A Scripta

Grim appeared hovering twenty feet in the air.  He immediately took stock of his surroundings, hoping he hadn’t appeared in the middle of a busy street.  Luckily there was a tree nearby, so he flew among its branches.  He saw no one below, so he lit down to the base of the tree.

He walked around, trying to get his bearings.  He took a few deep breaths and put himself in a trance.

He gasped at the magic here.  Ley lines flowed like water, bright and shining.  Did they know the power that was here?  He tried to sort through the brightness, looking for something  divine.  He caught a gold light in the distance, and set his body in that direction.  He blinked, and the magic sight faded. 

Grim looked around, and took to the air.  He made a bee line for where he remembered the golden light was.  He lit down in an alleyway across from it.

It was centered in an old, run-down church, that looked like it had been transplanted there from the American South.  There was no stained glass in the window, though the cross looked newly made.  Grim came out of the alley to look on the building, his eyes squinting in confusion.

He walked across the dirt road, where no one except a couple of dogs watched his passing.  He climbed the five steps to a set of dark doors and tried the handle.  It turned easily.  He pushed at the doors, they parted to allow him entry.  He slipped inside to the cool dimness of the vestibule.

His boots echoed on the hard woods as he walked in.  He looked around, trying to sense where the divine energy would be from.  He peeked into areas with the pews.  He eased around the corner quietly and stood at the rear of the church, near the basin where the holy water was.

He glanced at the basin, and took the water, making the sign of the cross on himself.  Then he walked down the aisle.

The divine energy was somewhere in this room, he could feel it pulsing.  The water he had used to mark himself seemed to burn into his forehead, but not painfully.  He approached the chancel, glancing at the pulpit and walking on into the sanctuary and the altar. 

As he stood at the altar, he felt power fill him from his feet to his crown, and he closed his eyes, thinking that light would explode from them if he kept them open.  He cast his head back, let his arms drop to his sides, and leaned back from the altar.   He felt himself swept away by it, rising from the floor.

He felt his heart open and power rush into it, like an empty jar filling with water.  He didn’t feel his body buck in the air with the force of it.  He didn’t see his countenance change, his clothes going grey, and huge black wings sprouting from his back.  His dagger at his waist elongated, the sheath disappearing and a black bladed sword appearing at his waist, seemingly held there by nothing.

 The power kept him suspended, and he finally opened his eyes.  In the golden reflection of the apse containing the Host, he saw the black wings behind him.  He stared, and was unceremoniously dropped, the power rushing out of him.  He got up, using the altar for leverage, and stared again into the apse.  He looked behind him, but saw no wings.  He looked at his arms, and he wore the same black jacket.  However, he made himself look with magic sight, and his arms were encased in grey.  He looked behind him to see the black wings. 

He spread his wings experimentally, and looked down at his waist to see the sword there.  He gave it a tug, and it settled into his hand.  He felt that power again, filling him with strength.  He felt he could run through a gauntlet of Malta and survive.  LeBeau and company could throw anything he wanted at him, and he would survive it, he knew it.

Grim shook his head.  He didn’t want to test the theory, not really.  He put the sword back at his waist, which attached to him like invisible Velcro.  He took a step off the altar, and the sense of the divine disappeared.  The dagger had changed back, his black wings were gone, his clothes were black again.

He looked back at the altar – even the glow on the altar was gone.  The shield wasn’t there.

Grim walked a couple of pews down and saw a black man in a priest’s outfit sitting in the back.  He smiled at Grim.  “Did you see what you are?”

Grim blinked.

"You got what you needed, and you saw who you are."  The priest got up, still smiling, and walked out.  Grim went to follow, but as soon as he turned the corner, the priest had disappeared.

Grim sighed, and went back outside.  He leaned against the doorframe and scratched between this shoulder blades, wondering if wings were hiding under them.  He moved out to the road, and made himself see things with magic sight.  The ley lines were still bright, and he risked a glance behind him.  Sure enough, there were black wings.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he whispered, breaking the spell.  He mentally slapped himself.  He took a few deep breaths, trying to concentrate.  Grim closed his eyes, tried not to think of the wings, and settled himself in a trance.  A very bright gold light was in the north…

He didn’t hear the car coming, the horn blaring, or the grating sound of tires trying to gain purchase on the dirt road.  But he did feel getting hit.

He landed hard on the hood and into the windshield, cracking it.  He rolled off it to the left.  He landed hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of him.  He should have had broken bones.  He should have been in a mess of pain.  He was neither.  He saw the doors to the car open and people come running to him.  “Are you all right, sir?” someone said, while a woman screamed hysterically.  Grim looked at the woman, actually tearing her hair out screaming, and he started to laugh.

The four people who looked down at him stared in disbelief as he got up and dusted himself off.  “Fine,” he said.  “Better than fine.”  He grinned.  The woman had stopped screaming, and stared at him.  Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell back against the car, passed out.   Grim casually went over to her and checked to see if she was all right.  Everyone gave him a wide berth.

He debated on giving the woman a rune to wake up.  He decided against it, and then turned to the windshield.  Muttering a spell for cohesion, he passed his hand over the cracks and they disappeared.  As he did the spell, he felt that power from the church, and it made him feel warm and actually happy inside.  He turned to the four people from the car.  “I’m sorry, it was my fault.  I’m okay, see?”

They nodded.  They walked widely around him, afraid. Grim watched them help the prone lady back into the car, and they all got back in.  The hood was dented, and so was the bumper and grill, but they didn’t care.  He watched them drive away like the devil was after them. 

Like before, no one had come out of the houses to see the commotion, no one had peeked outside of windows.  He wondered if anyone lived in this village.  He looked around, saw no one, and took to the air, heading north.