Ruin Box Set (33 page)

“What you did to Mr. Thibodeaux!” she cried.

“I already made that right!”

“By killing him?” she shrilled.

He turned in his seat, dumbfounded. “What are you not understanding? You are not a stupid woman, you’re a scientist. Do the deductions, Angel. I’m a Carnificem, remember? I judge and I execute. And I told you,” he pointed at her, “if you have a problem with that, take it up with your Creator. So if that is my job—“

“But you said yourself you’re powers are messed up! What if you’re judging wrong?”

“Not about that, no,” he shook his head, positive.

“How do you know for sure? What about your block? What if you think you’re right but you’re wrong? Huh?”

“No. I know when it’s right and wrong, I just…”

“What-what, you just what?”

“I just don’t know everything. There are some things I don’t know, but what I do know, I know.” He cut the air with a hand.

“Okay, okay,” she said lightly. “So let’s do the math like you said. What are you here for? Do you even know?”

He shook his head looking around. “No. I don’t.”

“Homework. Something you need to work on, finish, figure out, that’s what homework is. So in the retirement home, we are going to encounter something you need to learn, correct?”

“I would assume and hope, yes.”

“And this…” she rolled her hand as though drawing the words to her, “information that you-you gain is something you need to know, should know, and don’t know.” She pointed at him. “Because of what Caliber said, you’re not seeing, that means you should see and can’t… and until you do…” she nodded as though figuring it out as she spoke, “you can’t do the mission! And so that means whatever you’re not knowing or remembering is something you need to know to do that.”

He stared at her, fighting for patience. “Isadore…why are you stating all the obvious facts?”

She gasped, her jaw dropped. “To figure it out!”

“What have you figured out?”

“I’ll tell you what I figured out--”

“Good, tell me.”

“I will if you shut up and let me tell you how we humans do things. We consider all of the variables in a problem when we’re solving them. We look at all the angles before we tackle, we find out as much as we possibly can with what we don’t know to help us narrow down what we need to know. You’re looking for an answer to a problem you don’t even know. So you need to know all about what you don’t know.”

“Well I realize I’m only part human, but that is the exact process I am using as well.”

“Good! And what did you figure out?”

“That I need to go in there and discover what I need to learn instead of sitting here talking in circles with you about what I don’t know.”

“Circles.”

“Basically, yes.”

“Fine, Mr. Smart-ass. Let’s go in blind and trip on whatever it is you need to know, possibly break and maim old people in the process.”

Ruin opened his door when the assignment in his body gave him a burning jab. Isadore met him at the front of the truck, even as Scriber appeared at their side. “Are you coming?” Ruin asked.

“I must. Nobody can see me.”

That was exactly Ruin’s worry. The public seeing him and flipping out. “Ok.” Ruin looked forward and took a breath and then a chance of asking. “You have any idea what I’m doing here?”

Scriber turned his black face to him and Ruin struggled to find his eyes in the dark abyss. “To judge and execute.” Like that were obvious.

“What?” Isadore hissed. “At an old folk’s home? Please no, why? Why here?”

Ruin started forward, ready to figure out what it was about judging here that he needed to learn or know.

“Wait a minute!” Isadore yanked on his arm after catching up. But he couldn’t stop, his body had heard the directive and it was like Scriber had loaded the gun. His power was gearing up, ready or not, he’d better have it aimed in the right direction. “You can’t do this, Ruin.”

Ten feet from the building, he stopped and closed his eyes, mentally locating his targets. Ten humans, ready for judgement and execution. “I’ll do it from out here. It’s a Kanénas Diago̱nismós.”

“Good,” Scriber murmured, eying the area. “The less trouble, the better.”

“What?” Isadore whispered. “What is that?”

“Means nobody is contesting the judgements.”

“Well I am!”

Ruin took a careful breath, steadying his gathering power. “Sorry Angel. You don’t count in that.”

“Says who!” she hissed angrily then turned to pleading, “Why here, Ruin, I’m begging you, please don’t do this, let’s go to a-a prison or something, a drug neighborhood, judge those who deserve it! Ruin!”

Isadore’s words echoed from a distance outside of the sphere of power around him now. His right eye throbbed as the Soul Prison moved into place, the hot wires locking into his jaw and skull, even in his brain. The Kleftis swarmed around him, ready to steal a human soul during transportation. To live part of their wretched damned existence in the human realm was a delicacy they reveled in obtaining, even for the briefest of moments, and the very idea filled him with a subconscious and bloodthirsty need to prevent them. “You should wait in the truck, Isadore.”

“Oh my God, you’re going to do this?”

He jerked his gaze to her and she stiffened in shock. He had no clue what he looked like with Soul Prison on but judging by the horror in her expression, it wasn’t anything that impressed the ladies. Oddly, what bothered him more was the trouble she was giving him about this, knowing he had no choice in the matter. “Go to the truck.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to kill an old person,” she whispered, her disgust loud and clear. “Again,” she added. “And I won’t leave,” she shook her head, adamantly. “I’m staying.”

Fine.

“Watch for the Diávolos Pipílisma,” Scriber announced with caution. “They’re headed this way.”

It was the first time he’d heard the word, but understanding and alarm filled him. “Why would they be involved?”

“Because you’re special. But it’s her they come for.”

“Her? How and why?”

“I can’t say.” Scriber nodded once. “Grim.”

Ruin glanced right at the silent presence of the Transporter in his human form, still a giant in size. Like the being’s attendance was a green light, the power to execute barreled through Ruin like a locomotive with rocket boosters. He shut his eyes and located each judged soul and held both palms out, sending forth the whispered command, “Díkaios Termatismoú.” Ruin mentally followed the ten bolts of fire that shot from his fingers into the building. Upon hitting their targets, the Soul Prison triggered and ten slivers of metal blasted forth from his right eye. The hooks latched on to the judged and raced back at an extreme velocity, creating a warbled, screaming whipping sound.

“The Diávolos Pipílisma are here,” Scriber whispered. His eyes and tattoos suddenly glowed bright red, and blood like ink erupted from all ten fingers, rigid and erect at his sides. The liquid flooded the ground around them, then raced up invisible dome walls, cocooning them in crimson fire. “Finish now,” Scriber said calmly, red ink barely leaking from his fingers now.

Ruin bound the ten human souls with the blue fire and shot them to Grim who caught the sphere with that same practiced ease from before then disappeared, like he was needed elsewhere instantly, or preferred not being there.

The air suddenly vibrated and tingled before turning to a full out growl much like at Isadore’s just before Scriber showed up. “Go to the truck.” Scriber looked all around them as Ruin did as told, the dome walls pulsating in various areas like an erratic heartbeat.

In this realm, Ruin was quickly learning that everything seemed to have less to do with power, and more to do with right and wrong. And it was also apparent to him that those laws were being manipulated using the inconsistency of free will and the shitty make-up of human nature. Every human act had a power behind it, every power had an authority, and every authority had a purpose—dirty bombs constituted by free will and amended by angelic and demonic influence unto the driving of humanity—yes driving, for it certainly wasn’t government that was going on, it was very much active directing.

But for what? To gain the loyalty of humans? Gain frailty and sickness? Unto what purpose and end? Ruin saw no point in prolonging the inevitable, and maybe that’s what this was all about, angelic influence in high gear to hurry along the clean-up of the human mistake. Ruin, even as half human could logically see the human creation was flawed, the plan was flawed, which seemed to lead back to the extremely even wonderfully flawed flesh. He’d seen it first-hand, felt it, the power of that mistake. And if said appetites were addictive by their very nature, how was one supposed to achieve not becoming addicted and being ruled by that addiction? On top of that, what would happen if full angels had such influences? Would the condition not affect them at all, or would it affect them more perfectly? Judging by how he felt with Isadore, he’d wager affect more perfectly. He was so perfectly subject to her, that he couldn’t watch her speak without envisioning his manhood between her lips. Not even the disgrace of such a weakness could remove the fire in his bones just the thought caused.

In the truck, Ruin pulled a silent but terrified Isadore close to him as they watched Scriber eye the dome above. “What’s he doing?” she whispered. “How many people did you kill?”

“I hope he’s coming and that what we’re doing is leaving.”

“How many did you kill?”

Of course she’d press that. “Only ten.”

She gasped and jerked toward him. “Only? Only? Oh my God, you say it like it’s nothing.”

“Sorry.” He eyed the east side of the blood dome that Scriber now faced. “But Judging and Executing is normal for me, and it’d be really nice if you came to grips with that.”

More gasping shock and silent staring at him. “Normal?”

“Look, don’t judge my genetic make-up and I won’t judge your need to breathe, ok?”

She turned said judgemental stare to the windshield. “That is not normal. And what is he doing now?” She gasped as Scriber changed colors again. “He’s purple. Even his dress, oh wow, look how beautiful.”

“Yes, and his body, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

She leaned away from him, regarding him pointedly. “I did, yes. And his eyes.”

Ruin was too worried to be angry. “I just hope that’s his kick-ass-and-leave- color.” He watched the dome shake and tremble on the left and Scriber raise his right hand.  A brilliant purple ink slowly floated out of his pointer finger. Holding his arm extended, he began running to the truck, the purple slowly spreading along that wall like a vein of webs, slowly getting brighter. 

Ruin started the truck at seeing his urgency and Scriber jumped in the front this time. “Leave very quickly. There will be aftershocks.”

Chapter Seven

Ruin tore out as fast as the machine allowed and headed in the direction of the next assignment, already screaming in his spine. The urgency troubled him. If it was another judgement, Isadore would be worse than pissed. Already he sensed a change in her toward him for the ten souls he’d judged as commanded, as created to do, as he had no choice to do. And Ruin felt the indignation of her unrighteous judgement burning a special path through his special bones.

“Can you go faster?”

Scriber’s tense words drew Ruin’s gaze to the mirror just as the truck rocked and skidded on the road with an explosion that nearly tossed them from the pavement. Red and purple ink rushed toward them from behind then. “Maximum velocity,” Ruin said. “Is that going to hit us?”

“It’s not the ink I’m worried about, it’s what might escape it.”

“Shit,” Ruin muttered, as Isadore turned to watch the back glass while he held the accelerator to the floor. His gaze moved from mirror to road, hoping to her God the thing continued with no turns.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Isadore whispered. “What is that?”

“Excuse me.” Scriber climbed out the window and into the back of the truck. Ruin caught sight of him writing in the air, his color like setting sun now. Ruin read the word, wondering why he wrote them as he climbed back into the cab. “That should distract them.”

“Why did you write mirror?” Isadore remained fixated on the still approaching hellish beings rapidly closing on them. Close enough now to see the block-headed creatures with square mouths, no eyes, and nine inch nail teeth.

“They love looking in mirrors.”

“I don’t get it,” Isadore whispered. “Won’t that like make them want to come more?”

“That is the idea.”

Ruin eyed the word in the rear-view mirror. It travelled along with them at ninety-five miles per-hour, despite the odometer’s hundred twenty lying claim made by some human.

“Allagi.” 

At Scriber’s mutter, the word ceased to travel with them and Ruin watched as it expanded into a rectangular wall of iridescent orange, rimmed with matching flames. It was like a supernatural circus act as beast after hellish beast jumped through, disintegrating as they entered the glass in a show of glittery orange sparks against the now black sky. “Oh my God,” Isadore whispered in awe, then in alarm, “Oh my God! They’re still coming.”

Scriber gave a barely audible sigh. “They must’ve sent several fleet,” he said.

“Why!” Ruin demanded as the next round of creatures gained on them.

“I told you why. For her.”

“Can they do that? Take her?”

“They can try, as they have legal grounds. But we too have legal grounds to protect, at this point.”

“Take me? They’re close, they’re close,” Isadore squealed. “Oh my God, why do they want me, what did I do?”

“Because they can’t take him,” Scriber said. “But they can take that part of him.”

“That part?”

“We’re bonded Isadore,” Ruin shot out, reminding her.

“Oh shit, oh shit, I don’t want to be taken Ruin!”

The truck jolted as one of the creature’s landed in the bed, hitting Ruin’s panic button, sending fire and ice, screeching in his veins. “Hold the wheel,” Ruin yelled.

Unable to contain the consuming power another second, he spun in the seat and slammed the back glass with his palm, releasing a bolt of red and blue that arced out in a thousand branches behind them, continuing until every beast had been immobilized by the fire prisons.

“That did it,” Scriber gazed behind them. “For a bit.”

Ruin jerked back around and grabbed the wheel. “A bit is enough. Question is, how are we going to manage another assignment with them on our trail?”

“Already taken care of. Just needed to shake them long enough to cloak us.”

“This next assignment is literally chewing on my spine,” Ruin managed between gritted teeth. “You have any idea what’s going on here?”

“My arrival initiated the next phase in the mission.”

“Well I can’t say I appreciate that right now.” Especially since he was still in the dark about said mission. “Care to elaborate?”

“The birthing pangs have begun.”

“Birthing pangs?” Isadore repeated.

“The prophecy is in motion with or without you or his cooperation.”

“What cooperation?” Ruin demanded. “I’m doing everything we’re told.”

“There is more needed of you in this mission than your cooperation to instructions.”

“Like what? Can’t you just tell me?”

“No, I can’t. You must learn this.”

“Why,” Isadore demanded, “why not just tell him?”

“Because then he won’t know that which he must, in order to successfully complete the mission. Please heed the successful aspect of that information.”

“Can you slow down now?” Isadore asked, grabbing hold of the dashboard at the approach of a curve in the road.

“No, I can’t!” Ruin groaned in pain as he hit the exact amount of brakes to take the curve as fast as possible without flipping the vehicle. He glanced at Scriber. “So I have to learn whatever it is I need, to make the mission successful.”

“Correct.”

“And you can’t tell me anything that would prevent me from learning it myself.”

“Correct again.”

“Well can you tell me?” Isadore shrilled. “In my ear or something?”

“No, he can’t,” Ruin said. “If he says I have to learn it, we’ll follow that to the letter, is it clear?” When she huffed a little, Ruin snapped, “Isadore, I’m not going to jeopardize your life for your curiosity. Not happening. And this assignment really needs to get here, my spine is on fire.”

“Can I ask you questions?” Isadore looked at Scriber.

“You can.”

“Can she?” Ruin wasn’t worried about Scriber giving answers he shouldn’t, but he was definitely worried about her figuring out things. “I mean if it’s me that needs to learn, I don’t need her working out that puzzle.”

“She can. She’s part of you.”

Ruin gasped. “Fire away Isadore.”

“Is this mission a matter of life and death?”

“Yes.”

“Whose life and death?”

“Many.”

“The whole world?”

“Eventually.”

“Are we talking spiritually or physically?”

“Both.”

She gasped at that news. “Okay, okay. Ruin’s mental block is preventing him from completing this mission. And that block will be lifted after these assignments?”

“Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?” erupted from Both Isadore and Ruin.

“There is no guarantee you will see what you need to see.”

“About what exactly?” Ruin said.

“About the truth.”

“Oh, great,” Isadore gasped. “Can we get any more obtuse? Do you realize how convoluted that concept is?”

“I understand that it can be convoluted,” Scriber said.

“You say that like it doesn’t have to be,” Isadore aha’d!

“Correct.”

Isadore turned to Ruin. “The truth doesn’t have to be convoluted.”

Ruin gasped a dry laugh. “Thank you for that repeat, Angel.”

“I’m just saying, try to think simply here. Outside the box.”

“I already think simply,” Ruin said. “Things are pretty black and white for me.”

She gave a frustrated sound. “Then…maybe think not so black and white? Maybe consider some of the things I tell you?”

Ruin shook his head, hating this game.

“Why are you so sure I’m the wrong one here?”

“I’m sure about a few things, one of them being you are blind to the true laws of right and wrong. You let your emotions guide you instead of righteous judgement.”

“And that is so bad?”

“Very,” Ruin exclaimed. “Isadore, the fact that you treat right and wrong with so little regard is one of the clearest black and whites I possess.”

“Don’t call me Isadore like I’m a child.”

“What?” he glanced at her angry profile a few times. “That is you’re name.”

“I know my name, JD.”

“You’re pissed that I’m right about you, that’s what this is. I’m right that you have no spine when it comes to calling wrong wrong, and right right. Rather odd for a Christian who claims to love a God who hates liars.”

She jerked to him with a gasp, staring at him in jaw dropped silence. “Wow,” she finally whispered, nodding, “that was harsh.” She looked at Scriber. “Do you agree with that? I mean I know you barely know me.”

“I know you very well.”

That got Ruin’s attention and he leaned to peer at the onyx being, only he couldn’t find his face in the darkness. “Can’t you at least show your eyes?”

“My eyes are showing.”

“So we can see,” Ruin said. “It’s odd looking at you and not being able to find your eyes. How do you know Isadore?”

The being suddenly transformed to something that didn’t help Ruin one bit. A human form. White as snow skin and ebony eyes seemed to gradually surface beneath a layer of solid black ink. “I’m here to keep the prophecy.”

Isadore jumped and scooted closer to Ruin at the physical change in the being. Ruin couldn’t decide what bothered him more and finally decided it was his job description. “So you’re… a Scriber.”

“A Prophetic Scriber.”

“There are other kinds?” Isadore wondered.

“There are scribers for every human. They scribe their lives,” he said casually.

“Wow,” Isadore sounded oh so awed and enamored. “Is that the same as a guardian angel?”

“No,” Ruin was back to noticing his words and how they wisped like silk. “That is your Negotiator.”

“My Negotiator,” she mumbled.

“The one who negotiates,” Ruin cut in roughly, “in your soul’s behalf.”

She turned to him, putting distance between them in the process. “Negotiates what?”

He eyed her, his gaze hungry to just feast on her face for no sensible reason. “Safekeeping of your soul.”

She looked forward, perplexed. “I thought I got to choose my own path?”

“You do,” Scriber said, drawing her attention back to him.” But the dark Negotiators try to influence your decisions. And the light Negotiators work to counteract those attacks. However,” Scriber added, “the dark Negotiators only have as much power in your life as you give them with the thoughts you think and act on.”

“And the good negotiators—”

“Do the same,” Ruin finished, feeling like he was warring for her undivided attention. “And the Carnificem judge and execute what the Negotiators present to them.

“So…the judgement at that bridge…” Isadore whispered. “Valkrin was…”

“A very bad Negotiator,” Ruin confirmed with a nod.

“Yes,” she gasped. “He-he was influencing that man to do wrong.”

“And he succeeded.”

“And you judged that.”

“Because the man acted on it,” Ruin declared with exasperation.

“But he was having a hard time, he was disadvantaged, he was provoked!” Isadore declared with equal passion. “How can you call that righteous?”

“I never said dark negotiating was righteous.” And her quickness to accuse him really quickened his anger. “I said I did right by judging what I judged and executing that judgement.” She shook her head, staring straight ahead and the little sentiment burned Ruin. “Shake your head all you want in denial, it doesn’t change that it’s true.”

“And how did you feel about that man on the bridge?” she gasped, “Did you feel anything at all for him?”

“What?” Could she ask a more disconnected question? “What do my feelings have to do with judging right and wrong? Isadore,” he looked from her to the road, “the question you should ask yourself is, did you consider the right and wrong of it, or are you only considering what makes you feel good at the moment? I mean did you even bother to consider that maybe him dying in that moment was the best thing for him, considering his lack of options? Did you consider that maybe his Negotiator did all in his power to negotiate a better outcome and there wasn’t one? Did you consider the man’s feelings in his decision? Did you consider his life had he chosen something different? He was a murderer, Isadore. Cold blooded. Headed for death row. To sit and wait for death in a cell. How fun would that be?”

She stared at him, shocked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Because it wasn’t your business. I’m telling you now because you’re inability to judge is not conducive to my mission. Your reason is darkened by your emotions.”

Isadore fiddled with her fingers in her lap then turned to Scriber. “Is this true? Is my reasoning darkened by my emotions?”

“Why are you asking him?” Ruin couldn’t hide his anger.

“Because I think your reasoning is darkened by your judgement,” she shot back before looking at Scriber again, waiting.

“He is correct to a great degree,” Scriber said.

She finally faced forward after a few moments. “To what degree?” Light curiosity tinged the words.