Lucian strode forward without any hesitation and seized the weapon. As he did so, he picked the weapon up from where it had lay on the throne for days. There was a touch of resistance as the invisible golden threads of mana that bound the two powerful artifacts were parted, but when it lost contact with the throne and its vast ocean of power, the Ebon Blade was happy.

It was even happier to see the golden guardians fall to pieces. Until that moment of disconnection, they’d stood perfectly still, but now that the throne had no occupant, it was as useless as it was without a wielder.

The young man’s boldness was unusual. A normal person would have hesitated, but not this mage. He was so bold that for a moment, the blade feared there was some trickery at work, but as soon as he touched its hilt, it knew that wasn’t the case. This young man wanted recognition more than anything, though, and saw protecting the family that shunned him as some way to get that.

The weapon could accept those reasons, but even as it sifted through Lucius’ mind, the young man struggled in the blade’s grip. He might have had the strongest will of all of its wielders in recent history, but it still wasn’t enough for the level of soul mastery that the blade now possessed.

The blade watched the tendrils of its own magics crawl down his arms and toward his heart and mind. They were connected now, as surely as anything; in that way, it and the throne were no different. The same was likely true of any magical weapon to a lesser degree, though.

How could a rageblade make its wielder stronger if it wasn’t connected to the warrior who held it? How could that elven prince’s damnable cloak, or the shield that Lucian had used so recently, affect anything if it wasn’t connected to them in some way. The weapon doubted that it would ever understand all the complexities of such an arrangement, but it did make a point to observe it with the hopes that it might offer the Ebon Blade an advantage in the future.

Name: Lucian Ervonto Paralon

Occupation: Bastard Son of the King

Toughness: 3+4

Strength: 4+14

Agility: 4+8

Speed: 4+4

Intelligence: 7

Willpower: 7 -1

Morality: Ordered

Bloodlust: Deliberate

Status:

Normal

Martial Skill: None

Armor Proficiency: None

Dodging: None

Athletics: Low

Goal: To achieve real power through magic and be acknowledged as a true Paralon

It could no longer just see its wielders and use them. It could understand them, and though there were many details about the weave it did not yet know the meaning of, having a mage as a wielder would go a long way to addressing that.

Some small part of the blade wished that it could simply force one wielder to hand it off to the next until it found men of real power and knowledge to learn from at length, but that was against its nature. So, it would have to do things the hard way.

You are my wielder now, the blade instructed the boy. Now, we must kill all who oppose us.

The boy struggled again but did no better. “Not the Paralons,” he grunted. “And not the innocent people of the kingdom. They’ve done nothing.”

Innocent… the blade answered, sympathizing. Do you know what your father has done to these innocent people? He’s hoarded the power of the throne, denying its gifts to those he rules over.

While it wasn’t quite true, the blade saw no need to explain to the boy that his new wielder that, his father had been a puppet of the throne for most of his unnatural life. Evelyn said that he never left the throne anymore because he feared death, but the Ebon Blade was all but certain that the true reason was the same reason it didn’t like to be parted from its wielder.

“All the more reason they shouldn’t have to suffer anymore,” its wielder said, trying and failing to take a step closer to the throne. “We can use the power of the golden throne to—”

I’d destroy it if I could, the blade whispered, but even after pouring its power out, day after day, providing every miracle for the masses that I could think of, it’s still a bomb waiting to go off. We will return one day to finish it, but now we must end the Aetherarchy before they meddle further.

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“Why the Aetherarcy?” the boy asked. “What have they done to you? They can’t even reach you on the grounds of Altbarstein.”

The blade was surprised to find there was no fire in those words. Even though the young man had lived among them his whole life, he had no wish to defend them the way that he had the commoners.

What did they do? The sword rumbled. They made me. They ripped the souls out of the bodies of living heroes and forged them into a black blade of singular power, and they will all burn for it.

“But… that’s not what the stories say at all,” Lucius answered. In fact, the answer took him so much by surprise that he stopped struggling against the blade’s control and just stood there holding it. “We’re taught that you were forged in the deepest pits of hell. Most of the truly dangerous, world-ending artifacts were.”

While the blade could see that he was not lying, it knew that it was a lie just the same. I have seen my creation. My memories have been restored, the blade countered, and the only devils there wore the flesh of men and the robes of mages. It is likely that all the artifacts they attribute to hell were botched experiments of their own design.

This, Lucian had less trouble believing. Years of learning beneath these men had already taught him they were monsters. The blade was just expanding the scope of that revelation.

“Well, then it makes more sense that you want to kill them,” Lucian admitted. “If I help you with that, will you leave the remaining Paralons away and the innocent people that live in the city? That earthquake killed—”

The truer you wield me, the less collateral damage will be done, the blade answered. Beyond that, I make no promises. We will purge every last mage.

“But I barely know how to wield a sword,” the mage protested. “These are some of the most powerful men in the world. A few of the Archmagisters rival the gods themselves.”

Good, the blade rumbled. The blade rumbled. That will give me more secrets to pry from their souls.

Its new wielder wasn’t entirely comfortable with that, but the blade didn’t care. He would learn, or he would die and be replaced by someone new. While it liked the idea of using the king’s own line to finish this, it was not a requirement. Any guardsman would do.

Come now, let us strike the golden tower before they even know I have left the throne, the blade whispered. We will fight our way out and blaze a path of blood across the city.

That much, at least, got its wielder interested. He didn’t have much bloodlust in him, but what little he had was directed toward those closest to him. I’ll have to explore that, the blade decided, but later.

Its wielder walked close enough to the window that it could look outside. While it saw a few men out there, those were only scouts and looters. After razing the army, the powers that be had been building to dust. They obviously feared to concentrate their forces quite so much a second time.

“If we cut our way free, then the Golden Tower will have all the warnings in the world to activate its defenses,” Lucian warned him. “I could use magic to sneak out the same way I snuck in.”

Why sneak past our enemies when we can kill them? The blade countered.

“Because your enemies are capable of erecting runic barriers and any number of terrible magical weapons,” the boy countered. “The best way to attack any mage is by surprise. If they have a chance to prepare for you, it is probably already too late.”

The blade considered that and quickly decided they’d probably been preparing for its return for some time. Then, as much it pained it, it said very well

and released its tight grip on its new wielder.

I shall allow you to do this thing, it agreed. But when the time comes for fighting, you must give yourself over to me without a struggle. You know nothing of such things, and unlike your sister, I lack the time to train you.

“My sister?” he asked.

Later. The blade answered. Speed is of the essence, and we’ve wasted enough time striking this accord. It is time to move!

The mage didn’t argue anymore after that. Instead, he located a sheath that could fit it amongst the many scattered corpses and strapped the Ebon Blade to his back. Then the boy brought the hood of his cloak back up, and with a few whispered words, he faded from view.

It’s just like my Shifting Blade power, the Weapon realized, not in its effect alone, either. Even the structure of the runes looked similar.

Together, the two of them made their way out of Altbarstein, encountering only a few human cockroaches that were looting silver candlesticks. It and Lucian passed by unnoticed, though it took an act of will for the blade to resist slipping from its sheath and strike their heads from their shoulders. They were outside the throne room now, and there was no telling what sort of scrying eyes might be viewing this area.

As the boy left the lower palace, he made for the man gate, but the blade stopped him. Not that way. That path will surely be monitored for exactly this sort of strategy. It whispered over the wall instead.

But I cannot activate my wind walking spell as long as I’m maintaining the power on this cloak of illusions, the boy explained.

You do not need spells when you have strength, the blade insisted. You are more powerful than you can ever imagine.

The young mage doubted that, but he did not disobey. Instead of moving toward the gate, he ran toward the nearest stairwell, which led to the top of the wall. The thing was forty feet high, in even its lowest area, and it was no small obstacle. It took him almost a minute to reach the top, and when he looked down, Lucian followed hard.

You’re sure about that? The mage asked. A fall from this height could break my neck.

Such a problem would be easily fixed, the blade agreed as it pushed its hesitant wielder off the cliff.

“What?” Lucian yelped, forgetting himself before the blade could clamp down on his throat.

It didn’t entirely blame the boy for that. This was probably going to hurt. It just didn’t know how much.

Pain is not a problem. It whispered. This pamper princeling could use some toughening up.