A dark figure, wearing tight black clothing, silvery armor that glittered in the dim light, crouched on the cold, hard stone floor ...
And scrubbed.
What did I do to deserve this? He thought in quiet despair. But he knew the answer.
He was created, and couldn't do what his creator wanted. That was enough.
I suppose I should be thankful he didn't just get rid of me and start over. The very idea gave him chills. It wasn't much of a life, but it was all he had. Sighing, he looked into his bucket, watching his own reflection in the clear water.
Dark purple hair fanned away from his thin, pale face like the wings of an angel. He preened slightly, enjoying the comparison. Sapphire blue eyes peeped shyly from beneath his lashes ... eyes that the original could never open.
That thought conjured up memories ...
"I can see! I can see!" Maniacal laughter, his own, soft voice raised ...
A group of heroes in front of him. The thin, flat girl with red hair and a mean expression, the tall, stupid swordsman with his blond hair and the Sword of Light. And last, but not least, his own great-grandson, with his purple, spiky hair, and stony blue skin. The chimera he had created.
Lina, Gourry and Zelgadis ...
Can't remember anything after that. He flicked an imaginary dust speck off his hair, and preened again. His own appearance was more important to him than these memories. His eyes shaded into contempt as he thought of his illustrious creator ...
Stewing in his own venom. The nameless copy thought in disgust. Can't go forward, only back. Copy of a copy, and can't get over it. Moron. His creator was the third generation copy. He was the forth. Copy of a copy of a copy. But it didn't bother him ... or at least, not exactly.
Being treated like a worthless magical artifact is what bothers me. He went back to his scrubbing, venting his frustrations on the floor. He had always done his best. Was it his fault if that wasn't good enough to please his creator? Was it his fault that the power of the original had been lost in the copying process?
Actually, he had a sneaking suspicion that it was more than his lack of power that displeased his creator ... it was the implications. He can't make a good copy of himself, which means HE'S flawed too. Ha! He chuckled softly to himself, eyes twinkling. Of all the tries, he had been the only one to come out even semi-usable. And as it turned out, he had talents ...
"ITAI!" He had scrubbed very hard, and nudged a bookcase. The sound of a metal bound book hitting his skull wasn't very nice, and neither were stars and darkness ... .
"Ayooo ... ." There was a soft moan from the crumpled form. "Ayyyyyoooonnnaaaa ... .. this ... ... really ... .. hurts ... .." When he opened his eyes, the ceiling seemed to be moving. Not a good sign. Moving his hands cautiously, he explored his skull, coming back with a large, tender lump and a tentative diagnosis of light concussion. "What hit me?" He mumbled slightly, sitting up slowly.
I'll know as soon as the world stops spinning. It only took a few seconds. He was pretty good at bouncing back from damage, thankfully. It had turned out to be a major requirement of his existence. But what hit me? His eyes were caught on the glittering brass binding of the very heavy tome that had bonked him on the head.
A book?
Taking it as a grand portentous sign, or at least an excuse to stop working for a moment, he picked up the book and leafed through it.
Magic. He sighed, almost throwing it away. Magic was a sore spot for him. The third copy Rezo had been furious that he couldn't remember a thing about it, and even more furious that any attempts to teach him met with utter failure. I can't help it if the magical talent is gone ...
But something about his book was tweaking an odd memory, so he picked it up again, looking at the runes on the cover ... they looked like a black flame in a circle of silver ... .
Long ago, Rezo, the first Rezo, had built this underground lab and had stored many things inside ... magical tools, money, provisions ...
And books.
Rezo gently touched the cover of his latest book. He couldn't actually see it, but he had ways to get around that disability. Opening it, he touched the pages, and began to read ...
A tome of magic. Perhaps this strange, strange book would hold the keys to unlocking his blind eyes ...
Days later ...
It made no sense. Rezo shut the book with a snap. He had tried to use the magic within, the odd spells, but none would answer to him. Was it even magic at all? Or just some clever fake?
He finally picked it up, and stored it in its niche in the wall, never to be seen again ...
Magic the great Rezo couldn't conquer? The concept amused the copy, and he flipped through the book idly, reading it. Probably a piece of garbage, but oh well ...
Then his blue eyes widened as he read the first spell once, a second time, then a third.
This makes sense!!! It made deep, heartfelt sense to him, the way no other magic had ...
Grabbing the book and putting it under one arm, he hurried off to one of the practice rooms, leaving his scrub brush and water behind. His step was bouncy, and his blue eyes blazed with joy.
I will finally have some power around here!