A/N: Posting Schedule Update-So, this story and the next are being posted early, as my personal computer's access to the site is on the fritz and I don't know when it will start working properly again. As for the other stories that were supposed to be done this week, I plan to write them and then upload/post them as soon as I can get even a few minutes of access. Once I figure out how to work around the bugs in the system, posting schedule will return to normal.
Story #13: Shattered Core, Shattered Heart
writing prompt: crimes; smothered; regret
Summary: Jay has just completed another day of training under Ras and Cinder's instruction when he experiences a trance-like dream in which he encounters Morro. Morro, upon realizing that Jay has no memory of him or of the other Ninja, talks to Jay and learns that Jay is sensing a change in his character and his core—as if something within his heart is breaking, splintering, shattering. Jay knows that what he is doing is not right yet is unsure whether to feel guilty or not, and Morro tells him that ignoring his conscience, paying no mind to the guilt he feels, is the surest way to commit crimes that he can never take back or reverse. When Jay wakes up, Ras calls him back to continue training for the Tournament of the Sources. Jay complies, but he can't help but feel doubts beginning to swirl around in his mind as wildly and violently as his Shatterspin is…
"More force!" Ras roared at the top of his lungs. "Remember, Walker—strength is all that matters in Shatterspin!"
Jay struggled to follow Ras's instructions, feeling the stormy waves of semiconscious guilt welling up in his core again—but then without any warning, Cinder lashed out with his own Shatterspin and smacked Jay upside the head, sending the lightning-child sprawling to the ground. A growl escaped Jay's lips, and he called on his own Shatterspin in the blink of an eyelash, springing to his feet and rushing forward before landing multiple disabling blows and kicks in Cinder's shins, jaw, and stomach. As he did so, he couldn't help but sense the broken- fragments-sensation in his chest grow slightly stronger, and the myriad blood-red scars on his arms seemed to grow brighter and colder by the moment. Within moment, the Master of Smoke felt his knees buckle underneath him and crumpled to the ground in a pitiful heap of misery and defeat as Jay stood over him, gloating in triumph.
"How was that, Master Ras?" Jay snarked in the Black Tiger's direction, his electric-blue eyes frantically searching for approval in the CHImaera's own lilac-purple ones.
"Good. You are progressing rapidly, Walker." Ras agreed with a brisk nod. But then his tone changed, and he barked harshly, "But it is still not enough! Even after all the training and guidance I have given you, I still sense you holding back! In order to unlock your full potential, you must let go of your previous misgivings and let the power of the gong flow unhindered through your veins! Let it strengthen you beyond your measly human comprehension, and let yourself fall into its full influence! Then—and ONLY THEN—can you EVER hope to master the arts of the Forbidden Five and conquer the Tournament!"
Jay's chest was feeling more like a pile of shattered crystalline glass shards by the second, and his head was beginning to ache lightly behind his temples. The booming phrases of Ras's shrill reprimand seemed to bounce from one side of Jay's skull to the other as the lightning-child pressed his hands to his ears and winced. The back of his skull was pounding again—just as it had several times already during the time of his training. As he crumpled to his own knees, hugging himself and panting in exhaustion, voices and visions once again began to swirl through his mind, unwanted and unbidden, obscured and misty, foggy and murky and overall impossible to comprehend or decipher or recall.
Full potential…hold back…power…flowing…
Dizziness and lightheadedness were flooding into his mind, as if his head was underwater, or he'd pushed himself too hard in training, or hit his head too hard too many times in succession. He could sense a strange coziness and fuzziness crowding in on him, as he hummed and giggled dazedly and deliriously, feeling the waking world slipping slowly away and a bizarre semiconsciousness settling in…
He felt strangely hazy…and woozy…and airy…and ethereal…as if the real world was falling away from him, and the dream world was beckoning him, calling him, yearning for him to come to it, to come away…
Tender warmth embraced him—the scoldings of Ras faded into nonexistence—and within moments, Jay was caught in a half-dream, a vision…an otherworldly trance that he had never experienced before, and yet felt so familiar somehow.
What he didn't realize at first was that he wouldn't wake from it for a long, long time.
The first sensation Jay realized was that it was freezing. Even though he hadn't yet opened his eyes, he still shuddered and shivered convulsively, dagger-like shards of chilling, numbing ice seeming to pierce his very core and twist taut. His chest felt twisted and warped, his stomach balling into tight little knots within him. His forehead pounded—his shoulder blades tensed involuntarily—he felt so sleepy and sick within himself that he wasn't sure whether he was still alive.
He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He wasn't even sure he was breathing.
White-cold tightness like scraggly, bony fingers was gripping his ribcage so fiercely that when he tried to suck in a breath, he couldn't help but let out a raspy, wheezingly ragged cough. His hearing dimmed and blurred in and out of focus. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were so heavy they seemed to be weighed down by the sheer weight of all the Merged Realms combined. His heartbeat thumped arrhythmically in his chest, and he was struggling to even breathe, let alone move…or speak.
Numbness was already sinking into his bones, seeping into his joints, stilling his frantic nerves as it ebbed unbidden through his veins, flowing like a trickling stream of coolness and calmness and peace. He just wanted so badly to let himself slip into a deep, dreamless slumber—to just let go of the waking world and let the oblivion of drowsy, healing sleep whisk him away, beckoning him to the sea of wondrous dreams…
But that's when he first felt it. A buzzing, vibrating, humming, maliciously purring thrum in his chest, growing steadily more staticky and ear-piercingly loud, as he sensed his core fragmenting, splintering, breaking, shattering into thousands of crystalline pieces that could never be put back together the way they were before. Voices and visions, flying thick and fast, throbbing with woundingly agonizing pangs and tumultuously tormenting chords, buffeted and battered his senses like a churning, swirling ocean in the midst of a horrendous, stormy sea-squall.
Folds of even stronger darkness and mistiness and hazy fogginess seemed to be closing in on him, sealing his eyelids so tightly shut that they could never be opened again. The chill was getting even more bitter and menacingly nippy by the second. His joints were stiffening, his muscles seizing up, his nerves petrifying into little prickles of paralyzing frost within him. With every wincing, wheezy, puffy breath, he felt more and more of his awareness drifting away…draining from him…ebbing out of his weary frame, his tired body, his cloudy mind…
It was dark. It was cold. It was bewilderingly silent and still.
And Jay had never felt more terrified in his entire life.
Suddenly, he gritted his teeth in wincing, wheezing pain as he sensed something pulling, tugging, yanking at his chest, shaking and jostling him this way and that. Frantic and panicky, he began to thrash and writhe against it, tossing and turning, wiggling and squirming, struggling desperately to push back against the sensation, to escape its grip, to flee its terrible embrace, its monstrous hold on his heart and his core. The voices were fading in and out of clarion comprehension now, growing louder and more intense one moment and fading into softness and faintness the next.
"Jordana," one gruff voice snarled, "Focus! You have to bring him back out!'
Back out? BACK OUT?! What did he mean, back out? What was going on here?
"I'm trying—but he's fighting me!" another voice, distinctly feminine, protested in frustration, "I can't get a lock on his consciousness!"
"Keep trying!" the gruff voice demanded. "I'll not have a shattered heart phasing out on me before the Tournament!"
Shattered heart? Phasing out? WHAT?!
Even more frightened than ever, Jay continued to shake, to wrestle, to tussle, to fight the influence of Jordana's dark arts seeking to draw him out of the trance he had fallen into. He curled into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest, hoping to ward off the constant yanking on his chest, on his core, on his very soul.
But it wouldn't go away—no matter what he tried, it simply wouldn't go away!
And then all of a sudden, he heard another voice, not distant and echoey, but clear and sharp and close, crying out, "POWER OF THE PACK—DISPERSE!" A strange electric pulse of power suddenly enveloped Jay in lightness and tranquility, its mystifying might surging through his veins as he felt the tug on his heart and mind cease, losing its grip and receding in defeat from the waves of energy rippling through his bloodstream like a waterfall of comfort and tender warmth.
He stopped shaking and sucked in a quivering breath, finally finding the courage and strength to open his eyes.
But when he did, he was shocked to find that his rescuer was nowhere to be found.
Not at first, that is.
Morro knew something was different when, without any sort of warning, his Mark of the Pack suddenly lit up with an electric-blue light and he was instantly pulled into a strange, otherworldly plane of existence where time and space seemed to have no influence, where reality itself seemed to have faded into sheer, bleak, desolate nonexistence. At first, he had no idea what was going on—but then he saw something so horrible, so terror-inducing, that his hands flew up to his mouth, and he let out an audible gasp.
There, laying on the ground in a bizarre stupor, yet trembling and convulsing uncontrollably, shaking like a leaf trapped in a gale-force hurricane, was the lightning-child—the original bearer of the Mark of the Pack—Jay Walker. His breath was coming in pants and gasps, his legs thrashing about and his arms flailing this way and that as he battled unseen enemies. Voices began to swirl into Morro's own mind—voices familiar and sinister in nature—the voices of Ras and Jordana.
"Jordana, focus! You have to bring him back out!'
"I'm trying—but he's fighting me! I can't get a lock on his consciousness!"
"Keep trying! I'll not have a shattered heart phasing out on me before the Tournament!"
Shattered heart…OH, NO!
Without a moment to lose, Morro sucked in a breath, raised his arms upward, drew on the power of the Mark, and screamed at the top of his lungs, "POWER OF THE PACK—DISPERSE!" Trailing beams of electric-blue energy shot out from Morro's Mark on his right shoulder and encircled the thrashing, tussling Jay, netting him and embracing him in a mesh of pure Mark energy, pushing back against the intrusive influence of Jordana's magic and stilling the lightning-child's uncontrollable flailing and shuddering. The lightning-child then sucked in a soft, airy breath, and then as Morro stepped back quietly, he too breathed a shivery, shaky sigh of relief.
"Power of the Pack, shield." he whispered just as Jay opened his eyes, groggy and disoriented. Within his invisibility, Morro could see Jay's eyes darting around aimlessly in great confusion and dismay, searching desperately for his rescuer.
"Where are you?" he cried out in bewilderment and desperation. "Show yourself!" he added a second later, his uneasiness potentially stemming from some remnant of distrust and loss that yet remained in his core, splintered and broken as it was. Morro, taking that as his cue to move, floated silently over to where Jay still lay, blinking in sorrow and great bewilderment. He laid a gentle hand on Jay's shoulder—the same shoulder where Jay's Mark used to be—and upon feeling Morro's white-cold hand grasp him, the lightning-child instantly let out a screech of panic, abruptly sat up, and began scrambling away crab-fashion from his unseen companion.
"Sorry." Morro apologized, noticing eerily how his voice echoed slightly in this pocket of nothing-space. "I forget how unnerving that can be sometimes." he added shyly, still too nervous to make himself visible, yet rather astounded by how his voice seemed to ripple echoingly through the air in this bizarre world between worlds.
"Who…" Jay stammered breathlessly, still panting up a storm as he murmured, "Who are you? What are you?"
"Just a friend." Morro replied, feeling an odd twinge of foreboding twisting in his stomach as he did so. He had a bad feeling about what was going to happen next…
Sure enough, he was not at all prepared for when Jay cried out in distraught confusion and smothered anger, "What are you talking about?! I've never met you before in my li—" But before he could finish his thought, he let out another sickly, weak, ragged cough, clutching his chest frantically as the blood-red scars running up and down his arms grew slightly larger. He began to rock incessantly back and forth on his heels, moaning and whimpering and mewling under his breath, as if he didn't understand what was happening to him—or he was in too much anguish and agony to ponder it.
Morro—still invisible—scrabbled quickly over to Jay and wrapped his arms tightly around the shaking, sobbing lightning-child, crooning gently, "There, there, shh, shh, shh. It's okay. Hush, just hush. Breathe, Jay—just breathe. Relax…and breathe."
"I don't feel so good." Jay confessed, his guard beginning to drop slightly as his distrust of his unseen rescuer began to fade silently away. "It feels like…" For several seconds, he didn't seem to know how to continue, and he simply blubbered and babbled incoherent non-words and gibberish under his breath. Then he finally sucked in a shaky breath and was about to speak when he instead let out a loud, skull-splitting yawn. Morro could tell right away that, given the dark bags under Jay's rapidly-drooping eyelids, the lightning-child needed some rest before he could go on.
Calling on the Power of the Pack once more as he whispered under his breath, "Power of the Pack—convince," Morro closed his eyes, touched his forehead to Jay's, mentally pressed his own consciousness gently and benevolently on Jay's mind, and spoke to him through only telepathy, Sleep, Jay. Sleep.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Jay's taut muscles relaxed—his bundled nerves unwound within him—his eyelids drooped closed all the way as his chest began rising and falling evenly and his breaths grew deeper and drowsier by the moment as Morro slowly pulled away…
Within moments, the lightning-child was curled up once again on the ground, fast asleep—lost in the dream world, embraced in the warmest, most healing slumber he had experienced in a long, long time.
But it would not last for long.
The scars on Jay's arms worried Morro—worried him immensely. They were grotesquely wiry and jagged, seeming to grow and expand by the hour as Jay slept and healed and dreamed under the influence of the Power of the Pack. In just a few hours, Jay's arms were crawling with spider-web cracks revealing blood-red energy swirling through every vein and nerve and joint and bone and cell within the lightning-wielder's body, powerful and sinister, shattering the parts of Jay's heart that were shielding him from being corrupted from the inside out. And the cracks—which eerily reminded Morro all-too-pointedly of the Mergequakes—seemed to be getting worse by the hour.
There had to be some way to slow down the shattering corruption's growth, Morro mused frantically. But how could he help Jay without upsetting him any more than he already was? It was all too crystal-clear from Jay's prior reaction to Morro's presence that the lightning-child had no memories of his friends or anything previous to the Merge whatsoever. And if there was one thing that Morro wanted to avoid at all costs, it was getting into a scuffle with a potential Shatterspin user.
For now the wind-child was convinced that these horrid, sickly-crimson scars stemmed directly from the use of Shatterspin. And from what Morro had seen of Shatterspin, those who used it could never go back to the way they were before. If there was indeed a way to mend a shattered heart, Morro did not know of it. And waiting too long to find out could have disastrous consequences—for both him and Jay.
And then the wind-child thought of an idea. "Power of the Pack, luminesce." he murmured, feeling threads of electric-blue energy forming in his palms, gathering into little balls of power like orbs of light or coils of yarn. He silently closed his eyes and manipulated the threads with his mind, weaving a web of Thought, of Calm, of Stillness, meshing and intertwining the threads of electric-blue power into a net of soothing Rest, of binding Sleep and Contentment—and then casting it over Jay's comatose body.
The net wrapped itself around Jay's shattered heart and broken, buckling consciousness, its glistening, shimmering threads absorbing and soaking into Jay's skin, seeping into his nerves, leeching into his joints, filling his heart and mind and core, cloaking his being in protection and slowing the corruption down. The scars, clothed in the Electric Blue of the Power of the Pack, stopped glowing a bright blood-red Crimson, reverting to a dim, dull iron-rust color—not gone, but slowed to the point where their expansion would be sluggish and lethargic, slow and weak. Yet Morro knew that even this net, this core-shield of protection, wouldn't last long. It would only be a matter of time before the threads unraveled and dissolved and the scars grew worse. But at the very least, Morro could slow down the Shatterspin's currents so that the corruption trickling and pulsing through Jay's bloodstream and spirit would not be so swift, so powerful, so uncontrollable and unbearably strong.
A few seconds later, Jay stirred softly and opened his eyes, sitting up and gazing hauntingly in Morro's direction. The lightning-child's pupils were strangely dilated, almost swallowing up his electric-blue irises, which themselves were glassy and milky and shrouded with an odd, white mist. His skin was ashen, a ghostly moonstone-white pallor almost whiting out his coffee-brown freckles and making his curly brown locks appear lusterless and dull. The dark-red Shatterspin scars spidering and crawling up and down his arms—though their power was securely entrapped in sluggish slumber and gripping sleep—still pulsed weakly, humming and vibrating and buzzing threateningly underneath the Electric-Blue mesh that Morro had crafted.
Morro wasn't sure whether he should reveal his presence now, but then he shook his head. Now was as good a time to announce his identity as any. Slowly, very slowly, he let his invisibility retract with a soft, airy, almost ethereal echoing command of, "Power of the Pack…reveal."
As his invisibility faded away, revealing first his head and upper body and then his legs and feet, Jay's eyes grew slowly wider and wider at the sight. His mouth moved, yet no words came out at first. Then, after several unbearably silent seconds, Morro sucked in a breath and whispered, "You really don't remember me, do you?"
Jay shook his head vigorously, still bewildered and dumbfounded by this revelation. His eyes were their widest yet, and he was blinking in lingering fear and confusion and shyness as he just stared unnervingly at the wind-wielder.
"I thought as much." the wind-child murmured grievingly and wistfully, wishing to himself that he could have known that this would happen before it happened. Then Morro sucked in another breath and patiently explained, "In the pre-Merge world, I was your friend. One of your best friends, in fact. We've always been related—distant cousins, you see. You were once an Elemental Master—the Elemental Master of Lightning."
Jay slowly nodded, taking in every word that Morro said. At first, Morro wondered if Jay was starting to remember. But the look in the lightning-child's eyes told a very different story—a story of forgetting who he was and where he had come from and that he had a family out there who had been desperately searching for him ever since the Merge struck. Frantic, Morro continued, his voice beginning to quiver with sadness as he explained, "You were the Master of Lightning, Yin to the Master of Water, and former bearer of the Mark of the Pack. But…you've gone on the wrong path, and now…the Mark has been transferred to me, Morro, Master of Wind, because…" Morro let out a soft sob of anguish and regret and miserable pity as he stammered weakly, "You are no longer worthy to bear its power. The Power of the Pack chose me to take your…your place, after you turned to darkness—to Shatterspin."
"Sha-Shatterspin?" Jay suddenly blurted. "How do you know about Shatterspin?"
"I know…" Morro sniffled, "because I've seen it firsthand. I've seen its power, its might, its seductive influence. I know its charms, its schemes, its deceptions and lies. And the path you're on right now is broad and only leads to destruction. You've scorned the light, and now you're beginning to pay the price."
"What are you talking about?!" Jay suddenly demanded, his face darkening with anger as he scrambled to his feet and shot a vicious glare in Morro's direction, the humming buzz of his scars beginning to grow even louder now that he was dangerously stoked and disastrously steamed over Morro's words. The wind-child, realizing this conversation was going nowhere fast, raced over so fast Jay blinked in astonishment. Before Jay could make another move, Morro grabbed his right wrist and raised it above his head so that the lightning-child was forced to look directly at his sickly-crimson, wiry, sluggishly stirring scars.
"This is why." Morro exclaimed, his voice gentle yet firm and strangled and strained from deep stress and agonizing worry. "Your heart is being shattered, Jay. You're losing any goodness you used to have. The will of a choice that you were born with—that's almost completely gone. And every time you let go of your self-control, every time you give in to Shatterspin's influence, the scars and the pain and the shattering of your heart and your core will only get worse."
Distraught and nerve-wracked from his outburst, Morro dropped Jay's limp arm and stepped back, sucking in a shaky breath as a brewing tempest-like grayness began to seep into the clearing, this odd plane of existence where both of them were still present yet almost ready to return to the waking world. Jay's eyelids were drooping again, and his form was beginning to flicker in and out of focus as his mind began to drift back out of the trance he'd been engulfed in. Morro knew he had to say something before Jay was pulled back into the waking world and the wind-child lost him again.
"Just remember, Jay…" Morro quaveringly admonished, "if you're feeling guilty, don't shove it down. Don't hold it back. You'll only make things worse."
"How?" Jay questioned incredulously.
"Just take my word for it." Morro whispered, seeing Jay begin to sway and suddenly pitch forward. The wind-child was just barely able to catch him and lower him much more gently to the ground before anything worse happened.
"My heart is shattering?" Jay asked worriedly and doubtfully, staring up dazedly at the wind-child—his former brother and friend.
"Yes." Morro nodded sadly. "It is. And all I can do is slow it down—not stop it. You have to find a way to stop giving in to its influence. I've done all I can do for now."
"Is that why—yawwwnnnnnn—I feel different now—like I'm hungry for power, like my core is warping and morphing into something different, something unnatural, something mysteriously dark and lonesome and piercingly broken, splintered, shattered? Is that why…YAWNNNN…I know I'm doing the wrong thing, yet I don't know whether I should feel guilty or not?" Jay rambled drowsily, his words beginning to slur and meld together in a near-incomprehensible line of phrases and syllables as his body sagged and limply slumped into the dirt, his eyelids drooping lower and lower and his dream-form growing fainter and fainter…
"I'm afraid so, Jay." Morro confessed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of his cousin buckling and crumbling like a crushed pebble under the pressure of the most corrupt, mesmerizingly hypnotic, sneakily sinister whirlwind power the wind-child had ever seen. "Just remember…" Morro urged the nearly-unconscious lightning-child, "if you shove your guilt down underneath waves of apathy, willfully ignoring your conscience, you may very well wind up committing crimes that you can never take back or reverse—evil deeds that you can never make right and that you may regret for the rest of your life."
"Uh-huh…" Jay slurred, his awareness and alertness erratically flickering in and out of existence—before snuffing out entirely as his form disappeared into thin air and his consciousness returned to the waking world.
All Morro could do now was feel his own awareness drifting slowly away as he too prepared to return to his rightful place—and hope against hope that his efforts to bring his cousin and friend back to the light would not be in vain.
When Jay woke up, his head felt so heavy. His eyelids seemed to be weighed down by the weight of every realm in existence. His mind was fuzzy and blank, swarming with dizziness and lightheadedness, cloudy and misty like balls of cotton. Black spots swam hazily and woozily in front of his eyes, and the whole world seemed to have blurred into a wavy, kaleidoscopic mass of sounds and smells and sensations and groggy fogginess. As if that wasn't enough, there was a bizarrely itchy, scratchy sensation buzzing underneath his skin, and his chest felt strangely tight and cold, his senses blurred and muted and dimmed. His core still felt broken, splintered, shattered—but he couldn't tell why.
And then he remembered his rescuer's warnings and words—but only slightly. He vaguely recalled something about not shoving his guilt down underneath waves of apathy and willingly ignoring his conscience, but that was the most of what he could remember. He started to panic. He felt like there was something missing—something not there that should be. He felt as if a void of blackest emptiness and nothingness and hollowness was growing inside of him, spreading, taking root within his heart, twisting it into a disfigured, grotesquely warped, distorted mass of stone-coldness and ice-hardness.
So gripped by panic was he that he didn't realize he was hyperventilating—until he realized he couldn't think straight and he was having difficulty breathing. A sharp, dagger-like pain shot through his chest as Cinder barreled into him with his Shatterspin, knocking him backwards into an ironwood pillar. He let out a wheezy yelp of anguish as the back of his head smacked the pillar with a sickening whap and everything around him surged into poignantly, cripplingly agonizing focus.
"Walker! Don't just lay there!" Ras barked in his direction a second later as Cinder smirked maliciously at his eerily creepy skill in Shatterspinning Jay silly, tsking sinisterly under his breath at Jay's vulnerability when the lightning-child's guard was lowered. "Get up off your duff and get back to training!" the Black Tiger growled. "The Tournament of the Sources is coming fast, and I will not tolerate any slacking on your part. You, Jay Walker, are the key to taking down the Ninja and all of their puny, spineless allies who think they can challenge my master's might!"
Jay didn't comprehend the whole command, but he gathered enough to know that Ras was mad—and he really didn't want to be in the Tiger's line of fire if he blew up. Scrambling to his feet, he scurried to get back into defensive training position. But as he began to spar Cinder anew, he couldn't help but wonder…
Was he doing the right thing?
Or was he only dooming himself to destruction?
A/N: For those who want a fuller definition of what the Power of the Pack (which-surprise, surprise-comes from the Mark of the Pack mentioned in Story #11) can do, here's the terms in order of appearance and what they are capable of:
Disperse: Creates beams of energy to wrap around/absorb into a person and either calm him down or bind him so he can't escape. These beams can also push out corrupting outside influences, depending on the situation.
Shield: Allows the bearer to be invisible for a short time.
Convince: Allows the bearer to use minor mental suggestions, like how in the story Morro commanded Jay to sleep. Not as extreme as mind-control, but more like the Jedi mind trick in its form.
Luminesce: Allows the bearer to create threads of pure Mark Power and weave them into any shape or form. The threads themselves have the capability to seep into a person's bloodstream and weaken/slow down the spread of forbidden, corrupted powers such as Shatterspin.
Reveal: Reveals things that are hidden and serves to deactivate Shield.
One that was not mentioned in the story, but may appear in another fanfic in the far future-Morph, the ability to change form from human to wolf. Since Morro is already a wind-wolf in the time of this adventure, he doesn't need to use this power himself. Jay has used Morph in the past, however. (Long story)
Anyway, hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think! No flames, please!
