June 10, 1967
(Athens, Greece)

A leaf of a moon drenched birch tree is carried off by the whims of a breeze.  It sails the sea of night, navigating between bright stars and endless spaces.  Its journey is a relatively short one, however the leaf doesn’t mind for it knows that it is soon dead.  The leaf banishes those thoughts, for they are thoughts of the future, and it cares nothing for those.  Freedom is the only thing on its mind now.  

Glorious freedom!

**

A baby stares in wonder out at a moonlit world.  His eyes glow with silver fire as he watches the night wind swirl and stir, dance and sing.  The world is new and bright, even in the dark of night, and the child is captivated by this.  He reaches for the stars; his little hands trying to catch hold of the shiny objects, but they elude his grasp.

A streak of light across the midnight sky lands in his outstretched hand.  With a squeal of delight the child closes his hand and stares at it in awe.  He doesn’t want to let it out.  He doesn’t want to risk losing it.  So he sits there, holding the fallen star in his little fist.  Finally, he raises the courage to look at the star.  His fingers open.

Nothing.

“My son,” whispers a soft voice.

The baby looks up, curious to know where that strange sound had come from.  A dark shape wreathed in quicksilver stands in front of the open window.  He gurgles in delight at this new cosmic visitor, and forgets his lost fallen star.

The shadow moves forward and the child quiets.  “I have a gift for you, my son,” it murmurs, now at the edge of the crib.  “You may never find it.  You may never know its power.  And if you do discover it, it may consume you.  But for you to survive in the chaotic future, I must give you this, and hope that you will live to fulfill your purpose.”

The infant cocks his head, trying to understand the odd sounds he’s hearing.  The pearlescent shadow peers at him with starlight eyes.  It reaches towards him and in its hand is a real fallen star.  It blazes with a soft intensity that captivates his attention.  He has to touch it, he has to hold it.  Reaching out, his little fingers grasp the glowing ball, and light and darkness consume him.

The room is empty now, except for one sleeping babe.  The stars no longer glimmer with the pure blaze of newness, and the breeze no longer sings in the night.

A last breath of wind carries a whispered message. “I love you,” is all it sighs before it is gone, dropping a lifeless leaf on the windowsill.

--

Present Day
(Stage Three)

Linked to everyone there is a void of darkness.  It is a place where things that are forgotten are discarded, a place of ignorance, and lost treasure.  In some senses, it is even a prison for the most unwanted things we hold in our minds.  And in this particular place, a warped thing that is extremely unwanted makes its home.

A small ball of fire illuminated a section of the Infinite Void Within.  Marty sat on a five legged chair.  He couldn’t get up.  He didn’t try.  He just sat there, brooding, amidst the discarded treasures of accumulated life times.  Profound knowledge lay scattered about him, while millions of scintillating lights winked in the blackness around him, but he found no interest in it.  Instead, he brought forth his memories and projected them into the air in front of him.

The screen flashed with a myriad of images before settling on a recent scene from his mind:  His last struggle with Jason.  His enemy.  His jailor.  His brother.

His lips moved in a slow smile.  “Soon,” he said.  “Soon I will conquer you my dear brother, and then you’ll be the one locked away and I’ll have your power!”

--

Grim was descending into the darkness of the unknown.  His scarred right hand throbbed in pain as he descended the metal ladder.  The cold of the iron sucking away the little warmth left in his hands.  The pain was bearable, though, and he ignored it as he descended down the well shaft.

The steady rhythm of his descent lulled him into a somewhat meditative state where he considered all that had occurred so far and all that could be ahead.  He knew that it wasn’t over yet, that there were still rounds ahead, and he mentally prepared to meet those challenges, whatever they may be.

Extending his awareness, he mentally checked for the sensations that indicated where his remaining weapons were and calculated how easily accessible they were now that his shoulder was stiff from scar tissue and muscle ache, and his right hand had lost a lot of its dexterity.  He didn’t like what he initially felt, but decided to withhold his final conclusion when he finally reached the bottom.  Assuming that ever happened!

His foot missed a rung and his body slammed down on his injured hand.  Pain tore up his arm and he reflexively released the grip.  He dropped ten feet and hit the ground feet first, absorbing the shock with his legs while scanning the area for potential threats.

With his hand throbbing and his shoulder sore, Grim surveyed the surroundings.  He was in a long lighted tunnel.  The light source was unidentifiable.  It just appeared to be coming from everywhere, eliminating all shadows.  Glancing up, Grim saw the hole he’d come out of.  It was about three feet off the ground near the one side of the tunnel, and, yup, just as he suspected, its twin was on the other side.

With a grunt, he looked to one end of the tunnel; it ended in a blank wall a short distance away.  But the other end held a familiar sight.  Well, with a few more changes to it.  The angel’s hollow eyes gaped at him as he studied its differences.  One hand was held up to its cheek while the other held out a hand with a silver bowl on it.  It wasn’t much, just plain silver.  But the biggest difference was that instead of sculpted marble the angel had golden hair and a rich tan skin tone.  It appeared so finely painted that it looked like the angel could have started walking towards him at that instant.  And, just behind the angel's shoulder, he could see a ladder leading up into the center of the ceiling.

His survey was cut short, however, when he heard the yelp of a feminine voice and felt the whoosh of air.  Moving with extreme speed, Grim dashed underneath the other opening and caught a falling body in his arms.  Thrown off balance, he spun his body around and slammed into the wall shoulder first to protect the woman in his arms.  Wincing through the pain in his shoulder, he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the depths of breathtaking lavender eyes.

She seemed stunned for few seconds before she quickly spun out of his hands and into a crouch, bringing her sword to bear before her.  Her face was devoid of emotion, her gaze hard.

“Don’t touch me, demon!” she growled, her voice calm and menacing, but tinged with a lyrical accent.

Grim sized her up.  She knew how to handle herself, that much was clear from the way she carried herself and her calm tone.  She was wearing a white dress that had seen better days.  It went to her knees, but was split up the sides to allow easy mobility, and her boots were soft leather.  Her skin was extremely interesting; it was a dark grey, and her arms and legs were crisscrossed with old scars.  But what interested him the most was that she had had previous experience with his kind before.

“What is your name?” she ordered.

A slight smile played across his lips as he regarded her.  “Grim,” he responded.  “And yours?”

“Elin.”  That was all she said.

Shrugging his bag off and standing up to his full height, Grim took a step forward and brushed his hair aside; exposing a slightly pointed ear, while bearing a pointed canine in a half-smile.  “You’re an elf, aren’t you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“Yes, I am,” she stated, matter-of-factly.

“Hmm. I thought elves were just fairy tales,” he mused.  So, she was his next opponent.  He wasn’t sure what to think.  He didn’t know how reliable the fairy tales and Hollywood depictions were of these creatures.  But whatever was to happen, he needed to figure out how to pass this round first.

Keeping her in his peripheral vision he began looking for the grimoire.  He glanced at the base of the statue, but oddly, there was no book.  That’s strange, he thought.  Then his eyes registered what was on the walls of the tunnel.  Handprints covered the walls from floor to ceiling.  Handprints of all shapes and sizes, and even claw marks could be seen.  “What the hell?” he muttered to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elin lower her sword slightly and begin to look around too.  He needed to find the instruction before she did.  So he’d at least know what might be in store.  It obviously had to do with that bowl.  Did he have to fill it up with blood like last time?

Grim lowered his eyes and noticed the floor covered in the same handprints.  But one section was slightly different.  He could just make out an inscription among the slime:

“Angels cannot decide, angels cannot bleed, angels cannot cry. He who gives me tears shall move forward.”

Wait… he had to go cry in a bowl?  What was the point of that?  How did that fit in with blood and souls?  Well, he thought, at least he didn’t have to kill anyone.  Or so he hoped.  A slight whistling caught his ears, and he reacted on a completely visceral level.  He dove forward, just managing to avoid a decapitating strike from the elf’s sword.  Coming to his feet, Grim reached for his sword, only to realise it wasn’t there.

Shit!

He made a grab for his guns, but the elf was fast.  She lunged, and he just managed to side step the blow, un-holstering his guns.  She made a quick dodge as Grim fired a bullet from his right hand gun.  He hissed as the recoil pummelled his half-healed hand, causing him to drop the gun in pain.

The elf took this to her advantage, and managed to land a glancing blow on his neck, narrowly missing his jugular.  Throwing himself backwards, Grim fired at the elf with his other gun, but she had already moved.  Damn, she’s got reflexes like a cat, he thought.

Rolling back onto his feet, he brought his gun to bear again, but she somehow managed to get behind him, without him seeing her.  She disarmed him with her sword and sent him rolling off to the side to smack against the slimy wall.

Grim glanced to where his guns lay.  Both in opposite directions and both out of reach at the moment.  I can’t believe how useless my right hand is, he thought angrily.

She stood a couple feet in front of where he sat, keeping her sword levelled at him.  “Stay there, Grim.”  She spoke in a cold neutral tone.  “I don’t want to kill you.  You’ve lost.”

He stuck a hand in his pocket and sighed.  “No, I haven’t,” was all he said before he pulled out his lighter.  “I am far from being out of this fight.”  And he struck a flame.

Manipulating the fire to his will, he sent it streaming towards the elf.  She gave a yelp of surprise and dove out of the way.  Getting to his feet, Grim stoked the fire into a giant wall.  He then sealed the tunnel in a blazing inferno, effectively cutting off Elin from the statue and the silver bowl.

“No!” he heard her cry from the other side of the fire.  He ignored her and began to walk towards the angel, but then he felt something strange.  She was trying to manipulate his fire.  He could feel her will tampering with his structure.  So, she can manipulate fire too, eh? He looked to his wall and saw it slowly start to warp outward like a large grotesque bubble.

“You are nowhere near strong enough to overpower me,” he called to her, not really caring if she heard.  With a simple thought, he reinforced the wall.  It snapped its form back into place, leaving the surface a smooth sheet of fire once again.

He’d hardly turned his attention back to the statue when the entire tunnel erupted in scalding steam.  Ignoring the comforting heat, Grim spun back to see Elin surrounded by a wreath of water which she was directing with her hands.

Fuck!  Was all he had time to think before a large wave of water collided with his chest, sending him sailing down the tunnel and smashing him into the statue.  He felt his rib crack under the pressure of the collision and he fell gasping to the base of the statue.  He was soaked.  And angry.  He hated getting drenched!

His hands a blur, he sent several spinning knives at her, which she promptly blocked with a swipe of water.  “Give up!” she shouted.

With an angry wipe of his face, Grim grabbed his lighter and struck a spark.  Fire roared into being around him, a great wall of heat and light.  Focusing his will to needle-like intensity, he sent a hundred needles towards her.  She tried to block it with another swipe of water, but there were too many and some made it through, piercing her water like a hot knife through butter, and burning into her flesh.  She screamed in agony as the pain ripped through her.

Her hands called and the water came.  Sending a veritable tidal wave at him, Grim could do nothing.  He sent his fire to the roof of the tunnel, out of the way of the wall of water descending upon him.  The water swept him up and drove him under, slamming him into the wall and floor of the tunnel.  Clawing his way through the water, Grim tried to surface for air, but the liquid kept pushing him back down to the bottom of the flood every time he got close.

He was in trouble.  He needed air, and fast.

Concentrating on the fire that still survived above the water, Grim focused his strength on sustaining a small ball of it.  Then he called it to him, and just as he’d hoped, the fire was hot enough to continue burning underneath the surface.

The fire raced to his outstretched and started boiling the water around him.  Compressing the small ball of energy, he held it below his mouth and gasped desperately at the large air bubbles he was generating.  The hot water soaked air filled his greedy lungs and saved him from drowning.  Now, he just had to get out of this damned water.

Concentrating the fireball, he blasted it downward and drove himself to the surface of the water.  Gasping the cool air, he looked around for the elf and saw her where he’d left her, standing on relatively dry land.

Grim’s anger was boiling, and he sent more needles at her, but she yelped and dropped to her knees, slamming her palms to the ground.  A small stone lip shot from the floor and intercepted the missiles before they managed to get to her.  

Her concentration now broken, the water flooded away, dropping him onto the stone floor.  Abandoning the needles, Grim focused an explosive fireball in his palm and shot it at the earthen wall.  The tunnel lit in a brief flash as wall exploded, and sent chunks of rock and earth everywhere.  When the dust and smoke cleared, Elin’s body was revealed.  A trickle of blood dripped down the side of her head, showing the place where a piece of stone had hit her and knocked her unconscious.

Walking towards her still body, Grim began to calm himself down.  She could be troublesome if he were to let her live, but he didn’t want to kill her.  Not in this place.  So what was he to do?  She could control the elements, it seemed, and water appeared to be her strong suit.

Water.  Fire’s natural enemy.

An idea came to him then.  When they’d fought, she had moved with the water to direct it.  Maybe if he limited her movement, he’d eliminate her ability to use the water effectively for a while.  It would require a lot of concentration, but he believed he could do it.  

Bending down, Grim picked up a large chunk of stone.  He began channelling heat into the rock, slowly increasing the energy until it began to glow a bright red.  Gritting his teeth against the slow sizzle of the skin holding the rock, he forced more and more power into it.  Finally the stone began to deliquesce and he released the molten rock.  Using his power he kept the substance afloat and moulded and separated it into four bands.  And bending over Elin’s body he dropped the molten bands onto her wrist and the smell of burning flesh immediately filled the tunnel.  Working quickly, Grim absorbed all the heat from the wrist manacles, rapidly cooling the stone and locking her arms to the floor.  Then he went to her ankles and repeated the procedure.

After that was complete, he worked on the second part of his plan to keep her trapped.  Cupping his hands together he created a small area of shadow between his palms.  Gathering a little bit of fire above his knuckles, he shut his eyes and thought back to when he’d fought Sion Mithas, and the feeling he’d felt when he’d created that Shadow Dragon.  Focusing his mind on the emotions he’d felt back then, he brought to his anger to the surface, and attempted to merge the shadow and flame.  When he opened his eyes, he saw a single black flame rising and snapping between his knuckles.

“Yes!” he said in triumph.

Stoking the flames, a giant snarling dragon’s head erupted from his hands.  He focused his intent and sent the gaping maw to cover the elf’s midsection in its jaws.  He took great care, however, not to let the heat reach her or let the flames touch her.

“There, hopefully that will provide you with a little more trouble than my fire wall did, when you wake up.”

Clasping the tail of the dragon in his left hand, Grim went up to the statue and grabbed the silver bowl from the angel’s outstretched hand.  Seating himself, he began to meditate.  He had to find a dark memory and relive it vividly if he was to shed any tears.

And meditate he did.

---

Marty perked up from his five legged chair.  He could feel the change in his ‘brother’s’ mind.  “Ah, so you’ve come for a visit, have you?” he grinned and stood.  “Then let me show you to my humble abode!”

---

Grim was reliving the days of his homelessness.  He saw himself as a small child, doing what needed to be done to survive.  Nothing more.

He had no idea of how long he’d been meditating through his memories, but he needed to find something fast.  He could feel the drain on his power from the Shadow Dragon, and the elf could wake up any minute.  He needed something and fast!  His worst memories of his teenage years flashed before his eyes.  Depressing, some of them were, but nothing that could trigger that reaction within him.

A clawed hand clamped onto a shoulder he hadn’t even realised was there.  And in the next instant, he was standing in a black void of glittering lights.  He didn’t understand this; he’d never been here before.  And why did he have a body in his own mind?  Was this a vision?

“Hello, brother,” an oily voice echoed in the darkness.

A tingle went up his spine.  Where the hell was he?  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

A cracking giggle sounded all around him.  “I brought you to my domain, brother!  Do you like it?”

“Marty?”  He’d never thought about where Marty had resided in his mind.  He never would have dreamed that this was place was even possible.  “How did you bring me here?”

“It was really easy!” he screeched.  “All I had to do was latch onto your consciousness while you’d let your defences down, and drag you into the pit that you throw me whenever you have the chance!”

Marty’s voice became softer.  “It’s not like I mind.  This place has the knowledge of ages long past,” he whispers.  “It is a record of all that is lost and forgotten, all that remains hidden and should not be touched.

“This is where you throw me.  And that, brother, will be your undoing!”  Light blazed and a great black demon rained fire upon him.

Grim reached out and attempted to turn the fire back on Marty, but it ignored his commands.  Without so much as a second to process his failure, he was caught in the rain of fire.  Grim was blown back, into some dark and unseen objects.  A cascade of knowledge falling over him.

A little boy cries for his mother.  Flames licking the walls of his room.

A great black claw reaches down and rips Grim out of the debris.  Holding him high, the beast spoke, “In this place you have no power!”  With a snap of the demon’s wrist Grim sailed into another pile of mysteries.

Smoke is choking his throat and his eyes tear.  “Mama!” he cries, but she does not hear.  Running down the hall, trying to escape the biting flames, the boy searches for her.

Pulling himself out of the wreckage, Grim climbs to his feet and reaches for a weapon.  The monster charges and catches him about the throat.  “No brother, you have no weapons here.  This is my domain!  This is my fortress!  You cannot fight me here.”  It squeezes his throat, cutting of his oxygen.

The kitchen door is open and the little boy runs in, crying desperately for his beloved mother.  A great black thing lurches to stare into his wide eyes.  It was holding his mother by the neck, and he saw tears streaming from her eyes.  A look of horror crossed her face when she looks at him.  She gasps, “Run!”

“Ah, you’re remembering our first meeting!” the demon said.  “That’s it brother.  Remember how I tore your beloved mother apart before your eyes!  Remember what you did to me, son of Adramavetis!”

“Whu-what are you ta-talking about?” Grim gasped.

“Oh don’t be coy with me, brother!  You were just remembering that day!” he shouted.  “Think!”

“Run!” she gasps, and then falls limp in the beast’s grip.

“No mama!” The boy turns to the black demon.  “Let her go!”

It chuckles.  “So, brother, you want to save your pathetic human mother?” it sneers.  “Fine, I will spare her.  Just give me the Shard!”

Fiery debris falls from the ceiling, and a blast of smoke enters the room.  “No, I won’t let you have my Star!” he cries.  “Just, please let mama go!”

“Alright, I’ll let her go,” it drops his mother and the little boy runs for her.  But before he can get to her, she bursts into a pillar of flames.

“NO!” the little boy screams.  “Mama!”  

Black claws surround his throat and lift his body off the ground.  He’s brought level to a grotesque face, one that reeks of rotten eggs and bad things, but he doesn’t care.  All he can see is his mother burning before his eyes.  All he can here are her screams for him to run.  “Give me the Shard!” it yells.  But he doesn’t hear it.  Tears stream down his face as he sees her burnt face.  All that was left of the beauty of his life.

Tears stream down his cheeks as the memories of his mother come back to him.  As he relives the time when he saw his mother burn.  The revelation is both a curse and a joy to him.  For years, he’d lived with a sense of guilt at the death of his mother.  All he’d remembered was the fire and her body.  He’d always thought it had been his demon side, Marty, which had broken out and destroyed her.  He’d always thought that it was his fault that she had died.  But now, he knew the truth: Marty wasn’t really a part of him.

Now, finally remembering what happened, rage roiled inside of Grim.  Grabbing onto the wrist of Marty, he brought a leg up and twisted out of its clawed hand, gashing his face with four straight slices.  The demon roared and lunged for him.  Evading the attack, Grim launched a roundhouse kick into the demon’s chin, knocking him onto his back.

He began to advance on the prone creature when a sharp twinkle caught his eye.  Reaching out, he grabbed the crimson hilt of a deadly scimitar.  Drawing the sparkling blade, he was inundated with its name.

“Endellion!  Fire Soul!” he shouted, and Marty was trapped in a tangle of the purest fire.  The beast screeched in pain as the purity burned its corrupted flesh.  Walking towards the writhing corpse, he asked, “I will kill you, Marty.  But first, I want to know how you got into me.  I want to know who you are.  And above all, I want to know what this Shard is!”

The beast cackled at him.  “Wouldn’t you like to know brother?  But I won’t tell you anything.  I know you have it hidden, and I’ll find it yet!” he screamed.

And then Grim blinked, and he was back in the tunnel.  Slightly disoriented, he looked around to get his bearings.  He was still sitting down at the base of the statue.  The Shadow Dragon was still in place, but it appeared that Elin was coming to.  Realising this, he quickly looked down and found the bowl in his right hand to be full of a clear liquid.  Dismissing the Dragon, Grim put his hand to his face, feeling the dried salt on his cheeks.  

“Huh, I guess I did it,” he said.  But his mind began to travel down the dark paths of his recent memories.  Finally he could remember what had happened.  He had no idea what this Shard was, or how Marty had gotten inside of him.  But, if he could get in, there was a way to get him out and that gave him hope.

Standing up, he stretched his arms and legs, working out the stiffness of his limbs.  He noticed the blood from the cut on his neck had coagulated and was now trying.  A new scar to add to his collection.

Returning his attention to the statue and the bowl, he placed it in the angel’s hand.  He wasn’t sure what would happen now.  Was that the end of the rounds?  Or was the last three opponents just the beginning?

With a sigh, he turned to regard the awakening elf with some hesitancy.  She wasn’t going to be happy when she woke.  Especially not with a bump on the head that big.  He took a step forward, intending to release the restraints on Elin, when his boot hit something that made a metallic noise.  Looking down, Grim’s breath caught.  There, at his feet lay the most beautiful sword he’d ever seen.  The blade was a rose wine red, while the hilt was wrapped in a superbly black leather.  

Bending he picked up the scimitar and studied the beautiful designs that scrolled across the metal.  Intricate flames danced across the surface of the blade, and two snarling dragon heads with silver eyes made the cross guard.  And a brilliant light shone from a clear jewel that capped the pommel.

Reaching for the buckle to his sword belt, Grim took the vacant sheath from his back.  He knew it was too small, but something told him to touch the sheath to the blade.  When he did, the sheath transformed and changed into a blood red, tooled leather sheath that was the perfect size for the new sword.

Starring in awe at the sword before him, he whispered, “Endellion.”  The light blazed brighter at the sound of its name.  And with extreme reverence, Grim sheathed the sword and slung it onto his back.

A groan from the prone elf made him return his attention to her.  Quickly he walked over and broke the bindings that held her.  The flesh of her wrists was badly burned, but it would heal.

Kneeling next to her, he touched a hand to her cheek.  Her eyes fluttered open, revealing the riveting lavender that was hidden beneath.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.  “But you’ve lost.”

Tears leaked from her eyes as she looked up at him.  “No,” was all that she whispered.

Grim stood, and walked away from the shattered woman.  He headed towards the ladder behind the statue and grabbed the lower rung.  Turning back to her he said, “I hope you succeed.”

And with that final word, Grim began to climb, Endellion lighting the way, and the elf’s quiet sobs echoing after him.