Black runes ran along the polished silver length of the sword, scratched across it as if they had been carved there by a blade held in an unsteady hand. Inky darkness swirled within the runes like pools of ink and power lingered over the weapon like an avalanche frozen halfway down a mountain.
A deep sense of wrongness slammed into Arnold’s chest and threatened to rip his last meal free from his stomach. This was nothing like any magic item he’d ever seen before. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and ice traveled up at his spine.
“You had a weapon ?” the knight exclaimed, lifting the weapon to the sky. “How stupid are you? If you’d drawn this when we’d fought, you might have actually had a chance. Were you really so arrogant that you thought you could win without using your full strength?”
“She told me not to draw the sword,” Arnold said, gritting his teeth. He reached deep into himself and drew as much power from his core as he could, letting the magic roil within his body. It burned in his chest and threatened to eat away at him from within. He fought to keep it concealed, not letting so much as a scrap leak free. “Can’t you tell that thing is dangerous?”
“All power is dangerous,” the knight replied with a shake of his head. “But cowards don’t dare to wield it. That’s the difference between you and a real adventurer. What kind of idiot brings a weapon he’s too scared to use onto a battlefield? You pathetic idiot. Surrender. Putting you down will be an even bigger favor for your teammates than I thought.”
“None of this is part of a real adventurer’s job,” Arnold snarled. “The tournament is just a way to show everyone how far we’ve come. I don’t care what you say. I’m not going to let my team down.”
With the last of his physical — and every scrap of his magical — strength, Arnold thrust his left arm up into the knight’s leg. Electric energy poured out of his body in a deluge of magic. A brilliant crack split the air as a yellow flash erupted between his palm and the metal.
Arcs of energy carved down the knight’s leg and into the ground, tearing through him and filling the air with the scent of cooking meat instantly. A scream of pain slipped from the other man’s lips and he staggered back, his armor smoking.
The knight took another forward. Then another. The deep, inky black that swirled within the runes covering the swirling blade intensified. It spilled out and washed over the weapon, coating the entire surface of the weapon a pitch black. The power kept coming, spilling out from the blade in a waterfall of shadow to pool around the knight as he advanced.
Something shifted within the darkness.
Arnold took a step back. A chill ran down his back as he felt what felt like death itself brush its fingers over the back of his neck. The temperature dropped sharply. His breath came out in a puff of white air.
“Scared of your own weapon?” the knight asked, with a laugh — and Arnold realized there was something else in his tone. Something that he hadn’t expected to find at all.
The man was embarrassed. He looked down on Arnold to such a degree that the mere idea of being injured by him made the man feel shame.
A spark of anger lit in Arnold’s chest. They’d all earned their spot in the tournament. This was too much. And, perhaps, a portion of that anger was directed at the old woman who had told him to never draw the weapon.
If I’d had something like that in my own hands, wouldn’t I just have been able to win?
But Arnold crushed the thought as soon as it brushed across his mind. Winning like that wouldn’t have been a real victory. This was a tournament to show what he could do. Not what a borrowed weapon could do. The weapon wasn’t truly his, and it had seemed to give him luck in the previous rounds.
Really, I guess all I can do is thank that lady for helping me get this far.
“Only an idiot doesn’t respect power,” Arnold said. He wiped his mouth and lowered into a fighting stance, lifting his sword with a trembling hand. “Come on. We’re basically even. One leg. A few limbs. Same thing, right?”
“There is no part of us that is even!” The knight spat. “You are beneath me!”
The shadows exploded up behind the knight. A humanoid form emerged from within them, its features indistinguishable aside from two molten-red eyes burning like hot coals on its face. Darkness dripped from its body and runes swirled in and out of shape, an ebb and flow that drove a spike into Arnold’s mind.
“A soul to harvest,” the shadows said — and even though Arnold was absolutely certain he’d never heard the voice before, it sounded familiar.
The knight flinched, then started to laugh.
“A weapon with a living will? This is incredible. I’ve never felt a weapon so strong before. It really was wasted in your hands. I will put it to far better use.” The knight raised the blade for Arnold. “Kill the fool.”
The shadow didn’t move.
“What are you doing?” the knight demanded. “I control you! Kill him!”