The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 110-111

Ch. 110 - Impact

The young mage fell silently and invisibly from his perch toward the hard ground below. He tried to struggle and squirm, but the blade held him, twisting his body only slightly so that he made two full revolutions before landing on his feet.

When he hit the ground, the only evidence that he passed were two deep impacts where his feet struck the ground and the breaking of both his ankles. Thanks to the toughness and the strength that the blade gifted him, they did not shatter, but they did fracture for a moment before spontaneously healing again. 

-23 Life Force.

It was not acid or fire, and healing it was almost trivial, but still, it had to suppress the boy’s will to keep him from screaming in pain. As it was, the young mage still flickered into visibility for a moment before fading back into a blur. 

After that, he was off and running again, even as he complained. I thought you said your magic would protect me!

It did, the blade chastised its wielder. You didn’t break your neck, did you? You survived a reckless act of bravery and become stronger for it. That will forever be your life until you one day fall in battle, so you’d best get used to it. 

The boy didn’t like the sound of that. Some part of him seemed to believe that he would be able to tame the weapon where no one else had and channel the power in a new way. He was obviously in over his head, but as he slunk through the damaged noble district, avoiding everyone that might bump into him as he made his way toward the Golden Tower that was clearly misnamed. 

As he slunk through the capital, the damage was clear to the blade. The fear was, too. It was a palpable thing that spread among the inhabitants. It could see their social bonds like a shifting web. It could see who loved each other and who hated each other, but right now, even bitter rivals were united by the fear of whatever would happen next. It didn’t even have to pry into their minds and hearts because the streets were full of whispers. 

They said that more armies were coming or that more armies had been slain. It was also either the day of judgment or some foul portal to the lowest pits of hell that had opened up within the palace. No one knew, but everyone whispered as Lucian moved street by street and ally by alley toward their destination. 

He had to, the main streets were clogged with people. The smartest among them seemed to be fleeing this place with whatever they could carry. 

Ironically, the worst is over for them, the blade thought before reconsidering. While it didn’t plan to go on a killing spree through Severin, it had no idea what the fallout would be once the mages got started. It didn’t care much either way, though if anyone was going to die, it hoped they did so within its greatly expanded range. 

As they moved, the blade considered what it might update. Unlocking its new Path of Undeath might be useful, as would finishing off any number of smaller abilities that it had. The Ebon Blade still suspected that further powers lurked behind completing its core power sets. The way they seemed to multiply, it wasn’t sure it would ever finish peeling that onion. 

As they wove ever closer to the tower, the blade could see not just guards keeping a lookout now but mages, too. A few even floated in the sky, peering down at the crowds. There, the blade was sure that only its shroud at the surrounding chaos kept it and its wielder from beneath their notice. It doubted that invisibility meant much to mage sight. 

What can we expect from the tower when we reveal our presence? The blade asked, sifting through its wielder’s mind for the answer to the question even as it asked it. Should we try to get as deep into the place as we can before we reveal ourselves and try to cut off the head of the snake?

Invisibility will only get us to the entrance, Lucian answered. Once we cross the threshold, the divination wards will reveal us, and especially you. 

We shall scale the exterior then, the blade said, studying the tower. It was now a clean spiral. While it tapped to a tip, there were any number of ornate elements that wrapped its exterior. It would make for easy climbing.

That would avoid detection for longer, he agreed, but if they detect us on the way up and activate the barrier… well, I’m not sure what that would do. It might force us out into empty air or even… It might slice us in half. 

The sword remembered the strange magic that the three mages it had killed in Ogden and their strange shield. It was a powerful thing, and if it had been forced to rely on a human wielder instead of a brutal orcish one, it might have proved too much of a challenge. 

And now I have one of the weakest wielders I’ve had since the shepherd boy, the weapon sighed inwardly. Still, thinking about how such a shield might slice its wielder in half made the blade consider one of its newly obtained powers. It hadn’t cared much about it before, but now, well, it seemed more applicable. 

Vorpal Strike 1: For the cost of 10 Life Force the blade can cut right through steel armor and most other hardened material as if they were no more than hard cheese for a single moment.

While already impressive, it was very limited. A moment was enough to punch through platemail and reach the foe within, but not enough to slice through stone fortifications. For that, it would need more time. For 2000 Life Force it could upgrade it to level 2, which was more promising.

Vorpal Strike 2: For the cost of 25 Life Force the blade can cut right through steel, stone, and other similarly durable materials in a single slice for half a second. 

That was more promising, but the blade resisted purchasing it just yet. It would do so the moment it prepared to use it. I have a plan, the blade whispered. We will not strike at the mages themselves but at the building, they dwell in. They think it a fortress, and that has already cost them once before. They shall soon discover it is their tomb.

Once before? Lucian asked, pausing at the edge of a plaza and looking up at the giant, imperious structure. 

The thing was impressive. It stood easily ten or twelve stories tall and was both elaborate and formidable, but it was not invulnerable. Nothing was, maybe not even the blade itself. 

One of my wielders was an orc, and rather than try to breach a tower and square off against mages, he simply tore a stone out to the wall and collapsed the tower on them. We will do the same this time but on a large scale. 

That sounds impossible, its wielder gasped. No one is that strong. Not even you can cleave through solid stone!

There is nothing I cannot do, the blade countered. Do you see those buttresses? I do not know the magic behind architecture, but I know that they hold something like that up, and if we sever enough of them, it will fall. 

Its wielder was in disbelief, but the blade was sure. As much as it wanted to gut the mages that had done this and drain their lifeblood itself, there were simply too many risks, and they were too well prepared. It would have to settle for claiming their souls instead. 

When they got close to the tower, the blade took over, forcing its wielder to switch from sneaking to dashing as they breezed past a pair of halberd-bearing guards and approached the first flying buttress. The tower had perhaps twenty of them, arrayed around three-quarters of the base of the building like a large letter C. It was impressive, and the blade appreciated it because the whole thing would soon be rubble. 

This isn’t going to work, Lucian whispered, not quite interfering in its movements. The weapon ignored him. Instead, it forced his hands to draw him and wound up for the first strike. However, it was only when it began to swing itself at the four-foot-wide stone pillar that it upgraded its power. It purchased Vorpal Strike 2 and then Vorpal Strike 3 in a single moment for 6,000 Life Force and then activated it an instant before its blade connected with the stone. 

-40 Life Force. 

Vorpal Strike 3: For the cost of 40 Life Force the blade can cut right through steel, stone, and other similarly durable materials in a single slice for a full second. This effects dragonscales but not mithril or adamantine. 

Hard cheese was an apt metaphor, it decided, or perhaps, soft clay. There was resistance, but it was minimal. One instant, it should have been facing something impenetrable, and then next, it was simply through. It was a pair of sheers that cut right through the skein of fate, and the connections within those giant limestone blocks simply dissipated like so much spun wool. There were no sparks or grinding sounds; the weapon felt more resistance when it cleaved a man’s bone in twain.

The tower didn’t fall. Instead, it flared to life. 

A blue shimmering barrier erupted immediately around the thing, and the blade was tempted to try attacking it, but it stuck to the plan. That point was hammered home a moment later when a streak of fire splashed nearby from one of the flying mages. The blade ignored it, and the shield then charged forward. 

-40 Life Force. 

-40 Life Force. 

It cut through a second and a third support. That was when the tower issued a deep, shuddering groan from somewhere deep inside of it. That was all the blade needed to hear to know that its plan was working. It dashed forward faster than ever, weaving in between the pillars it was cleaving, swapping hands ambidextrously as it sought to avoid both the spells and arrows that were coming toward it now. 

-200 Life Force. 

The defenders were calling commands. The tower was waking up. All of that was true, but it was also true that it was already too late, though that didn’t seem to be apparent to anyone else, not even its young wielder, until he said the shield… It’s failing!

It was true. The magical shield meant to protect the tower from everything clung to the surface of the thing like a glossy skin, but the buttresses stuck out far beyond it, which was a critical oversight. 

The entire structure was moving now, a half an inch at a time in the direction where it had first struck, but soon that imperceptible shift became an avalanche. Soon, it was raining masonry all around them, and the blade was running not for another target but to preserve its wielder. It had no desire to be buried alive again as Garlok had so long ago. 

As the tower fell, the souls started to pour in. In fact, they came so quickly and all at once that whole floors must be being crushed at once. If they’d come slower, the blade would have been able to be more choosey and devour the souls that belonged to servants and apprentices to make room for the larger souls, but as it was, too much was happening. The best it could do was throw away the dimmest souls as they went past. However, even with that effort, its expanded soul storage filled up in moments. 

+4 Greater Souls.

+1 Elven Soul.

+94 Human Souls

On this, at least, the Ebon Blade and its wielder were in perfect agreement, and they ran all the faster for it. Still, it was not enough. Even though the weapon could see blocks falling above it and move to avoid them all. It was a stone hail storm where any block might have been enough to dash its wielder’s brains across the cobbles. 

Lucian knew it, too. His mind was screaming with fear as the weapon avoided death several times a second with minor course adjustments. 

Not yet, the blade hissed. It would not use its wielder on the first day. The idea was intolerable. As the dust cloud closed around, it burned most of the rest of its life force, upgrading Bolt 4 to Bolt 5 and spending 15,000 life force on the subject. 

Then, it reached out, pointed itself at the closest target, who was a guard who stood there slack-jawed and activated the power. This yanked both of them out of harm’s way. It left a smoking crater in the man and his armor, but that did not concern the blade. 

Ch. 111 - Fallout

The two of them fled the immediate aftermath of the attack, not so much because of fear as because the blade wanted to seek safety to sort through the souls it had obtained while it's wilder came to grips with the devastation that he’d just wrought. What had it to feat? Hundreds of mages had just died, and any that managed to survive the avalanche of quarried white stone were either grievously wounded or buried alive. It was good that they did. 

Less than a minute after the rubble had settled, when they were three blocks from the pile of stone that had once been the Golden Tower, the clouds above where the tower had once been began to stir. The blade didn’t notice at first. It barely registered the widening patch of blue because it was too busy looking for ambushes. However, when a pillar of fire ignited that was so bright it made the sun seem to fade by comparison, it couldn’t help but notice. 

Then, its wielder crouched for cover behind a low stone wall, which had only been slightly damaged by the earlier debris. That was a good move because the blastwave that followed ripped apart taller buildings in the neighborhood that surrounded them, reducing whole city blocks to rubble and ash in a single shockwave. 

It was an awesome display of destructive might that was easily on par with the earthquake the weapon had brought to bear against the city so recently. The blade could do many terrible things; it could survive the unsurvivable and slay the unslayable, but it could not do this. 

The celestial flames burned silver-white. From the sight of them, it was impossible to say how hot they burned in those first few seconds. The first indication of that was when the stones in the immediate vicinity began glowing red and then orange as they melted under the intensity of this terrible magic.

The damage wasn’t limited to the tower rubble or even the surrounding buildings, though. Its heat was bad enough to burn its wielder, even where he sheltered. The fire didn’t burn so hot that the blade’s healing couldn’t counter it, but it was quite painful for the lad, and even though the weapon regenerated him continuously, he screamed in pain the entire time.

The weapon saw no need to suppress it. The roar of the heavenly fire drowned out everything else, and by the time the terrible flames had faded to something tolerable several seconds later, his cloak of invisibility, along with most everything else he was wearing, had been burned away to taters.

-246 Life Force. 

It wasn’t quite as bad as what had been done to poor Var’gar, but then, Var’gar had been bathed in magical fire, not been hidden from it hundreds of feet away, which made it all the stranger. Still, the weapon was less concerned about the damage than the source, though. Divine power? High magic? It wondered. What could cause this? 

For a moment, it searched its wielder’s mind for ideas, as it considered plucking one of the souls that swirled within for answers, but that proved not to be necessary because as the light faded, it could see the powerful threads of magic that wove through the thing, and it found a familiar pattern. 

To call the magical nature of what it had just witnessed threads wasn’t quite right. Lucian’s magical cloak that had just burned away to nothing had been full of threads. It was full of even more threads. Even the world around them, beyond its physical nature, had a weave to it, but the magic it had just witnessed? Those were not threads. They were ropes or cables. They were thigh-thick chains that you might see on a drawbridge, woven together to create a work of unimaginably vast power, but the thin, glittering golden threads that clung to them like frayed cobwebs? Those, it recognized. 

“What… What was that?” Lucian asked. 

The throne, it whispered to him. In the time that it took them to realize I was attacking the tower, someone made it to the throne room, sat upon it, and the blasted thing is now seeking to eliminate me with a Miracle or two.

“How are we supposed to fight that?” the young mage asked. 

By fleeing, the blade admitted. The words galed it, but it would not attempt to give them a veneer of respectability by calling it a tactical retreat. It was running away, and with any luck, it would live to fight another day. 

“But… How are we supposed to fight something that can do that?” its wielder asked, stunned. The Ebon Blade was unwilling to be too hard on him in this moment. He was wrapped in a fog of confusion and denial. 

Everyone I know is dead, the thought echoed through his head over and over again. Everyone I know is dead, and the gods are trying to kill me…

Despite all of his earlier bravado, he was practically in a fugue state now. He had plenty of people he’d planned to kill in the tower assault, of course, but there were plenty of people he’d wanted to save, which was not something the blade cared about. There was no such thing as a good mage. Not after the elven temptress that had stolen Ivarr from it. Not after the men that had ripped Baraga’s soul from his body. 

Even its current wielder was guilty of those crimes, though it did not plan on punishing him for them, not if he did a good job. The Ebon Blade didn’t try to snap him out of it. There would be time for that later. For now, it simply started moving him again, away from the tower and toward the capital’s western wall. The throne is not omnipotent, the blade assured him. I have seen through its eyes and… 

For a terrible moment, the blade thought it had made an awful miscalculation. It thought that it was now in the hands of someone that the throne could see through the eyes of, but that did not appear to be the case because if it was, the next pillar of fire would have landed right on top of them. Instead, it landed on the far side of the tower. 

It was still warm, even from that distance, but it did not burn its wielder again or raze the buildings he sprinted between. The thing had massive power, but it was firing blind. 

What’s the difference, though? What changed? It asked itself. Could it be that all traces of the Paralon bloodline are gone or that the power I used only applies to the family of whoever sits on the throne? 

The weapon couldn’t say, but it was concerned either way, and as they moved quickly through the streets, it kept waiting for them to be struck down, but that didn’t happen. They were just one frantic member of a panicked crowd. The streets had been crowded before, but they were packed now, and Lucian was far from the only person who bore marks of this terrible magic. Many others who had been further from the flames had been blinded or marked with strange burns.

When he reached the gates, there weren’t even any guards to challenge him. They’d fled as well, like the coward they were. That rankled the blade, but it saw no point in hunting them down for their cowardice. How could it? It was doing the same thing right now. The difference was that as soon as it was clear of whoever sat on the throne now, it would be advancing on the next target, and its wielder would help it find them. 

The mage towers of the Aetherarchy, large and small, were spread throughout the Inner Kingdoms and even beyond, and it would fell every last one of them, but first, they needed time to regroup. Its wielder would need time to recover, too. He was a limp noodle, being propelled by the blade’s urgency, and as soon as it had fought free of the crowds and found an outlying farmstead off the main road with a disused shed, it let him curl up in the hay and sleep. 

Vengeance could wait at least one more day. It had much to do between now and approaching its next target. 

Later that night, it saw one more distant flash that was far too bright to be lightning. What is it that they think they’re targeting? It wondered. Leveling their city won’t help them to defeat me. It will just put their whole kingdom in disarray. 

The mages were afraid. Even the Golden Throne was afraid. It knew both of those facts with absolute conviction, but it wasn’t a comforting thought. Desperate men did desperate things, and there was no telling what they would try to unleash on it when it showed itself again.