kitchen. He heard the front door slam as Dysio came sleepily into the kitchen, in his full demonic regalia. "Who was that?"

"Masonry," Grim said, tossing the coffee down the drain.

"Why didn't you call me?"

Grim smiled, walked over to his lover and kissed him gently. "I handled him."

Dysio grinned, scooped Grim up in his arms. "Now it's my turn."

Grimaulkin stepped back from the cauldron in the center of his protective circle, careful not to step on Dysio’s chains. “Morte, morte est. Lumina, lumina est. Caliga, caliga est. Hospita, hospita est. Me, me est. Valeum, Roburum, Imperium. Inqua Impera!” And he repeated the chant over and over as he walked around the cauldron, Death, death is. Light, light is. Dark, dark is. Welcome, welcome is. Me, me, is. Power, strength, authority. I speak a command!

He looked out at the area beyond his circle and saw Dysio standing there. His chant did not waver, his mind did not focus on anything other than the chant. He wound it down, and the fire in the cauldron grew hotter, melting the liquid within to a thick goo. He took up the chains.

Now, he could relax his mind and wander to the fact that the protective circle held. What Dysio would be seeing is a large, columned mirror, his own reflection. He could also relax, knowing that the man out there wasn’t Dysio.

He contemplated a couple of minutes of who it could be, then cleared his mind again. He slowly dropped the chains into the goo, concentrating on covering every inch of the chain with it. Once it cooled, he would go through the chain by hand and cover every single inch of it, rubbing it into the cold metal.

It was overkill, he knew. But the consequences if he didn’t actually follow this would be dire on his end; not only would his demoness torture him for eternity, but probably many, many worse things that he couldn’t even dream of. No, the longer he stayed here the better it would be.

He sat down and waited.

You’ll be back.

Wham! Silos’ sneering voice filled his mind as Idaho slammed the axe down on the Hellion’s shoulder and nearly cleaved the man in half.

Not dead yet?

Then Masonry’s, as he raised his arm for the killing blow seconds before Star tackled him.

You be the mender!

Ariel’s angry, tear-filled eyes, glaring at him as he whirled with the axe, taking down three Hellions at once. Wham, slam, crash! Soon enough, the gang of men were reduced to a pile of bodies in assorted degrees of dismemberment and consciousness. As they disappeared to the Zig’s infirmary, he breathed heavily, now covered in blood not his own, and feeling guilt-ridden.

“Why I fix?” he whispered to himself, trudging his way out of the cave, paraphrasing Star’s words from yesterday. As he exited the cave, he felt a bullet in his arm. It hit bone, making his arm numb and dropping the axe to the stones with a clatter. He ducked into the alcove, leaving the axe there, holding his bleeding useless arm, and seeing a group of Sky Raiders.

“Captain Castillo sends his regards!” yelled one man as he made a downward, cutting motion.

All of the men fired at once, but they all hit above him. He looked up to see why – a huge stone gargoyle was perched fifty feet or so above him. They shot out the support.

He couldn’t move fast enough as the gargoyle tumbled forward, taking some of the ledge with it. Idaho put his arms over his head in an instinctive effort to stave off the falling granite, but it slammed into his head knocking him out instantly, breaking his neck, back, and thrusting his thigh bones through his hips.

As the teleporter took him to the hospital, the leader yelled, “The irony! Masonry buried by masonry!”

“I don’t think it was Masonry,” said one man.

“Looked like him,” offered the engineer, gathering up his things.

“A hero just the same,” snarled Clayton. “Gone. C’mon, boys, let’s find a few others.”

He woke up in the hospital, good as new, as a man slumped in a chair next to him. Idaho raised his head and looked at the man. "Not quite as bad as the Nexus they brought a couple of days ago, but bad enough. You okay, buddy?"

"Yeah, but are you?"

The dark haired man waved his hand. "I'm a doctor, it's what I do. You had more broken bones than a chicken. What happened?"

"Got caught under a stone gargoyle," and Idaho told him what did happen. The doctor nodded, but looked like he was ready to fall asleep.

A nurse came into the room, "Doctor Sixx?"

"I'll be okay in a few. Go on, wheel him out. Don't discharge him yet, though. I still need to talk to him."

"Yes, Doctor." The nurse got a pair of orderlies who manhandled the gurney out into the hallway. "You heard the man," the nurse said kindly. "Rest."

Idaho put his head back on the pillow and sighed, as they wheeled him into the elevator.

Duncan Idaho tucked the paper under his arm and walked through the metal detector. The guards watched him, and one opened his eyes wide at the read out.

“Mr. Idaho, you have the same DNA match as a dead hero – “

“Masonry. I know; I’m his clone.”

The guards looked him over. One said, “I knew him when he was in here.”

“I’m not him,” Idaho said.

“You look just like him.”

“I’m not him,” he reiterated firmly.

“Let him go, Tim,” said another guard.

One other guard beckoned, and Idaho followed him out into the prison. They went down a long, empty hallway that echoed their footsteps. The guard opened the door and escorted him into a small room with cubicles. He was directed to sit in one and wait. He pulled out the newspaper and read the article again that brought him here:

Scholarship Administrator Indicted for Murder

Michael Darcy, administrator for the Nathan Greene Foundation, was indicted yesterday on fifteen counts of murder, after admitting that he had created fifteen “constructs” of the friend the Foundation was named after.

“They were not human, even though they had flesh and blood,” stated Darcy’s attorney, Robert Block. “Most of them were incapable of supporting life, and only a few could be considered unable to function in society.”

However, Assistant District Attorney William Walker added, “He created sixteen illegal clones, and one of them has turned out to be the hero known as Duncan Idaho. What could have happened to the other fifteen, if allowed to live? Not to mention cloning is—“

Someone sat down across from him. Darcy nodded, picked up the phone on his side. Idaho found his phone and copied him.

“Darce.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out tomorrow.”

“What happened?”

“Fuckin’ StarWyng.”

Idaho twitched.

“She goes and makes a promise to Lodestar, and now she thinks she can go around applying it to everyone.”

“What promise?”

“She made some stupid promise – something about killing and putting it on you – and now she put the damn thing on me. What the hell – Lodestar’s dead.”

Idaho had to think of who Lodestar was, and then remembered that it was Nate’s Peacebringer, the second one, the “good” one. “But it was a promise,” Idaho reiterated.

“So what? I had to take out those constructs, Nate; they were my responsibility to do so. I made them, they were wrong, I needed to destroy them.”

“But weren’t they live? And conscious? And sentient?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. One tried to tear my throat out. Imagine if I just let him loose. He’d be sitting here, not me.”

"What about me?"

"What do you mean?"

Idaho gazed at Darcy. "What if something was wrong with me? Would you kill me?"

"If I knew something was wrong with you, I would have to."

“Killing’s wrong, though.”

“I didn’t like it, you know - Jesus Fucking Christ!” With that, he slammed the phone on the hook and mouthed, pointing, “You don’t understand,” and shoved himself away from the counter.

Idaho watched him leave, as he sat with the phone in his hand. Darcy looked back at him, his eyes blazing in fury, then he walked back out with the guard. “C’mon, Idaho,” said the guard on his side of the glass.

Idaho replaced the phone on the hook, glanced at the guard. “That’s not the Darcy I know.”

“Prison changes a man,” he said. “Some take less time than others.”

He wasn't sure it was that.