Desolation of the Soul
by Amy K. Cyrway (Eddie of Clan Winslow)
blkblade@mailexcite.com

***Sigh...legal jargon...Gargoyles is copyrighted by Disney and Buena Vista.  No infringement is
intended.  (Although there is only mention of the actual Gargoyles save for Lexington, this is still
necessary.) Zanthé, Luc and Kat are mine, although Tom is more or less created by Sombrero.
Not much to say, save that this one is more or less one of my more darker stories, and I don't
mean dark comedy like Road Beers.

TIME NOTE--This story takes place post-Clone Wars (Sombrero's fanfic not-yet finished--don't
worry, you don't need to read to understand.  The year is roughly 2078. ("Let's do the Time Warp
again!")***

***
Desolation

	He was named after an uncle long dead for over a millenium, but no one actually called
him Luach.  Usually, his family called him just "Luc", and it didn't bother him much; in fact, it
suited him just fine.
	He stood, facing the sinking disk of bloated red, his stone face with its stoic features
seemed far beyond older than his years.
	So uncharacteristic for a gargoyle, his sister would comment every morning before the
sun rose.  Her pose was that of their father: a protector, avenger, a rightous leader.
	Their clan had dwindled; only four remained.  Many left the desolated city after the war;
some returned with Eddie and her clan to Maine, some went with Clan Suislaw, some with Clan
Ishimura, and some still to Stewart Island.  Of all the clans who took up resistance against
Sevarius, only seven in all stayed on Manhattan Island; those seven were what was left of the
original Clan Manhattan.
	The war ended almost thirty years ago with the destruction of Sevarius and his
headquarters on Long Island.  Although that, too, took the life of the Resistance's leader.
	Tom's parents were killed in a rogue clone raid two decades ago.  It was hard, Aunt
Angela and Uncle Broadway were so warm and loving, raising him when his mother died.  Luc
probably missed them more than his own parents at times.  Although blind, Broadway would
always mention how much Luc resembled his father.
	Luc never knew his father.
	He didn't remember much of his mother either; she died of grief when he was still a child.
Uncle Lex had told them there was something deeper than love that ran between Arin and
Brooklyn.  She died when he did; all that survived was an empty shell, a shadow of the woman
she once was.  Luc remembered her sad smile.
	The only one left from the original clan, Lexington, was a man who, despite his cyborg
exterior, was a gentle soul still watching out for the "children".  It was said he once had a mate,
but Kat nor Tom remember her, nor did Uncle Lexington ever want to talk about it.
	The three statues out in the courtyard of the crumbling remains of Castle Wyvern began
to crack as the bloated disk finally retreated below the horizon.  With a collective roar, the three
threw off their stone guises and greeted the night.
	His sister never really showed much affection after their father died, and sunk even
further when their mother passed on.  Kat had been Daddy's girl; it had hurt her the most.  She
regarded the uneasy peace after the war a curse; at least Father was there when she needed
him after the battles.  Now she just regarded her brother with the usual nod and headed into the
castle with not so much as a word.
	Tom, so much like his father save for his slightly less bulk, lavender skin tone and the
shock of dark brown hair perpetually falling in front of his eyes, clapped the young man on the
back.
	"Hey, little bro," Tom grinned.  "What say you and I go rustle up some breakfast?"
	The younger shook his head solemnly.
	"I'm going out tonight," he whispered sullenly.  "I need to think."
	Tom only nodded and, with a brotherly squeeze to the shoulder, he followed the brick
red woman.
	Now Luc was alone.
	He stared out to the East River, turned to the south to gaze at the ruined Statue of
Liberty.  He had seen pictures of her before the war: a sign of peace and brotherly love.  Now
she stood for the desolution of human souls; so fragile and, although hard to break, once they
break, they can never be mended.
	Luc then jumped off the turret, spreading his leathery wings to catch the stale wind and
glided toward Long Island, or, rather, what was left of it.

***
Realisation

	The ground the air, everything smelled of death and decay.
	Wrapping the Harley Davidson bandanna from his neck around his beak to cut out the
stench, he continued his trek through the corpse-filled streets.
	After forty years, the island became the home of what clones remained from the war.
With no one to lead, they became cannabalistic, even scavenging the cadavers that littered the
pavement.
	Sickened by this part of the island, the tan gargoyle ventured up an avenue he knew all
too well.  Stopping in front of an ivy-choked mansion, he took a breath and exhaled.
	This, he remembered Kat telling him one day what seemed like aeons ago, was the
home of their maternal grandfather.  Another tradegy of the war; Macbeth fell slaying his arch
nemesis Demona.  Again, he died before Luc was hatched.
	Taking hold of the rusty gate, he pushed it open, wading through the waist-high grass to
the front door.
	Locked by what seemed to be an electromechanical device, efficient, for to all the
physical clawing and prying, Luc was only able to scratch the ironwood door.
	Sighing, he had one option left.
	Placing his palm on the door, he stared at the obsticle and consentrated his entire will on
it.
	"Open."
	His single utterance was soft, but he could feel the air suddenly reasonate around his
face, his eyes flaring a strange silver hue.
	And the door creaked open.
	It was a strange magic; it had surfaced when the rogue clones attacked.  He himself,
only ten years old by human standards, had killed four full-size Shock Troopers by merely
touching them.  But Angela and Broadway still died.
	And he lived with that guilt.
	Padding softly through the moss-coated carpet, he explored the rooms, coming to the
library on his final pass on the first floor.
	His hand found a worn photo album with yellowing and crinkling pictures.  Flipping the
ancient pages with care, he gazed at pictures of a handsomely regal human with grey hair and a
beard, neatly trimmed.
	Macbeth, his grandfather.
	As he worked his way to the back of the book, he saw other familiar faces: his mother,
when she was human, his then-teenaged father, Uncle Lexington before he became a cyborg,
Uncle Broadway and Aunt Angela, many of them his only link to his past.
	Gingerly he placed the book into his camoflage jacket and zipped it up.
	And then he heard it.
	Something trailing him.
	Crouching by the doorjamb, he held his hand out, ready to grab his stalker.
	A rustle...
	...a thump...
	...a curse...
	...then...
	"Luach?"
	It was his voice who called his name.

***
Revelations

	Luc bolted.
	Somehow, the echo frightened him.
	He ran out to the kitchen and grabbed hold of the back door.
	Locked, the deadbolt corroded beyond repair.
	"Damn!" He hissed.  Panicking, he did not think of using his power.
	Last time he did that, he killed four assassin clones.
	But something about this creature with his voice seemed ethereal.  He could sense it.
	"Luach?"
	The young man spun around, back to the door, his emerald green eyes wide with fright.
	"Who are you?" He finally demanded, his tone quaking.
	Two burning orbs of white stared him down from the shadows of the hallway.
	"Who are you?" He shouted with more force.
	He ventured away from the door, taking a couple of shaky steps toward the apparition.
	"You know little of your past," the creature with his voice remarked with an eerie taint.
"As rich as your blood flows through you, your knowledge is so much more shallow in
comparison.  Unfortunately, the Clone Wars screwed up your entire heritage."
	"Who are you?" Luc whispered, a little less demanding.
	"Look inside yourself," the apparition ordered softly.  "Deep down, you know me."
	Luc stared into those glowing white orbs--
	--and, for a split nanosecond, they dulled to a rich hazel, back to white.
	"Father?" Luc's mouth suddenly went dry upon muttering the unfamiliar word.
	The orbs bobbed, as to nod.
	"Why have you come to me now?" the tan gargoyle gasped.
	The orbs lowered, staring at the bulk under Luc's U.S. Army jacket.
	"You have what I wanted to give you," it answered.  "Along with the knowledge within the
walls of Castle Wyvern, you could find why your heritage is so important.  The blood of all three
races courses through you, and your power could either heal or harm."
	"Why do you tell me this?"
	"You tell me."  The ghost of his father smirked, and with that, the white orbs vanished.
	Luc blinked, his eyes filled with dread.
	What did he mean?
	Cautiously, he sulked out of the mansion, then bolted to the old commercial district,
where he could get some height to return home.

***

***A TASTE OF THINGS TO COME***

I'm a little unclear on how this is turning out.

When I created Zanthé, I couldn't define her power exactly, although it seems like the classic
case of true sorcery, as pointed out by Mercedes (she reads much more fantasy than I, being a
fan of Moorcock and Lovecraft0).  Then, when Luc popped into my head (or rather, when I was
doodling in my notebook and messed up on my little "Brook and Gecko Boredom Relief Comics
During Estimating Class"), I couldn't really get an idea on how he would act.  Since Kat was
already a character (a five year old in Sombrero's "Clone Wars" fanfic), and obviously everything
her father was, I needed something to complimate her.  Enter Luach, or Luc for short.  He had to
be an interesting character or else I would ignore him.  Therefore, I gave him Zanthé's magic of
the Willed Word (for lack of a better name.)  This may become the first of a scattered series if
liked enough.  Suggestions or comments, fill out the Customer Comment Card found at the
bottom of this form (just kidding!) Really, send them to blkblade@mailexcite.com

Thanx for all everyone's feedback!

--Black Blade "My Cosmic Song Goes On For Eternity"