Ruin Box Set

by Bane, Lucian

  “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.

  “That is something you must learn. I can suggest that you keep your mind open as all that can be done to help you learn, is done.”

  More silence ensued before she whispered, “Wow.” She rubbed her palms along her legs. “Fine. Minds open. And what about his reasoning being darkened by his judgements?”

  Scriber’s softly spoken words were near reverent. “His judgements are righteous. Even when he makes rogue judgements. To protect that which he determines is right. So far.”

  Relief flooded Ruin at hearing that, and the wonder in his tone might even be admiration. Isadore had made him doubt what he knew to be right and wrong and he needed to remember that and not let it happen again. So whatever he was learning had nothing to do with his ability to judge and execute. So what was it?

  Ruin leaned and looked at Scriber. “So why did they send you now?”

  “Because this is a level one prophecy. Brother.”

  “Brother?” Isadore asked what he too wondered. “Are you related?”

  “Yes.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  Scriber looked out the window and Ruin saw the reflection of a slight smile on his mouth. “I cannot say.”

  “So you know him and he knows you only he doesn’t remember you?” Isadore looked back and forth between them.

  “Correct,” Scriber said.

  “Level one prophecy,” Ruin repeated, taking an exit off of the interstate. “I know that is extremely important—correction—I feel it. But my mind isn’t calling up details.”

  “Your instincts are correct. A level one prophecy ushers in a new age.”

  “A new age?” Isadore gasped. “A new age? W-what, like what? Where is this prophecy?”

  “Your Holy Scriptures.”

  “So that Bible she reads is the word of God?” Ruin said, getting nervous.

  He turned to him, his black eyes burning with a mysterious fire. “Indeed it is.”

  Isadore gasped a ha, as Ruin mentally thumbed through the prophecies. “Which prophecy is it?”

  He merely shook his head. “You will know that soon enough.”

  “Is he supposed to fulfill this prophecy?” Isadore asked.

  “He is supposed to. And he will. One way or another.”

  “Oh geeze,” she gasped. “Oh geeze. One way or another, one way or another, he fulfills the mysterious new age ushering world ending prophecy one way or another.” Isadore began reciting things at high speed. Lots of things, random bits of the conversation, past trauma, all key words alerting Ruin that she’d been triggered.

  “Isadore, look at me.”

  She jerked to Ruin and the evidence of what he sensed stared back at him, front and center of her wide blue eyes. She nodded at him and grabbed hold of the hand he offered. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She nodded more and breathed carefully, sweat making her face glisten. “I’m okay,” she gasped.

  Ruin slammed the brakes and pulled off the side of the road, roaring at the biting protest in those tattoos that demanded his immediate obedience to the next assignment.

  “You’re late,” Scriber said.

  “She’s not okay,” Ruin brought the truck to a skidding stop as she repeated her I’m okay, I’m okay mantra with eyes closed and slight rocking.

  “If you do this now, you’ll—“

  “I don’t care!” Ruin hollered, turning Isadore to him. “Listen to me, Isadore,” he shook her a little, making her focus. “Look into my eyes. Now.”

  She furrowed her brows doing as he said, latching her gaze to his as though knowing he could help and trusting him to. Ruin dove into her gaze and found her nightmares running rampant in her mind, behind the barrier she’d developed from him. I’m here. I’m here, he silently conveyed to her. Shhhh. I’m here. Ride the feeling, it’s just a feeling. It will pass. This is your mind, your ship. I want you back in control of it. Right now. He put a dose of power in the commanded, forcing the obedience.

  Immediately her heart rate lowered and her breathing began to settle. “I’m fine,” she whispered through trembling lips, sweat and tears covering her face now.

  Ruin slowly drew out of her gaze and stroked his thumbs along her cheeks. “Are you okay Angel? I need you okay during this.”

  She nodded, holding his hands. “I’m good. I got it. Sorry about that. Just a slip.”

  He nodded back and kissed her lips softly, then put his forehead on hers. “No more slips.”

  She gasped and nodded again. “No more slips.”

  Ruin growled through the pain and quickly got them back on the road and drove like a lost drunk through the small city until he pulled into another parking lot. “A hospital.” Great. Another living graveyard.

  Scriber opened his door. “The Diávolos Pipílisma and Kleftis are tailing us.”

  “How?” Ruin shut the truck off. “I thought you cloaked us.”

  “The little trick you just used with her was like a direct phone call to the underworld. Wait while I set a parameter and scramble our location.”

  Ruin watched him leave the truck just as a sharp pain stabbed into the base of his skull. He gripped the steering wheel and growled through the wave pulsating in every muscle.

  “God, you’re trembling,” Isadore whispered, rubbing his back. “I’m sorry. I’m not helping, I’m sorry.”

  He could only shake his head,
hoping she understood it wasn’t her fault. It was his. For not taking better care to protect her psyche from all of this. Not knowing how.

  Scriber opened the door and got back in. “Do your thing. I’ll keep her here.”

  Ruin could only question him with his gaze.

  “Every one of her spiritual orifices are vulnerable points of attack. Her mind, especially. So make it quick. We get out numbered and you’ll be very sorry.”

  Ruin was beyond arguing as he stumbled from the truck. With every step closer to the assignment, he gained strength, lessening the excruciating pain his tardiness had brought. Standing at the front of the hospital, he closed his eyes, locating his target. Make that another plural. Twenty-five souls this round. Isadore would love that. A flu epidemic was the weapon already in position at his arrival. Maybe that would make it at least seem more natural to her than other methods. But really, very rarely did good Carnificem use methods that weren’t naturally tied to a logical event. The whys of which ones died might go mysteriously unsolved to the humans but even those questions had logical answers.

  Good Carnificem….

  Up until a few moments ago, he’d thought he was good. But had he not disbelieved her Bible was literally the word of God, and that the God of that Bible was invalidated? And now Scriber said he indeed is real and orchestrating his very existence? Ruin had pretty much disowned the concept of this God. So how could he, a Carnificem created to judge and execute by said God, not know his own Creator?

  But then… why would the good guys be helping him if he wasn’t good?

  “Any day now, brother.”

  Ruin glanced to his right at the sudden presence of Grim. The transporter called him brother. But then so had that dark Negotiator, Valkrin. Rather mockingly, now that he thought about it.

  As before, the beings presence pulled Ruin’s power forth and the Soul Prison raced into place, a series of loud clicks and chinks. At least it seemed loud to Ruin, echoing in his brain like chain being struck against a metal wall. Ruin commanded forth the execution fire, collected the souls then handed them off to Grim.

  When Grim didn’t leave immediately, Ruin glanced at him, feeling weak. “Praying for your strength,” he said. Then he left.

  Ruin gasped and stumbled, adding the cryptic words to the mountain of other cryptic words he needed explaining. “I got you,” Isadore whispered, suddenly under his right arm, supporting him, grabbing hold of his waist.