The Children of the Lake 13
Fordu counted one second before the Heir of Azure was upon him.
He evaded, turning with the creature as it segued into a string of attacks with no hesitation. Spearhands, slashes, no complex art to its strikes but showing strong control over its body, preternatural speed paired with decades or possibly centuries worth of experience. In that perilous mixture, there was little to tell faint and prod from kill and maim, and the advantage was swiftly taken from his hands.
The Light Executioners armor suffered the brunt of the barrage, but he refused to give ground. Blow after blow parried by his scrap of a sword creating trailing smudges of smoke were its claws still sizzled. He followed them, aiming to disarm and unbalance, until a knee flew at his head, misalignment bringing it a few centimeters too far and allowing him to score a significant puncture to its thigh. It fell back; though it had avoided being crippled, a regular Dashi would still have their artery cut and exsanguinated. Not here.
Fordu counted that as the first exchange, and as the Heir dropped to all fours, readied himself for the second.
It stalked left, rictus dribbling down panting jaws. He did not miss the water slowly trickling down the corners of the basin. It dashed right and without missing a beat—
Came face to face with Fordu.
Telling an Azure Heir's facial expressions was a fool's errand, but he needed none to see the shock in its minute body language. The twitch, the hesitation, the sudden shift trying to keep up with him.
He fell onto the beast with the intent to kill, knowing this would not be the moment, but such was the martial arts of tools: so long as he wasn't being used to the breaking point, he wasn't being of enough use. He stabbed with enough strength the sword parted at the handle, leaving the remnants of its blade suck on the crook of the heir's elbow. No time lost, he kicked towards its abdomen, then crashed against the soft soil to push him forward and low, elbow striking for its crotch, a blow that would crumble the hip bone of any average human.
For all its flair and boasting, the monstrosity was not inured to pain, hissing out a yowl, as it retreated into a crouch, one arm lowered protectively over its now concave codpiece while the other became a hanging trap, ready to fall and tear had he chosen to pursue from the front. Instead, he took to his right, not allowing it any room to breath as he swiped its legs under.
"Miserable flea—!" it said, scrambling to its fours. Before it could, another elbow struck it right in the liver, short term victory punctuated with a whimper, but not bereft of cost: a scratch took him down the collar bone, denting a gouge on his cuirass and drawing blood. Had he not predicted its arrival, that could have been the turning hit.
He allowed it to retreat, no sense in pursuing it further, falling back into the Cornered Lion Stance, popular last ditch martial style among Yine military, center of mass lowered on bent knees and hands left half open in preparation for both strikes and disarming grapples.
Second exchange, the half-way point.
The Heir reached into its smoking wound, yanking the broken blade out with its teeth. It flexed its hand, examining the wound with tender care, growling. "So vicious for such a diminutive mutt!"
Fordu, of course, said nothing, merely kept bouncing on the balls of his feet out of habit. overtreaded ground; A certain unwelcome element in Marquise's cohort could deliver twice the devastation with half the material.
It kept rubbing the pierce tendon, chuckling. "Ah, so the myths were true. Demonium! Such a simple wound, yet it refuses to heal. Who could master such horrors if not those dedicate to curbing the divine? What an incredible turn of fortune! To think I was ready to depart on my own quests when the Head requested my presence, how close I was to a world where I would never enjoy eviscerating such a foe!"
Fordu watched the ground. He could see at least two dozen pools forming around the edges of the basin. That the Heir would use them he didn't doubt, however he had to ask himself why was it taking so long? Another of its kind would have entire torrents under its control by now.
"Hear me, mongrel? Forget bringing you home, I will discover what makes your despoiled ilk work here and now! May my predecessors forgive me, even the rescue of family doesn't bring me the same thrill!"
Fordy paused, words sinking in. So that was their motivation? And if they managed to lever that blood connection against Holly, they might convince her to leave willingly, and then—
The world surged in his direction from all sides, surprising him into a confused defense. He realized his mistake, coiling himself just in time to avoid having his neck shredded in halves, too late to prevent the fracturing of his forearm and the protective plaque of steel under his leathers. The hit still tossed him against the walls of the basin, where water began to flow up his feet.
There were many deaths that could come from such a scenario. None did. He dodged the next tab, a pitiful attempt by the water to hold him down slowing his escape, but was almost caught by the turning backhand of the same hand. He understood, then, the game being played, using the puddles to restrict his movement while always keeping his steps tracked. Impractical, in comparison with what should be feasible. Could it be...?
His theory was called into test the next moment. A blur sped his way, neither transparent nor opaque, neither visible nor invisible, undeniably there yet hard to pin point; the art of Obscuring, part of the Azure's Divinity, a contradictory yet deadly effect on the right hands, even outside its intended medium.
Had he any less experience with dealing with the Children of the Lake, reflex would put him on the defensive, covering vital points and unwittingly leaving himself vulnerable to be picked apart. That would have been an early closing move, and his corpse would be left to adorn the Floodlans until its inevitable recovery.
Instead, he allowed the Heir to believe he had been caught in the trap of patterns, then dropped on his back instead, feet already moving to pivot the creature over him with its own momentum. The only sign of jaws closing over the position his arms had just held was a faraway click and a sliver of wind. It was met in the chest and flung, affording Fordu just enough time he could roll over and flee the corners, where the gross of the water still gathered.
What he failed to predict was the strength in the Divinity touched water's grip, holding him down for a precious second, enough for the Azure to resume its assault without needing to look. A straight claw almost touched him.
Then, it retreated in a rush. Momentarily baffled yet unmoved, Fordu did not lose sight of the Heir. Obscured, it dipped down into the shallow moat it had created, the center of the basin now an islet. The effect grew in power, taking it from a contrasting shade to actual non-presence.
It still insisted to blabber. "You noticed, didn't you? Or was it ignorance that moved you?"
Fordu ignored it. That would have been the Third exchange, and likely had been broken to give way for the next. They would have been aiming for the same thing, ironically enough.
It hissed. "Does it cost you to indulge others?! Was that boast before just some form of half-baked diversion? Seemed so practiced."
Fordu's fist clenched for an instant.
"Arrogance is the sin of your kind, I heard. That for a cabal of such power to have fallen so low, there had to be a serious infection beneath the skin." It did not laugh, but he could hear the pleased smirk on its voice all the same. "Are you part of said infection, I wonder, or part of the ensuing necrosis?"
"When Bal Di Vossa was brought before trial, was that sharp tongue among those grovelling for forgiveness, I wonder, or those who had to be taught obeseiance the hard way?" Fordu replied.
That shut the damned abomination up.
"By all means, keep wasting your breath. Were you not looking forward to this conversation?"
"Were you there, thirty-three years ago?" It asked, and Fordu knew better than taking the calm tone at face value.
"No. But twenty years ago, your kind gave me a name."
He left the Heir to puzzle it out, watching over the rising water as it tried to craw upwards in thin tendrils. It finally growled in understanding, the noise distorting into a rage filled bellow as its Obscuring gave away. "You! You were responsible for—"
"Nothing," Fordu said. "The blame for falling in twice with rebels in less than forty years falls square on your shoulders."
"Don't you dare exempt yourself from sin, you—!" It rose from its puddle, cursing him in a language he couldn't speak but recognized, the so called Brave Tongue, supposedly belonging to the first peoples of Skawla, the Brave Sailors. Ugly thing of harsh sounds and recurring stops. "Would you deny it then, that the Headless Harlot had spent years whispering sweet temptations in the ears of both Di Vossa and Di Ragwa, forcing both their hands to rebellion?!"
"She wasn't there for the former and barely needed to speak with the latter. Everyone who so much as glanced at the Di Ragwa's matriarch once knew the woman's ambitions went far beyond being allowed a couple fingers on the biggest Skawlan pies and a granddaughter counted as a potential Lady to Be. For the Idiots who refused to see the reality of the matter I spare no pity."
"Muwel Di Ragwa was an honorable woman who only ever worked towards the good of our nation and the Descendancy! If you claim so much knowledge about our ways, then tell me, what are the unprecedented reaches for lasting power the current Lady makes if not treachery itself?!"
"So does the self-blinding idiot tell itself to better sleep at night," he said, frustrated that he couldn't smile anymore. "I don't give a shit about the politics of that Tale infested hovel of yours, And what I did care you just gave me."
It stilled. The water around the corners flowed across the corners in its direction. "What could you possibly mean?"
"The surname Di Aila wasn't unknown to me. I tried to remember, but I understand now, I don't need to. You are exiles, no different than the fruit of any other Azure purges, a handful of Heirs with a couple half-blood Missionaries to command in pretension of power, bottom feeder parasites with holes in your lineage you seek to fill by clinging to any shred of mercy your Lady casts from her table and selling yourselves as vassals to the first bidder."
"We are Children of the First Mother! We are—"
"Fools who slipped into the same trap twice and now dream of escaping the consequences while bleeding out! It's why you held on to the idea of 'rescuing' Holly so tight you risked using a Faceless as bait! You think the honor you hold so dear is at stake when it's already gone and buried. Does anyone else remember the Di Aila's name? Does any of the allies who turned away from you ever miss your presence?"
It was the eternal curse of the Remnants to be deprived of their anathema's most intimate language, and thus also the most important of the human senses. Time and skill sufficed as substitutes: the surrounding trickles halted, their streams frozen mid motion. The moment was nigh.
"...We too are of the Descendancy, Children of the First Mother," it rasped through gritted teeth. "They will see the truth. They must. We cannot be treated this way!"
"You see now, don't you? You were never part of that promised land, never meant to be. The hands that wield you hold not the same delusions your peers will. Curse your birth, if you must; just don't deny the reality of your creation. The sooner you do, the harder you break."
The cruel words flooded back to Fordu. He couldn't restrain the accompanying shiver. Those were memories best left to the past; the pang of empathy they tried to conjure would only serve to lower his guard and lead him to his demise. Under control again, he said: "Do you have anything to add to this farce? Or should we move on?"
Their gazes met in silence, veiled under the cover of night. Fordu waited, as he couldn't be the one to make the next move.
Finally, it whispered, "Mother Primordial, Old Vetara, extend your grace tonight, and pave my way to victory."
The world burst with movement. In came the Skawlan Fourth.
The superstition would carry no power on its own, but the Heir did. A great wave of mud broke from its destructive step, not reaching the peak of its ascension before it was right there, a tail of water trailing its path. Fordu leaned back, but didn't dodge, prepared.
He avoided the gnashing teeth, the impaling wreck of claws, but took the crushing impact of its body in an embrace, jumping back at the last moment and pivoting both into a twist. He felt his muscles stiffen, unnameable organs awaken; they crashed against the far wall hard enough to create a slide, burying both in earth.
Fordu held on strong, seizing limbs without hesitation as teeth set upon him. Blinded by dirt, they clacked against nothing, one bite coming a centimeter away from tearing a half of his head. Taking the top, he let go of an arm and grabbed for its lower jaw, pressing down with enough strength to crush stone yet barely enough to prevent death. Claws racked against his helmet, sending chunks of steels cascading between them.
He slipped a leg from a gashing kick that would have scrapped him flayed from hips to foot, he kneed the Heir right below the ribcage once, then twice, thrice and it gasped, letting go of his now mutilated shoulder. Four times, for good measure, feeling the creature wheeze and spasm. For all it matched him in speed, he was stronger, and that had been his victory.
"I 'on't lesh' ish—" it spoke through restrained fangs. "I 'on't lesh' ush' be fogotten!"
He pushed its neck back, revealing the space were jutting clavicles nearly met under soft skin. He took aim, and claimed the glories for those he once followed.
He needed no insist, it practically climbed out of his Mark by its own accord.
Silent, Hagan stole away to feast.
The struggle was nearly renewed as its tip emerged. The Heir cried and buckled in fear, too late, and the slaughter commenced.
In these dark depths, the finer details of the murder escaped his sight, but from a distance where he would once been able to taste it, eyes were unneeded. Dense blood and flexible hide, torn ribbons of snapped sinew with fragments of bone, he was bathed in everything that once made the Azure itself, quickly desiccating as they bounce off his armor and skin, gnashing fangs and shutting mandibles muffling screams as his foe was ravaged alive.
The back and forth tipped Hagan down, eating its way into viscera and sealing the Heir's fate. The Devil's Filthy Lead felt no mercy.
Struggle ceased, half its body's warmth now spread across the basin. It twitched underneath him, but he only pulled Hagan back inside when it lost enthusiasm for the meal.
Another Tale Heir smothered. Another prophecy falling shorter of its Realization.
There was no joy in the task. His had been carefully chiseled out before he could ever find it, but he knew from others there was always a point were the fight became work, and if they didn't ever figure out why, then it became less. That was the point the tool understood it was a tool.
He didn't need a nose to know he reeked of death, that the quickly rotting meat around his legs had announced his presence to anything which cared to take a deeper look, cat out of the bag or so its spoken. He extricated himself from the mess, stepping back to splash into the inert water and gaze at the shaded cadaver.
"Many will seek it in the dirt under their nails. Greater goods, higher purposes, flowing spit drying in the air." He found himself mindlessly quoting. "The delusion itself matters little, only one thing is of import: never let it take root. You will believe it unshakable until it quakes, and by then you will find no repair."
Here he was, eulogizing an enemy, and for whose benefit? The broken were broken, there were no ears to hear that old nonsense, spoken for no one's sake. Before he could soften any harder, he sheathed Hagan back into his Mark.
Still, he found the need to finish. "Two blades clashed, one fell and the other moved on to the next neck. So long as it understands that its fate and the purpose of its birth were set in stone, it will find reason... Or so I think it went. Either way, my task continues."
There would be more Azure Heirs involved. He had wasted too much time on this one already.
Shaking the distaste back to some semblance of neutrality, he left, ready for the next battle.
Lunge; riposte; evade.
Blades found a comfortable rhythm in the rapier. The speed, the elegance; weapons by nature were simple and straightforward, at least the ones she cared for, but the Duelist's Needle in particular felt polished to its purpose even beyond its peers. It reminded her of herself, fresh out of the hand of the Disciplinarians, worn and weary kin gripped until it impressed her palm.
The first time she had seen one, she scoffed. Coming from a decades long courtship with two-handers and polearms, the stick-thin blade was a vision of frailty. Culture didn't help: for all their bellicosity, the Yines had little of their Lesan predecessors' passion for duels, which as always bled to the Sect's general indifference for the unpractical.
The first time she held one however, already standing besides Lilly... the safety of the basket handle, the lightness, the length, the sheer care necessary to forge such a delicate work of art, it was love at first wield.
And now her romance turned to tragedy as she realized why exactly the Sect considered it unpractical.
Her opponent dropped Rosen into the shallow waters at her lunge, limp. She didn't take her eyes wander for one instant. Around three meter tall not counting the dragging tail, a disproportionately elongated torso with thickset armored limbs, coarse hide both slick with mucus and hived with an asymmetrical forest of branches, corals she guessed, sprouting over its entire back.
It smiled when she stabbed at the closest patch of soft tissue she could find, slightly above the hip. From the beginning, it had never stopped smiling. Nothing but a plaything, were they? With a backwards shift, even the momentum of her Art enhanced attack barely pierced deeper than skin level.
She almost failed to react against the counter. The weak tail slap sent her flying and sprawling down the road, blow resounding deep into her guts. She flipped, for once the water didn't try to hold her down, and assessed the damage.
If Aleh or some other scholarly witch type were available, she would ask for them to take a better look. Her sole nugget of so called "Ashic Art" talent was the First Art of the Bear, the Steadfast March, a blade in itself with how it had been honed with complete focus on physical improvements, versatile in the rough and tumble and nowhere else.
She could curse herself for not pursuing that off-field flexibility, but she didn't need any sort of Merurgical vision or whatever it was called to feel the damage. It was like the Azure had created for her whole new organs just to pound them into chunks. She spat blood, magic damage far from the only abuse she had endured.
Shattered ribs; bruised intestines; multiple lacerations; an eye gummied with blood; a broken foot. Worst, her dominant arm.
She had been too slow. The bud of water blossomed into a fierce explosion, propelling the Azure against them like a harpoon. She had started dodging before it could burst, and thus merely been nicked; shoulder thrown out of its socked, muscles of the arm torn from those of the chest. Her right now swayed with every move of hers, agony beyond any Art's ability to numb. All that kept her from not going into shock from the practical dismemberment was experience and technique.
This was not going well. She was alright with her left, yes, but alright was essentially useless against an Heir.
A distant sound reached her ears. Waves crashing against the shore, fresh wind buffeting the sand, a faint smell of salt in the air. She smiled ruefully. "Sorry, don't speak that tongue."
It frowned. Or so she thought. Having Holly's own expressions as a dictionary would have helped about now, but she understood the Boss' zeal with her appearance.
"Talk with mouth," she tried in Ivian. "Hear some."
Its teeth parted for an instant. The waves grew violent, prelude to the storm.
"Did my best." She shrugged.
Next would come her last clash. She wouldn't be caught by surprise by the great wall of liquid forming behind her back; not like noticing it gave her any way to break through anyway. Forwards was the only real choice, and maybe she would die to their hands rather than a cheap blow to the back.
But she would die, she knew.
At the moment though she was not the one to be surprised. A swooping falcon dove onto her opponent's back, screaming lungs both vestigial and as dark as shadow as they struck.
The creature cried in pain, and Blades almost cried with joy. The sound of sizzling flesh reached her ears like a bard's melody. Were it not for the protective coral taking the brunt of the shoulder chop, that might have been a crippling blow. Of course, they lost no time crashing back first against the nearest tree, shaking its trunk with a thud strong enough to have pulped her, then quickly slithered away.
Furfu would not be so easily thwarted. She dropped to the ground sprinting, not having dropped her war cries for a second, already in pursuit. They weren't allowed five meters before she jumped again, brandishing a warcleaver with a blade over a meter long like a toy, the strength of her faceless body overcoming the pull of the Azure's Divinity. It dodged, too fast for reaction, tail swiping and catching her in the head.
She flew up the woods, water trailing behind and gathering mass to its designs. Blades was no idiot though, she hadn't spent these last few seconds just gawking. Bent low, she aimed and forced her magic into the enchanted rapier, activating it. No finesse required there; a flickering shimmer blew from its tip, and nailed the Azure right in the eye.
It screamed, the sound muffling Furfu's own ceaseless cry as she dashed in again. It wasn't caught as unaware as Blades had hoped, the crushing fall of the warcleaver missing the serpentine body by a timely contraction of their stomach. Recalling lessons from her time in the Sect, she cursed herself: Azure Heirs could have anywhere between two to ten eyes, couldn't they? the loss of one might have meant nothing.
But it was distracted, so she would take it. She bit down the pain to rise and rushed to Furfu's aid as she saw the next blow approach. The faceless managed to dodged the first kick as it came, but missed was stomped down into the flat of her weapon as the leg retracted, pushing her follow up underwater. The unnatural puddle bubbled and fled as if burned; the feet pushing the warcleaver down slipped, having underestimated their foe's might.
A clawed hand swatted Furfu down with the weight of a battering ram, drawing a hitched noise out of her as the shouting died. Blades reached the fight too late, aware that she was now the sole holder of the Azure's attention. The briefest hesitation could have meant death, but this once saved her instead, allowing her to notice the stirring tail before it lashed. Once in motion, she could never have evaded.
Her useless arm, however, was glanced. She was not proud of the whimper that broke through her teeth as the severing was complete, the last few ribbons of skin and sinew holding it together were torn as the force of the blow launched her twisting. No time to lament; disregarding the potential consequences, she pushed her Art into overdrive, for a moment smothering everything not useful to the immediate situation.
Not enough. From the corner of the eye, she watched her doom approach, rending claws like billhooks about to tear her to pieces. She was too slow to escape, too weak to protect herself, too shit to—
It turned with such absurd speed she didn't realize she hadn't died until the air wavered. Disgusting figures made of living bile and hair strands, interspersed with countless facsimiles of sensorial organs emerging only to become smoke. The claws had cut straight through them and into lower mechanisms of Aleh's work. They hadn't made it all the way through, but that little was enough to shut the world beyond quiet.
Lilly was in danger.
One tug, and the creature was stuck. Her rapier was already in the middle of the way to their neck. Light bloomed to the opposite side of the Azure, dim grey missiles peppering their head, Rosen's projectiles. That bastard had woken up already?
Instead of the tough meat of a trachea, the tip of her sword hit the carapaced palm of a hand, and beggaring all belief lost a good ten centimeters of its blade. She swinged down, trying to cut their flank to no avail, firing as many missiles as she physically could.
The Azure rumbled, a sound like thunder inside a foundry. The words, she struggled to understand as the water around her rose.
"Annoying fleas."
She was blown back by a torrent stream. The Floodlands spun around her as she fell, but had no time to readjust as she was drawn back towards certain death. Another wave, a piercing whail, and she felt Aleh's damned machine crashing against her head. The water receded as she half-blanked out. Something hit the ground with enough weight to splash her with mud.
She blinked, trying to bring herself back from her stupor. She looked down. Her armor was an indented ingot, stained in blood and dirt and scum and who could tell what else? She was bleeding freely down her loose sleeve too. Her Arts usually let her avoid the worst of it but she had let go by accident. She was getting dizzy.
Furfu had been another unfortunate victim of their enemy's destructive might. A hand large enough to nearly envelop her torso forced her against the ground, and she quivered uselessly under its grip. With baffled deliberation, the Azure pulled a black projectile from their chest: a thick spearhead, almost half a meter worth of blade of which only a sliver had entered. The warcleaver stood at a teasing distance from Blades own fingers. How sad that even at the best of times she couldn't handle one.
If only her body had allowed her to become a Faceless.
They spoke again, crunched gravel, and while the words were completely lost to her, the mocking tone wasn't. Furfu spat something out, and they chuckled. She kept speaking, but the Azure lifted the hand, uncaring.
Before she could die, another projectile cut through the night, a flying shade followed by a sharp thunk, tip piercing through the skin of their neck yet failing to make it any further. They hissed, and the wound bled openly as they hurried to scratch its burning touch off. Blades tried to get up, only to fall back on her knees.
"Lillyyy! Geet baack insideee!" she called.
"I'm as dead in there as I'm here!" She heard Lilly load the crossbow again. "You get away, look at the state of you!"
"Don't be stupid! You can't do anything!"
The next projectile was thinner, weaker, ricocheting off the back of the creature's hand. They growled, rising to a stand with the faceless woman in their grip, not realizing the mistake. She shook herself side to side finding enough leverage to hammer their forearm over and over again, fast. For all its talent, Blades couldn't help but think it a pathetic greenhorn.
Every punch rang like a sledgehammer against stone, until their protective carapace crumbled apart. Another bolt flew, and so did another missile of gray light from behind the toppled vehicle, neither causing harm but serving as enough distraction they let go. Blades tried to join, only to find her broken rapier had already leaked itself exhausted.
"Come on." She chuckled under her breath. "That's a bit on the nose, isn't it?"
"Blades!" Lilly said. "Please! you are—"
"I keep hearing it. Can't you too?!"
The insane Furfu reached into the water and with some fumbling found the spearhead. The Faceless Pike, the Hasdes, one of the four staple executioner weapons of the Sect, even incomplete, made for a gruesome sight. It turned like a blur, and met nothing. The rotating kick that cracked her breastplate in half struck with such brutality not even the particularities of the Divine could muffle them, the ring reaching all the way to her.
For all they struck fear in the hearts of foe and friend alike, the faceless were not invincible. Another would have died then and there, and while this Furfu was made of sterner stuff, she was down for the count, no two ways about it. That would have been such a good move too, wouldn't it? Blades always had such rotten luck.
The dizziness grew worse. She felt nauseous.
"W-we can talk about whatever you mean later, alright? Just get in, or run, anything!" Lilly tried. She would, of course, the sweet.
"I've never been lucky, you know that." Letting go of the rapier felt like abandoning an old friend, but if so it was, it would understand. "You ever think that's a good thing, Lilly?"
"You're not making any sense," she said, impassiveness forced. She was a strong girl, clever enough to surmise the answer to the question she implied.
Blades tried to hoist the warcleaver up with one arm. Swivel it, she barely could. any further? "Lived too long by living too little. If my every dream came true, we would never have met."
The Azure turned. Another bolt bounced off a coral offshoot. She was a better aim then that.
"You hear me, big guy?" She managed to lift it just enough to point the tip at the Azure.
Blades would never understand love. The kind the Sect demanded was restrictive and possessive, and that others might exist was of no concern to its necessities. She tried navigating it with her own two feet once, and realized she had never, could never, make it anywhere.
How did she love Almalilly? Like a stray animal once, an amusement to be poked and teased to one's heart content in a sea of miserable deaths. Like a mother loved her daughter, when her experience guided her hands, like a daughter loved her mother, when the younger girl's superior intellect saved her from herself. Like a longing lover, knowing her affections would never be returned so long as they lived within Ivian soil and her mind was occupied by fear and caution.
But chief among all, Blades was undeniably a child of the Sect, and the Sect's pretension was for pragmatism. Such, then, had been the mold the molten steel of that love had been cast on. She loved Lilly like only the thing she needed the most could, enjoying the warmth around her pommel when she felt afraid, when she felt furious, when she craved the taste of revenge. The one time Blades hadn't allowed herself out of her sheath, her fate was sealed.
"Don't try going past me before I break." She said, namesake falling back to her murky grave. "You won't like how deep I cut."
When the Azure, done with its games, lunged for her head she laughed. May nobody understand the irony of her chosen name keener than she did.
She closed her eyes before the jaws shut around her chest, and shattered.