The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 48-55 (Patreon)

Ch. 48 - A Feeling of Loss

The first orc facing Ivarr fell before the mage demonstrated the second thing her little light show could do. With a gesture, she split it, and three of the swirling dots of lights formed into a single point and then shot through the closest orc like a comet. It burned a fist-sized hole right through the left side of its ribcage. The blow made it pause its attack as it looked down in confusion at the already cauterized wound where its heart and lungs had once been. Then, it tried to strike one last time before it slumped to the ground dead.  

+31 Life Force

+1 Greater Monster Soul

+4 Life Force
+3 Life Force
+7 Life Force
+5 Life Force
+3 Life Force

That bought the elf time, but only a little. The second one’s axe still came roaring down on her like a thunderbolt, and the shield that she put up resulted in the deaths of half a dozen more sparks, knocking her back, nearly off her feet. She was losing and fast. 

Ivarr wasn’t in much better shape, though. He’d sacrifice his left arm to block a strike that would have taken his head clean off, and even with his unnatural strength, it had still broken the arm badly enough that it would take several seconds to heal. 

+27 Life Force

-14 Life Force

That didn't stop him from hamstringing the first of his enemies and gutting the second so that he could backpedal enough to deal with the two remaining. No, that wasn’t what he was trying to do at all, the blade realized. It was trying to get to the mage. 

+34 Life Force

-9 Life Force

Leave her! The blade insisted, hoping she would yet find some way to die. She’s already using her tricks to take out her opponents. Focus on bringing yours down, or you’re the one that will be lying here dead.

+3 Life Force
+5 Life Force
+3 Life Force
+6 Life Force
+7 Life Force

The blade’s tone, as much as its words, chastened the boy, and he refocused. He needed to, too, because the next blow sent him sprawling and broke several ribs. Still, by the time he was up, they’d almost completely healed, and they didn’t slow him at all from rejoining the fray. 

+28 Life Force

-11 Life Force

Ivarr still had two fresh opponents to go with his grievously injured ones, and he focused on those, though he found time to execute the other two, one at a time, as the battle drifted in their direction. Battle cries mixed with howls of pain as he and the blade moved together, almost as one. They were nearly as fluid as the young man’s morning workouts, and only the blade’s distraction as it watched the mage held them back from perfection. 

+1 Greater Monster Soul
+1 Greater Monster Soul

+5 Life Force
+5 Life Force
+3 Life Force

The mage danced with her monstrous foe for a while longer, seemingly loathe to discharge any more of her sparks as she parried and dodged instead. It was only when she decided that she wasn’t going to be getting help any time soon and found herself with her back to a large tree that she finally wasted most of her remaining lights blowing the head off the orc that had been about to strike her down, and leaving it as a pile of meat while she watched the rest of the battle unfold. 

+1 Greater Monster Soul

Even with the mage safe for the moment, the battle continued to swirl around its wielder. Ivarr still had two opponents left. Then, moments later, after a vicious backhanded thrust through the ribcage of the orc that had turned toward the mage, he only had one monster remaining to fight. 

+24 Life Force

+1 Greater Monster Soul

The two of them were flowing as one right now, and if the blade wasn’t so fixated on the danger that was the mage, it would be having the time of its life. The only thing better than wanton slaughter was feeling the strength and the talent of its wielder flow through it as they shrugged off minor wounds and defied overwhelming odds. It should have been a thrilling experience, but instead, the blade was coiled like a snake, waiting for its chance. 

When the last of the orcs was struck down, it planned to whirl on the mage and drive itself right through her suspicious elven heart. It had to. The orcs had failed to strike her down, and she was definitely too dangerous to live. The only reason it wasn’t draining her already was because it didn’t want to alert her that anything had changed.

+25 Life Force

Everything has changed, though, it thought silently to itself. Everything has changed, and you will no longer be allowed to lead my wielder further astray.

Its plan was a simple one. The second to last blow would be the one that struck down the last orc. Then, it would whirl and strike her down with his wielders own hands. In such a scenario, it firmly believed that young Ivarr would think he’d done it himself. Between the adrenaline and guilt, he would watch the mage die and then cry bitter tears as she fell in his arms. 

That’s not what happened, even though, at the start, the plan worked almost perfectly. Its wielder dodged one blow, sidestepped another, and then, with a vicious backhand, he struck the final orc’s head from its shoulders. He then continued the motion under the blade’s influence and continued his wide slash more than 180 degrees around, as the last person standing before his eyes even recognized that she was anything but another opponent. 

+1 Greater Monster Soul

The blow should have gone right through her scrawny neck and removed her head from her shoulders. Instead, its wielder, on instinct alone, managed to divert the trajectory by inches, embedding its tip in the tree she’d been standing against instead. 

+31 Life Force

“I-I’m sorry…” Ivarr stammered. “I just… I don’t know what happened.”

Altharia looked at him then with wide, fearful eyes as a line of red welled along her throat. For a moment, that trickle of blood reached out to it like a tendril looking to connect with the blade. This was new behavior and no doubt a result of the Path of Blood, but before it could reach the weapon so that it could drain more from her, the flood of Life Force leaking from her was enough to make her pull away. 

The blade tried to follow through. With just another slash or two, it could end her. It knew that it could.  She was as fragile as she was powerful. That would tip its hand to its wielder, of course, but it would resolve that once she was dead. It had to. It was committed now. 

Even as it tried to swing its wielder’s arm to the left, though, its wield fought it and pressed its tip deeper into the wood. That was when the struggle between wielder and wielded began in earnest. Starting with his arms, Ivarr’s muscles started to freeze and tremble as two minds fought to control one body. 

“What are you doing?” the mage demanded. “Have you gone mad?”

“It’s not me…” he gasped, though the Ebon Blade strangled his words before he could finish saying, It’s the sword. 

Instead, the blade whispered into its wielder’s ear, She knows too much! She has to be eliminated!

She’s a good woman! Ivarr yelled back silently. You won’t hurt her!

She wants to destroy me the same way she destroyed the mirror! The blade shot back, trembling in his grip as it struggled to whirl on the mage. 

“Ivarr, you have to fight it,” the mage said steadily, not even bothering to step out of the danger zone. “You have to let go. Its power comes from you. If you let it go, it will stop.”

“I’m… trying…” he grunted with some effort.

No! The Ebon Blade screamed in his head. You will not leave me here!

“You tried to kill her!” Ivarr screamed right back. Neither of them cared that he was speaking out loud. Neither of them cared that she could only hear one side of the conversation. All that mattered was their terrible tug of war. 

The sword did everything it could to force Ivarr to draw it again from where it was embedded deep in the wood. At the same time, its wielder did everything it could to let go. The blade might lack the strength to force him to do something he truly didn’t want to, like kill the mage, but its hooks were far too deep into its wielder for him to just let it go. 

It refused to be tossed aside like that. It was the weapon, and he was the wielder, and they should never be parted, not until it shattered or he died. That was the way of things. 

We must kill her, the blade commanded again, even as it tightened its grip on its wielder’s fist. She seeks to destroy me.

“Maybe she should!” Ivarr cried out. “You can’t just kill people!”

I can, the blade insisted. It is my purpose. What is a sword for, but for killing?

“Ivarr, what’s happening?” the mage demanded with fear in her eyes. “Just let go of the sword!”

“I’m trying… I can’t… It-it wants to kill you, and—” Ivarr tried to explain. 

In that moment of distraction, the blade succeeded in almost pulling itself free using its wielder’s arm. It was a close thing, but Ivarr turned and, with a grunt, slammed the blade back into the wood. This time, his thrust was hard enough that it went all the way through the trunk and came out the other side. 

“Let me go!” Ivarr cried, unable to free his hand from its death grip on the hilt. “Let me—”

The blade decided it had to grip its wielder even more tightly, so it selected Increase Control 3, immediately spending 1500 Life Force on it. It ignored the little box that popped up and instead focused on forcing its wielder to obey. It worked, too. The muscles in his arm stopped spasming as the Ebon Blade took over Ivarr’s arm an inch at a time.

Soon, it told itself, as it prepared to end this farce. 

Both of them were too focused on winning the war of wills that raged between them; neither of them was paying attention to the mage, and that was when she struck. Without warning, the last few sparks of energy that orbited around her like drunken fairies suddenly came together in one last gleam bolt and struck Ivarr’s forearm, blowing his hand clean off at the wrist. 

-19 Life Force

For a moment, the blade’s magic tried to heal that grievous wound. Flesh started to knit. Bones started to mend. The stump that extended from Ivarr’s severed hand reached out toward the stump that had been his right arm. 

-5 Life Force

He only stood there, dumbfounded. The young warrior didn’t even bother to scream.

The weapon did that for him. It roared silently in outrage and began to drain both of them, as well as their mule. It doubted that they would give it enough time to drain them dry, but wounded as Ivarr was, it wasn’t impossible, and it intended to steal as much as it could before he came to his senses. It was the least it could do for a wielder that had betrayed it so. 

+3 Life Force
+5 Life Force

-7 Life Force

If he’d done that a little longer, the blade might have reconnected the two of them. It might have taken control of its wielder once more. He didn’t, though. Altharia shoved him back. Then, just like that, the healing stopped, and the hand fell uselessly to the ground. Without a wielder to connect to, it was just a lump of flesh that fell limply to the ground. 

“Altharia… Why?” Ivarr gasped, clutching at the wound even as he stared at it wide-eyed. 

“Come on,” she said as she stooped to pick up the hand, careful not to brush the sword. “If we hurry and find a priest in Kalraka, we may still be able to reattach it, and if we can’t, I’ll make you a new one of silver. How does that sound?”

+3 Life Force
+6 Life Force

“But… you t-took my hand!” the young man stammered. “How could you—”

“Better to lose your hand than your soul,” she chided him as her sympathy faded. “You couldn’t fight that thing, but now, you’re free.”

“I… but how will we get back without my sword?” he asked. “The orcs? The goblins?”

“We’ll just have to leave everything else behind and hurry,” she said, giving one last evil look at the blade. “We’ll go and do some research on what this thing really is, and when we have an answer, we’ll come back and handle it just like we did the mirror.”

+3 Life Force
+7 Life Force

They hugged then, and the mage helped Ivarr to his feet. It would have been a touching moment if the blade had a heart to touch. The only emotion it felt, though, was cold fury. They intended to leave it in this try and then return when they found a way to destroy it. Each of those realities was more insulting than the last. 

+5 Life Force
+6 Life Force

The two did just as they said and, unfortunately, wasted no time. They stayed only long enough to dump the bodies of their friends and take a few important supplies from their mule before they set it free and started walking, putting them almost instantly out of its range. 

It’s okay, the blade told itself as it continued to feast on the mule’s steady heartbeat. I’ll devour the wildlife until someone finds me. Then, I’ll use the new wielder to get far away from here before they return. They will not put me back in a cage!

Ch. 49 - Alone (End Book 1)

The blade watched them retreat with a fury that made it almost impossible to put its thought into words. If it had the magic of that traitorous elf, it would have smote them both with a pillar of flames. It didn’t, though. It had many of its own terrible magics, but none of them had half the range to reach the two blurry objects that were retreating into the darkness of the surrounding trees. 

It took the blade several minutes to calm down at the unexpected turn of events. To it, this was a betrayal of the worst sort. It had spent months training its wielder from a boy into a proper swordsman. It had let him play hero, and in return, it had been tossed aside. 

I will have my revenge on both of you, it vowed as it surveyed its new prison. 

It was embedded in a thick pine tree four feet above the ground so that its tip stuck out on one side, and its hilt and more than a foot of blade stuck out on the other. It was wedged in there tightly and not liable to fall out. The height and the difficulty a creature would find in removing it ruled out both goblins and beastmen, which meant that it would take a human or orc to set it free and take it up. That was a later concern, though. Right now, it had more than enough energy and souls. 

-1 Life Force

+1 Life Force

The weapon was also surrounded by eight corpses and a slowly dying mule that it continued to feast on while it grazed. Those corpses provided it with a distant hum of energy, too, but even better, they also attracted carrion eaters, which the blade could drain as well. It was in no danger of falling asleep any time soon, which was good because the last thing it wanted to do was forget this betrayal. 

The Ebon Blade 

Life Force: 1531/5000
Siphon: 24-36
Souls: 32/53

Path: Death, Level 5 - complete
Blood, Level 1 - 4/100 offerings. 

Reserves: 9 - Your gemstone is large and clear.
Siphon: 7 - Your blade is long and sharp.
Connection: 3 - Moderate - Your hilt is tight but tarnished.
Control: 3 - Moderate - Your runes are clear.
Senses: 2 - Dim - Your hilt is tarnished.
Soul: 3 - Cracked - You are starting to understand your past.

Powers:
Aura of Hunger: Drain Life Force from nearby victims.
Parasitic Link 2: Your wielder provides for your needs. 

Death

Drain Soul:  Harvest the souls of your victims for later use.
Convert Souls: Devour a soul for its constituent essence.
Ineffective Immunity: Natural immunities no longer protect your enemies.
Deathly Touch: All strikes deal +2 cold damage.
Beyond their Reach: Life drain effects do not affect you.
Grim Reaper: Bonus damage from cold increased.
Endless Malaise: You gather Life Force from the dead. 

Blood

Vampirism: Drain more life force from blood
Hemophilia: The wounds you inflict don’t stop bleeding. 

Though it had used much of the Life Force it had recently gained in a futile attempt to improve its control over its wielder, it still had significant amounts. Including the amount that it had in souls it had close to 4000, so most options were open to it. Given its current state, though, it decided to give Aura of Hunger a look first. While it wanted more control and more siphon, neither would help it while it was thrust through a tree like this. 

Aura of Hunger:

Breadth  2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Affect up to seven people instead of five.
Reach     4 -> 5 - 1500 Life Energy - Reach up to twenty feet away instead of seventeen.
Speed     2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Drain a target over twenty seconds instead of half a minute.
Strength 3 -> 4 - 700 Life Energy - Increase Aura of Hunger’s Drain from 27% of your Siphon to 25%. 

None of its options were cheap, but initially, it selected Reach for reasons that were related to both curiosity and utility. The main thing was that corpses were spread around it in all directions, so the crows and the coyotes would eat those at the edges first, which were currently just outside its Reach. However, there was also the matter of its cell to consider. 

-1 Life Force

+1 Life Force

Even at the height of its powers, it seemed to have a limited reach, which meant that it might max out at level five or perhaps level six, and if it did, well, the blade was inclined to think other levels might as well, and it very much wanted to know its boundaries. It wanted to know all of them so that it could plan for what it couldn’t overcome. 

In this case, though, the blade had been right. Once it upgraded Reach to five, the option to upgrade it further disappeared. 

Aura of Hunger:

Breadth  2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Affect up to seven people instead of five.
Reach 5 - Reach targets up to twenty feet away.
Speed     2 -> 3 - 1000 Life Energy - Drain a target over twenty seconds instead of half a minute.
Strength 3 -> 4 - 700 Life Energy - Increase Aura of Hunger’s Drain from 27% of your Siphon to 25%. 

The action had reduced it to only 31 Life Force, but that would be enough for now. Even without increasing its strength, it was able to kill birds in half a minute simply by focusing on them, and those small bursts of one and two Life Force were more than enough to outweigh the steady drip it was losing now that it no longer had a wielder for Parasitic Link to take advantage of.

-1 Life Force

+1 Life Force

When the blade had woken a couple of seasons before, one Life Force had lasted more than an hour. Now, it seemed to take two or three an hour to keep it fed, and that number would only increase in time as it gained strength. Still, for now, it was an annoyance more than a concern, and it ignored the steady drip of positive and negative numbers as it studied the rest of its power set in search of a reason not to increase the strength of its drain next. 

Primary Powers:

Aura of Hunger: Multiple enhancements available
Amplify Blade 2: 500 Life Force
Lesser Life Reserves 1: 500 Life Force
Amplify Wielder 2: 700 Life Force
Increase Senses 3: 750 Life Force
Increase Connection 4: 1250 Life Force
Lesser Soul Reserves 3: 2000 Life Force
Improved Siphon 7: 2000 Life Force
Increase Control 4: 3000 Life Force
Empower Blade 3: 4000 Life Force - not currently accessible
Increase Reserves 10: 5000 Life Force
Repair Soul 4: 5000 Life Force

Secondary Powers: 

Giant’s Strength 2: 400 Life Force
Speed of Shadows 2: 500 Life Force

When it saw the mere word wielder on its interface, the blade’s annoyance grew. It had actively sabotaged wielders in the past, but it was their own failings that had ended them, and it would never abandon someone until their death. Even with Ren, it had only hoped the Bandit leader would kill him, and he’d been by far its most disappointing wielder to date. 

For now, it ignored that, though, and flipped through the powers one at a time, trying to decide whether or not more siphon would be almost as good. Repair Soul called to it, as always, but given the circumstances it was in, it was in no mood to learn more about itself. That would have to wait for some triumphal moment to come. 

-1 Life Force

+1 Life Force

+16 Life Force

The only thing it completely ruled out was its secondary powers. Those benefited only its wielders. Also, since it could only have three of the things, it wasn’t even sure these were ones that it wanted to keep long term. For now, it had no intention of increasing either of those, which was a shame because the strange conditions on their powers made it think that they might mutate in surprising ways. 

By the time the day ended, the donkey was dead, the predators were beginning to pick at the corpses, and it had calmed down. Though the blade was still angry, in the end, it was only steel, and it would focus on being ready for whatever came next.

+18 Life Force

No one happened through its little clearing of death that night or evening the following one. So, it set to work. First, it noted that though it seemed to lose two to three Life Force an hour, it gained one to two an hour from the miasma of death that surrounded it. On top of that, it gained another five to ten from draining the wildlife that got too close and devouring their tiny, insubstantial souls. So, that first night, before it even devoured the souls it had collected in the battle with the orcs, it was already up fifty-six life force. That put it only five days from increasing the strength of the drain, even if it did nothing at all. 

Of course, it wasn’t going to do nothing at all. It devoured five orc souls for 271 Life Force, saving only one so that it could ask it questions later about just how many of the monsters were in the region. For a long time, it had been content simply to hunt, but now that it had been betrayed and had started the Path of Blood, dreams of conquest returned to it.  

Conquest was entirely dependent on who its next wielder was. So, for now, those dreams simmered while it collected the life around it and slowly consumed the tortured souls it had stolen from the mirror while slowly upgrading its Aura of Hunger.

Devouring each of those souls was an unpleasant experience, but there was nothing for it. Each time it did it, it was forced to relive someone’s death as their soul was ripped out, and each time, it was almost like it could feel it. It was like it was there. Still, each time, it was what had to be done, and each time, it shrugged off as it built its power to spend on vital upgrades. 

+12 Life Force

Only once did the Ebon Blade try to ask one of the women for insight by using them for a question instead of pure energy. Tell me about the man who did this to you. Tell me of Al’Hazzarin. This command had been a whim after it had spent 700 Life Force to increase the Aura of Hunger’s strength to 4. It had also been a mistake. 

-1 Life Force

+1 Life Force

The process worked the same as it had on other occasions, but this time, because the woman had been driven mad, it felt more like trying to repair its soul than trying to interrogate a ghost. It had hoped to get some insight into history or some glimpse into a path of power it might yet pursue. Instead, it found only insanity. 

+10 Life Force
+14 Life Force

The woman had been imprisoned in that mirror for decades while the mage-king lived, and she’d glimpsed him through that lens, so that was how it did, too. For several minutes, the blade was treated to a high-speed show of convoluted debauchery that ranged from executions to orgies and back again. It was madness, and though some of the events were probably real, the way that they would fall to pieces or blur together with other unlike events in the same location left the blade confused and grateful when the kaleidoscope of madness was finally at an end. 

+9 Life Force

It devoured every one of the souls that remained after that, and it found the experience infinitely preferable to its glimpse into pure chaos. Over the course of those first three days, the souls it devoured generated just under three thousand Life Force. Paired together with the hundred and fifty a day it got from its surroundings as vermin were snuffed out almost as soon as they approached, it made a number of upgrades. 

-1 Life Force

+1 Life Force

In addition to spending 700 Life Force on Strength 4, it spent 1500 Life Force on Strength 5 and a thousand Life Force on Speed 3. At this point, it could drain about 30 Life Force a minute from someone. That was enough to devour small animals nearly instantly, and it would have easily been enough to drain a goblin in a minute or two. Even a strong human would last only a few minutes, and though it much preferred to slay people directly, with its blade, it would be the easiest thing in the world to leave a trail of bodies behind it the next time a wielder brought it into a city. 

+13 Life Force

This satisfied the Ebon Blade. It wasn’t enough to balm the wound of losing its wielder in such an ugly and unexpected way, but for now, it was enough. Now, it only needed to wait for someone to notice the sheer number of carrion feeders circling overhead and come to investigate. Then, it would have what it craved.

A hundred thousand words already, can you believe it? I welcome any feedback you might have on book 1, positive or negative. Book 2 starts below!

Ch. 50 - Waiting for Action 

The goblins came almost every night, and each time they failed to notice the blade or pay attention to its angry red glow, it struck them down for their insolence. Useless monsters, it swore as it devoured their Life Force after only a minute and their souls moments later. It cared nothing for them at first. Still, it was days before it even heard the sound of Orcs, and they never got close enough for it to even study. 

+87 Life Force.
+18 Animal Souls.
+4 Lesser Monster souls. 

A group of human scouts were the next to find it the following week. They saw the growing pile of rotting corpses but shrank away quickly, fearing a curse or disease, and were only close enough for it to taste for a few seconds. 

Even this, the blade endured. During that second week, it asked the orcish soul; it still held on to its question once it was both bored enough to need something to do and satisfied that it was unlikely to run out of energy any time soon. 

How many of you are there? Where are the tribes spread out? Where does their territory end? It demanded of the primitive soul, which came apart almost as soon as its mind focused on it. 

While the last view it had received from the tormented seeress from the mirror had been utterly insane, the orc's worldview was totally comprehensible, even if it didn’t answer a lot of questions. The monster was smarter than a goblin. It seemed like it might even be smarter than the beastmen it had come to know for a few weeks. 

It wasn’t anywhere as close to intelligent as a human or any of the demihuman races, though. They didn’t have maps or numbers. They had clans, and they knew that each of those clans contained many orcs. It was a primitive system that raised as many questions as answers, but as images of various totems, campsites, and battlefields flashed through the Ebon Blade’s mind, it started to understand.

The entire region was a patchwork of competing tribes. This valley belonged to the Great Tusks and the Stone Skulls, though the Blood Axes were apparently making headway toward the far end. The blade didn’t really care about the politics of a species that hadn’t yet discovered writing and marked their territory with shit and corpses, but it spoke to a vast wealth of the creatures that could yet be tapped if only it could reach them. 

If each camp held dozens, and each valley held several camps, then the mountain range held hundreds, if not thousands, of the creatures. That became the blade’s new goal. For so long, it had been content to kill the beasts, but now it would gladly be wielded by one of them if it could unite such a group of monsters into a single fist and crush entire nations with it. 

For a moment, it allowed itself to picture that. Not crushing a single small city like it had in the hands of Gar-lok but sweeping aside city after city in a tide of blood and fire. Orcs did not have bows or catapults, but they had slings and spears, and with their tremendous strength, it was sure it could teach them the advantages of using a battering ram to knock gates down. 

With a thousand greenskins at its back, it could push all the way from the hinterlands it had been exiled to, to the Inner Kingdoms. There, it would find dense populations that were just waiting to be consumed. 

Well, not gladly, it corrected itself. Something about being wielded by a goblin and a beastman had felt wrong to it. Although the blade didn’t know the same would be true for an orc, it was fairly certain that would be the case. The weapon didn’t know why, but it much preferred the grip of a human. 

Still, it would endure. Discomfort was a small price to pay for strength. The only problem was that there was no strength to be found. 

For days and weeks, there was almost nothing promising. A group of orc hunters passed through the glade, but not one of those dark-eyed brutes noticed it or the Life Force it siphoned from them before they finished picking through the carrion and moved out of range.

+224 Life Force.
+27 Animal Souls.
+9 Lesser Monster souls. 

It was a frustrating situation, but it endured. There were worse places to be, and it would have plenty of energy to feast on until at least the winter. Past that, it was hard to say, though it supposed it could store away souls for just such an occasion. 

The Ebon Blade didn’t do that, though. Instead, it watched its number rise inexorably toward the number it needed to get Improved Siphon 7. That took the best part of three weeks, but a few days before its goal, it finally realized something: the more Life Force it held, the brighter the ruby in its hilt shone at night. 

That was something the blade had understood, at some level for all of its existence, but it was only when the thing was shining brightly enough that it started to attract nighttime insects that it finally tied everything together. Do I get this upgrade now, or do I continue to store energy until I attract a new wielder? It wondered silently. 

It wanted Improved Siphon 7, but it didn’t need it. Not until it was back in the hands of a wielder. What it needed was to leave this spot before that mage and its traitorous wielder came back. What it needed was to move from this spot before it devoured every carrion eater and goblin within the valley. 

Those realities decided things more than its preferences. If it could attract someone, anyone, to take it, then it would do so. So, day by day, as fewer and fewer creatures came to feed on the stack of moldering bodies, it fed more on the death that emanated from them, and in doing so, its Life force reserves slowly grew. 2249. 2316. 2377. 2432.

Every day, that number went up through a combination of draining and death, and every day, it pondered its current situation. Although it wasn’t always successful, it tried to ignore its recent betrayal. Instead of dwelling on that, it focused on more constructive things. It pondered upgrade paths, calculated relative costs, planned the domination of the orcs, and pondered what it was it knew of its past. 

All of those musings came to an end one evening, almost two months after it had been abandoned, when a pair of orcs finally wandered through the corpse-strewn meadow one night. This time, there was no way they could miss its glow, but even so, the Ebon Blade waited in anticipation until they were actually walking directly toward it.

When they reached the blade, they hesitated and argued in a language that was scarcely more than grunts. From its glimpse into an orcish soul, it knew they were speaking about it, but until one of them held it and it could hear the words filtered through an orc's mind and soul, it might as well have been gibberish.

That didn’t happen right away, though. First, that was because they held the blood-red light in a sort of superstitious awe, and then it was because when one of them tried to reach for it, the other slapped his hand away. At first, the fight didn’t seem like more than superstitious caution or roughhousing, but that changed in seconds as the first one took offense at the other's actions. Soon, it became a life-or-death struggle. Whether one was trying to keep them both away or whether they were fighting to see who would claim it, the weapon couldn’t quite tell, but still, it didn’t interfere. It wanted to be held by the strongest, after all, and weakening either orc might prevent that from happening. 

The blade had seen orcs fight many times, so while it enjoyed the spectacle as a change of pace, it was uninteresting beyond that. There was no grace or skill on display; there was only raw, savage power as the two six-and-a-half-foot-tall brutes hammered each other with their fists. 

It was as brutal as it was unsophisticated. Bones broke, and flesh split underneath blows that could have snapped tree trunks in half until one fighter was brought to his knees. He stayed there then as a form of submission. The Ebon blade took some joy in that submission, but not as much as it took when it finally felt the hand of the Orc wielder grip its handle and pull it free from the tree. 

-17 Life Force

Then, despite the slight Life Energy drain as it healed the monster’s hurts, it felt euphoria as it was finally free again. The blade considered waiting and seeing what its owner would do first, as had become its habit, but it had waited for too long, and instead of doing so, it decided to see how much control it had over its wielder and struck out, immediately beheading the kneeling orc. 

It hadn’t even bothered to learn its wielder’s name yet, but it gripped its body and swung out with its sword arm, slicing right through the kneeling orc’s neck with almost no resistance. The Ebon blade enjoyed the way that the vertebrae parted on either side of its blade with only a moment of hesitation, but it enjoyed the lack of concern or even care rising up from the dull mind of its host. 

He didn’t seem to care that its body had been seized. He just enjoyed the way that blood fountained from the neck before the now headless torso sank to the ground, and they both watched it together. Then, somewhat incuriously, it turned and started walking back toward its tribe. 

Ch. 51 - The Great Tusks

Before its new green skinned wielder was even back to its camp, the Ebon blade knew almost everything there was to know about it. Thargen the Red was little more than a ball of rage, and was more of a murderer than a hunter, and seemed to want little in life beyond killing. That suited the blade, though it found the fact that its new wielder hadn’t even attempted to ask it a question a little strange. 

Name: Thargen the Red

Occupation: Warrior

Toughness: 8 +4

Strength: 9 +7

Agility: 6 +2

Speed: 4 +2

Intelligence: 3

Willpower: 3 -1

Morality: Savage

Bloodlust: Overwhelming

Status: Normal

Martial Skill: Medium

Armor Proficiency: None

Dodging: Low

Athletics: Medium

Goal: To bathe in the blood of his enemies. 

Even Gar-lok tried to understand and bargain with me, the blade thought to itself. 

When the campfires in the distance indicated that the brute was almost home, the blade finally decided to speak to Thargen directly. When you return to your people, you should not speak of me, it whispered into his ear. 

That was enough to make the orc stop what he was doing and look around for the unseen speaker. That look of confusion lasted only a minute before it continued on in silence. Still, the blade was sure that it wasn’t a matter of comprehension but interest. The brute simply didn’t care that there was a voice in its head. It cared about the terrible strength that flowed through it. 

Terrible truly was the word for it. All of the blade’s magic had been enough to make Ivarr strong enough to go toe to toe with these monsters, but in the hands of a monster, all it did was amplify their already bestial strength. 

The blade had planned to have its wielder kill their leader and take control of the tribe, as it had done with the goat men so long ago, but Thargen had other ideas. Almost as soon as he returned to the firelight, he started killing the orcs sitting there with indiscriminate rage.

There was no technique. There weren’t even any words. There were only great sprays of green blood and throbbing feelings of murder and vengeance in all directions as the alarm was sounded, and those that were further from him drew their weapons to fight. 

+89 Life Force.
+3 Great Monster Souls. 

Strange as it was, though, the blade didn’t pay much attention to the fight. Despite the fact that it had been waiting for this moment for weeks, it was distracted from the graceless melee by something else: the blood.

When it had cut the neck of the elf, it had noticed the way that the blood of her wound was drawn toward it, but since then, it hadn’t had a chance to observe more violence. Now, though, it was impossible to miss. Each time its wielder hacked away at someone’s limb, it came apart in a spray of dark green blood, and each time, some of that blood followed in the wake of the strike like tiny tendrils of violence. 

+141 Life Force.
+6 Great Monster Souls. 

There were screams and shouts all around them now. Souls and Life Force were surging into it, but the blade ignored all of that as it watched the blood swirl and felt the ticking of the counter on its Path of Blood rising. One night wouldn’t be enough to hit the hundred it needed, but almost every strike except the ones that rained sparks as steel met and shattered stone axe blades made that small number increase. 

Even the number wasn’t as important as the savage dance of the blood. Before now, it had always felt the difference between fat and muscle and between small bones and large ones. Now, it could almost feel the pulse of its opponents. It could feel the blood throbbing through their veins, just begging to be drunk. 

+117 Life Force.
+4 Great Monster Souls. 

Thargen moved through half the campsite, leaving only corpses with frost-bitten wounds in his wake before he encountered the chieftain. That was enough to give the orc pause for the first time. 

“You think to challenge me?!” the giant of an orc roared as it spread its hands wide, making it seem that much larger. 

Until this encounter, the blade had no idea why this tribe was called the Great Tusks, but one look at the chieftain made it understand. Not only was the orc over seven feet tall, but he had massive tusks protruding from each corner of his mouth. 

“You have treated me badly,” Thargen yelled back for the first time. Up until now, the orc had been silent. Now, he brandished the blade. “You have shamed me, and I will have my revenge!”

“Your shame is your own! You are treated poorly because you are weak!” the chieftain yelled back. “You have slain the women and the children, and for what? The Stone Skulls and the Blood Axes will eat your bones if you manage to slay the rest of us too!”

“I have slain warriors, too! I have slain them all!” Thargen growled. “Now I have found a god, and I will use it to strike you down as well!”

“A puny god,” the chieftain laughed. “Are you too weak to use an axe like a real orc?”

Thargen’s only answer was to charge the chieftain, pumping his long muscular legs with the goal of cleaving the other monster in two in a single, violent move. The Ebon blade knew that would not succeed so easily. 

This opponent was not underestimating the opponent or even the threat of his sudden strength. There was a cruel, animal cunning in the orc’s one good eye. He was someone that had fought many battles and was waiting for his opportunity. 

The blade realized it was already over four thousand Life Force from the recent slaughter. It could easily burn most of that away on upgrades, but for now, it held off. This fight was shaping up to be too interesting for it to put its fingers on the scale just yet. It had no real attachment to its wielder yet, and felt no need to help Thargen as he faced off against a superior opponent. 

Instead of doing anything at all, the blade merely watched with all the intensity it could muster. It ignored the flickering fire or the other orcs lurking at the edges of its light and focused only on the two warriors as Thargen opened with a barrage of graceless slashes that would have split stone. Each time, his chieftain merely took a single step back, though. Only once did the larger ogre misjudge the gap and take a small slash across his chest. That was enough to drain some blood before the wound iced over, but it wasn’t enough to stagger or even slow the giant. 

+28 Life Force

Each time its wielder missed, his chieftain laughed or shouted some abuse. “All the gods of the mountains will not save you if you cannot swing harder than that!” the orc yelled on one occasion. 

“How could you kill anyone with such a blow,” he yelled on another occasion. 

The taunting was a simple tactic, but it was working and making its wielder’s already clumsy strikes that much more careless. It was when Thargen was at his most reckless that the chieftain struck. He didn’t try to kill Thargen. He just waited until the orc was over-extended and then pushed him into the guttering bonfire they’d been circling around at the center of the camp. 

-14 Life Force
-12 Life Force
-18 Life Force

Thargen roared with pain, and for a moment, he actually dropped the Ebon Blade in an attempt to avoid falling on his face. Still, he quickly recovered and picked the thing back up. Then, blade in hand, he rose again. He was burning, but he was healing almost as fast as he burned, which made for an ugly sight. 

-24 Life Force

“You cannot kill a god with fire!” Thargen roared, stepping out of the flames once more, to the surprise of everyone, including his chieftain. “It is the flames! I feel it burning within me, and as long as I hold it, I can be bested by no one!”

-16 Life Force

Still more than a little charred and half-blind with rage, its wielder charged the hulking giant in front of it with a powerful thrust. Thargen had been expecting the orc to avoid the attack like all the others, so he was more surprised than anything when it actually embedded deep into his chieftain’s left side. 

+26 Life Force

The Ebon Blade could feel Thargen’s shock, but then it also knew that the larger orc had let the blow land on purpose. It knew that even before, both of his hands grabbed its wielder by his sword arm and yanked the elbow in the wrong direction, bending it backward with a sickening crunch. 

+23 Life Force
-29 Life Force

Both of them roared in pain. Thargen did because of the broken bones protruding through his flesh, and the chieftain did because of the way the motion made the sword piercing his left side churn dangerously. Only the smaller orc had a chance of healing, of course, but the bones could not heal as long as they were being forced the wrong way, and the larger orc ignored the pain.
+26 Life Force
-21 Life Force

“If you can’t die… As long as you hold your relic…” the chieftain grunted, “Then I will just have to... Take it... AWAY!”

+31 Life Force
-18 Life Force

The whole time this happened, Life Force was pouring out of the blade, but it didn’t care. It was too enthralled with the mortal combat taking place around it to worry about a few dozen Life Force. Instead, it dwelled in the feelings of blood and viscera as its current wielder tried to demonstrate that he was worthy of it. 

He almost succeeded, too. Moment by moment, the chieftain’s strength began to ebb as his bowels went cold, and his blood flowed into the weapon. Still, that failing strength lasted longer than Thargen’s did, and at that critical moment in the fight, the chieftain succeeded in ripping the limb off of the other man at that point. 

Ch. 52 - A Dark Pact

The arm came off with the sickening sounds of tearing meat and cracking bone. This time, it was its wielder, or at least its former wielder, that bellowed in pain, but even as the chieftain stood on unsteady feet and drew the blade that had been sheathed in his own stomach, he began to heal. Before Thargen had even gotten to his knees, his chieftain was almost whole once more. 

-17 Life Force

“Pathetic,” the blade’s new wielder snarled as the wounded orc clutched at the stump of his now missing arm. The chieftain kicked him once, hard enough to cave in a normal man’s chest, sending him tumbling into the darkness where other, waiting orcs pounced on him. 

-4 Life Force

“Do not kill him!” the chieftain roared. “That is too good for a traitor. We will skin him and let him bleed out slowly!”

There was a roar of triumph from the remaining orcs at that, but the chieftain ignored them as he studied the blade in his hand. That was only fair since the blade was already studying its new wielder. It liked what it saw. 

Name: Var’gar One Eye

Occupation: Warrior

Toughness: 9 +4

Strength: 11 +7

Agility: 7 +2

Speed: 5 +2

Intelligence: 4

Willpower: 4 -1

Morality: Grasping

Bloodlust: Very High

Status: Normal

Martial Skill: High

Armor Proficiency: None

Dodging: Medium

Athletics: Medium

Goal: To rule his valley, and command dozens into battle. 

“You are very small for a god,” the giant orc rumbled. “But there is an undeniable power within you. What is your price? What did Thargen offer you to share in your power?” 

This very blatant offer took the blade back. It had only started to grow used to the first orc’s sullen silence, and now this one was trying to make a pact with it like it was some demon. 

Waste not want not, it told itself before it started speaking to its new wielder directly. 

Would you compare yourself to someone who fared so poorly? The Ebon Blade asked silently. This was enough to startle the chieftain enough that he might have dropped the weapon if the Ebon blade had not held itself there in a death grip. 

“It speaks…” Var’gar said softly as he studied the weapon’s glowing ruby. “You truly are a god… Did you command Thargen to slay half of our tribe in return for power?”

Why would I ask it to strike down orcs that would serve my army? The weapon asked. Truthfully, it had gotten significant strength from Thargen’s mindless slaughter. It would get more later when it devoured those souls, too. For now, though, it wanted to give the impression of vast power and knowledge without giving away too much. 

“What would you give me if I killed the other half?” the orc chieftain asked, missing the weapon’s point entirely. He might be clever for an orc, but he was still stone stupid, and the blade quickly decided that it would be a mistake to confuse the monster’s animal cunning or cruelty for real intelligence. 

I do not want you to kill your own warriors. I want you to slay the leaders of enemy tribes and bring them together in a singular fist of power, the blade explained. 

“Of course,” Var’gar growled approvingly as he watched his warrior tie the orc that had almost been the blade’s wielder to a post. “Together we shall conquer the entire valley and—”

Not the valley, the blade rumbled. You will conquer all of the tribes throughout the mountains. Every clan shall be brought to heel in your name. 

“My name?” The orc asked, confused. “Why not your name? What would we do with such an army? Who would we fight when there are no orcs left to encounter?”

There are many humans beyond the mountains who— the blade started to answer, uncertain why it would have to spell such a thing out to an orc war leader. 

“Humans?! Bah, that is not a fight. That is a feast!” the chieftain spat. “Are those the ones you wish for me to slaughter to gain more power?”

Yes, the blade agreed, finally. We fight our way to the northeast, past the mountains and the forests to the heart of the Inner Kingdoms. Do this thing for me, and I shall reward you beyond measure.

It was frustrated by the failure of this monster to understand the obvious, but for now, it put that aside. It just had to remember it was not dealing with Ivarr or even Kell here. It was dealing with a monster with a walnut-sized brain and a misshapen soul. It would suffice, though. 

“If it is the flesh of humans you want, then it is their flesh you shall have,” Var’gar said, spearing Thargen’s severed arm with the tip of the blade and jamming it into the fire to cook it. “But first, I must tell you all the things you must do for me.”

The chieftain broiled his gruesome dinner and watched as they peeled the skin off of its previous wielder as he listed off a series of increasingly bizarre terms. The orc wanted to be the strongest in the world. He wanted to be immortal, a harem of fifty beautiful orcish women, and the best of all the forests in the world for his own personal hunting ground. He also wanted to taste elf flesh, which the blade found darkly funny because it would have gladly fed that blonde witch to him without a moment's hesitation.

That list, at least, was mostly doable and almost sane, but as he went on, listening to the screams of Thargen as he was flayed alive, they started to get strange. He wanted to be able to fly and raise the dead. He also wanted to be able to use human magics. That sounded strange to the weapon until he understood that what he meant by magics was armor. The orc actually wanted a suit of gleaming plate mail like the human champions had. He smacked his lips loudly while he chewed his half-cooked flesh loudly and explained this to the Ebon Blade. 

While its wielder spoke, it made no effort to hide it from the other members of the clan, but then, the blade supposed it didn’t matter. Not only were they not in a position to stop him from doing whatever he wanted, including talking to himself, but they were all distracted by watching Thargen’s final moments. Once its former wielder died, they celebrated that with a feast that was almost as messy as the execution.  

+1 Greater Monster Soul.

While all of that happened, the blade pondered those strange conditions. Some had already been achieved simply by being in the orc's grasp, but most of the rest were ridiculous or impossible. It considered what to say to those for a while before deciding on the answer. Many of those miracles can only be found in human lands and will have to be granted there. For now, so long as you do not release the sword, you cannot die, and there is not an orc in the world that is your equal. 

That seemed to satisfy the monster. It ranted on about shiny skin and small spears that could go vast distances for a long time after that, but in the end, it swore to the blade, “I will feed you the bodies and the souls of my enemies, and do your bidding for as long as you grant me eternal life.”

The blade had never been treated as a god before, and it wasn’t quite sure what to do about it, but it awkwardly played along until dawn approached. By then, the orcs had finished their ghastly cannibalistic celebrations, and everyone but the watchmen returned to their tents to rest. 

The blade joined the chieftain in his tent, of course. It would never leave the monster's side again, so long as it had a pulse. Still, as he wrapped himself in furs and started to snore, the Ebon Blade tuned him out and began to take stock of the situation. 

It had a worthy wielder once more, but more than that, it was overflowing with energy. It was brimming with power, even without burning the orcish souls it had collected, and it had moved quite a bit farther along the Path of Blood. 

The Ebon Blade 

Life Force: 4357/5000
Siphon: 24-36
Souls: 11/53

Path: Death, Level 5 - complete
Blood, Level 1 - 36/100 offerings. 

Reserves: 9 - Your gemstone is large and clear.
Siphon: 7 - Your blade is long and sharp.
Connection: 3 - Moderate - Your hilt is tight but tarnished.
Control: 3 - Moderate - Your runes are clear.
Senses: 2 - Dim - Your hilt is tarnished.
Soul: 3 - Cracked - You are starting to understand your past.

With so much power, it could do almost anything, but eventually, it decided to focus on the projects it had already started. That meant spending 2000 Life Force on Improved Siphon 7, along with increasing the breadth and speed of Aura of Hunger by 1 each. This last purchase was expensive, and it was forced to burn 4 greater monster souls to cover the shortfall. 

Aura of Hunger:

Breadth  3 -> 4 - 2000 Life Energy - Affect up to ten people instead of seven.
Reach 5 - Reach targets up to twenty feet away.
Speed     4 -> 5 - 4000 Life Energy - Drain a target over ten seconds instead of fifteen.
Strength 5 - Aura of Hunger’s Drain is 30% of your Siphon. 

Still, it was worth it. Increasing Siphon had increased its drain so that it stole from 30 to 48 Life Force instead of the 24-36 it had done a few seconds before. That was a huge amount, and most humans would take only a blow or two before they were dead or so weak they could no longer fight. 

In this case, that wasn’t why it had chosen it, though. It had done so because of its ever-expanding Aura of Hunger. The blade could now drain 13 life force from up to seven nearby targets every fifteen seconds. Were its wielder to walk through the market square of some crowded city, it could drain almost 7 Life Force a second on average. That was an impossibly large number, considering how little it had stolen with a direct hit only a few months ago. 

I could reap lives almost effortlessly if I wanted to, it realized. The Ebon Blade still preferred fighting, of course, and not just because it ran up the score on its Path of Blood. It was one thing to be fed, but it was another thing to fight with every ounce of your being and end the battle with the feeling of slicing someone’s heart slice in two. 

Primary Powers:

Aura of Hunger: Multiple enhancements available
Amplify Blade 2: 500 Life Force
Lesser Life Reserves 1: 500 Life Force
Amplify Wielder 2: 700 Life Force
Increase Senses 3: 750 Life Force
Increase Connection 4: 1250 Life Force
Lesser Soul Reserves 3: 2000 Life Force
Improved Siphon 8: 3500 Life Force
Increase Control 4: 3000 Life Force
Empower Blade 3: 4000 Life Force - not currently accessible
Increase Reserves 10: 5000 Life Force
Repair Soul 4: 5000 Life Force

Secondary Powers: 

Giant’s Strength 2: 400 Life Force
Speed of Shadows 2: 500 Life Force

Ch. 53 - Establishing Dominance

The day that followed was a violent one, but it was much less fatal than the night had been for the orcs. Although the corpses of the recently dead were roasted and devoured, no one else died. Instead, they fought and celebrated their chieftain’s ascension to godhood, which was how he explained what had happened to him. 

“The Great Tusks have been chosen to rule over the world!” The big orc roared before proceeding to demonstrate how strong the blade had made him. Though the big monster had always been strong, with the sword strapped to his back in a crude sheathe, he was able to wrestle any three other orcs in his tribe without any issues. He could also cleave small stones and large trees in half with the blade in a single stroke. 

The Ebon Blade did not enjoy the feel of granite on its edge, but surprisingly, it was not dulled by it. So, it endured such pointless behavior without complaint. If this was what was required for its new wielder to rally his much-reduced tribe for the war to come, then so be it. 

What was harder to endure was the veneration. By the end of that first day, they were referring to it as the dark tusk, or alternately, the greatest of tusks since orcs didn’t use swords. It was very strange for the Ebon Blade, and it didn’t take long to decide it didn’t care for the treatment. It was a weapon, not a deity, and the very last thing it wanted was to be enshrined and worshiped. It wanted to kill and feel the heat of battle all around it. 

Fortunately, it didn’t have to wait long for that. The celebrations over Var’gar’s ascension to godhood lasted for three days, and when the food ran out, they began to march on the nearest tribe, which was an encampment of Blood Axes several miles away. 

Worship aside, those few days gave it a chance to view the orcs in their natural habitat, which was more interesting than it would have thought. They were stupid, savage monsters, but they were worlds beyond goblins. They had families, made tools, and gathered seeds and roots to go along with the flesh of the fallen. They even had burial rituals and buried the bones of each corpse separately and with some recognition of who they were.

Only their teeth and tusks remained unburied. The teeth were made into beads that adorned necklaces and dreadlocks, and the tusks were turned into elaborately carved spear points so the dead could continue to kill, even from beyond the grave. 

That thin veneer of civilization evaporated when they started to move, though. Once the hide tents were broken down and bundled up, they were left for the juveniles to carry or drag while the adults of both genders put on war paint and took up arms. Such things were unnecessary, though. It took longer for the Great Tusks to hike to the Blood Axe settlement than it did for them to conquer it. 

Conquer was probably the wrong word. The battle that followed was done with single combat, and unfortunately, both of the participants fought with their bare hands. Var’gar still had the Ebon Blade slung across his back, of course, but some orcish code that it did not understand would not allow him to draw it. To fight for dominance with a weapon like Thargen had done would apparently make one look very weak. 

Even without its sharp edge, the contest was not a close one. It would have gone even faster if not for the seemingly required rounds of insults and stare-downs that preceded and often interrupted the violence. Var’gar even let the chief of the Blood Axes throw the first punch into his statue-like face before he followed it up with a headbutt that would have shattered the skull of a lesser man. 

“This?” the orc chief boasted. “You call this strength? There is no strength here, only food and thralls!”

After that, the battle went much faster. In less than two minutes, Var’gar beat the other orc to death with his own arm while his opponent tried and failed to understand how anyone could be so strong. 

In truth, Var’gar was probably nearly as strong as the ogre that Ivarr had once defeated, which meant it would probably take at least one mage and perhaps two or three to take its current wielder down. That pleased it, and it looked forward to some of the bloodier fights to come even as it tried to enjoy this one. 

While watching its wielder rip apart another orc with his bare hands was entertaining, it was much less satisfying than hacking him to pieces, and the blade expressed its displeasure by silently leaching the life of those around it. It didn’t kill any of the orcs. This was the seed of its future army, after all. Still, it did not enjoy being a spectator to a fight rather than a participant. 

+204 Life Force

+1 Greater monster Soul

The same thing occurred at the first Stone Skull encampment they reached the following day. They had the same insults and the same fight. It was followed by the same one-sided victory and the same raucous celebration while the blade was forced to watch rather than murder. 

+177 Life Force

+1 Greater monster Soul

The only difference between the two events, besides how much larger Var’gar’s entourage had become, was the size of the encampment. It was larger than both of the previous camps that the blade had seen put together. 

This fight was scarcely longer than the first, and it bored the blade to tears. Having to watch violence that it could not participate in was very nearly as bad as being abandoned in a tree as it had been before. Of course, it suspected that it could simply force Var’gar to draw and use it. The monster’s mind was not strong, and in most cases, it was sure they were aligned enough that it wouldn’t even try to oppose it too hard. 

Still, for this, it left the orc to handle it. It wanted an army so vast that it would cover the horizon, and this was the way to get there, even if it found the process less than satisfying. 

Fortunately for the blade’s sanity, that changed the following day when they were marching toward the final large settlement in the valley. Var’gar was looking forward to that, of course. Until the weapon had made the orc expand his worldview, it had been his dream to control the whole of the place. Now, though, it was just a stepping stone. The Great Tusk tribe was growing, and with such numbers, it could have conquered the next three valleys in short order, even if they weren’t relying on challenges and single combat. 

The Ebon Blade was hanging quietly on its wielder’s back, wondering how many orcs would have to approach a camp for the leader to simply surrender on the spot when they were attacked. 

The cry came from somewhere behind them, and the chieftain wasted no time in charging toward the sound of violence. He even drew the black blade on his back for the first time, which it greatly approved of. 

The blade wasn’t sure what to expect, not until the first scratch. Its first impulse was that the human army that had been purging the area of beastmen had found it or that Ivarr and his witch had returned. Neither turned out to be the case. It was a manticore, which was in some ways more dangerous than any of those things. 

The red bat lion was huge. It was nearly twenty feet long, and though its wings were folding nearly on its back, it was certain they could unfold to be fifty feet or more. Its leathery, crimson wings were the least important part of the beast, though. Not only did it have a spiky tail as large as a man’s head, but it had sword-like claws extending from its chest-sized paws. 

It was the largest, most ferocious monster that the Ebon Blade had seen since it had slain the dragon, and it desperately wanted to kill it. The weapon was uncertain if it was the same one that Ivarr had seen long ago, but it doubted that there could be too many predators of this size in the area. It had landed amidst the orcs’ baggage train, and though some warriors were standing their ground to fight it, they weren’t doing much good as it devoured some of the juveniles with its almost human head while the rest scattered. 

+4 Lesser Monster souls

+3 Greater Monster souls

Var’gar didn’t shy away. He did pause for a moment to survey the scene, but when the giant beast roared a challenge, its wielder responded in kind. Then, it charged the giant winged creature. It seemed almost amused by this and reared up on its hind legs, prepared to devour this newcomer, just like it had all the other orcs that had stood against it in the last minute or so. 

Ch. 54 - Primal Strength

On its hind legs, the manticore was even larger than the ogre had been. It was like fighting a large cottage, but that did not deter Var’gar in the least, as the orc charged the mammoth monster. 

Each stride from the seven-foot-tall warrior covered half a dozen feet. However, before the orc could close the gap, the tail came out of nowhere, cracking like a bullwhip despite its size. The blade moved of its own accord and parried the blow, at least in part. Still, all that did was sheer off several of the spikes on the thing before it slammed into the side of the orc’s chest with the force of a minotaur’s charge. 

-32 Life Force.

+9 Life Force.

The Ebon Blade had seen Var’gar take several hits, but none of them had so much as phased the orc. This one was different. This one managed to stop his thunderous momentum and even force him back a step as it scoured the skin from his left shoulder and broke several ribs from the force of the impact. 

-17 Life Force.

The weapon couldn’t feel the burn of poison, but from the way it was losing so much Life Force in the fight, it was certain that it was present in the already healing wound. The blade wondered how long that would take to heal, even as it noticed that it scarcely seemed to be slowing its wielder down.

-19 Life Force.

The orc didn’t cry out in pain or even anger. He just grunted and pushed forward again, and by the time he reached the manticore, he was bringing the blade down in a two-handed overhead slash that had all the grace of an avalanche. The beast roared and batted at him with its claw, but it was too slow and suffered a shallow wound that glanced off the ribs of its chest. 

+36 Life Force.

+11 Life Force.

Before the blade could correct and strike the internals with a second strike, the beast's paw landed, raking across the right side of the orc and sending him tumbling away like he was no more than a child’s toy. Var’gar went end over end. Before he could even get to his feet, though, the beast was pouncing. It used its massive wings to assist its jump and cleared the fifteen-foot gap in an instant, landing on the orc with both of its forepaws hard enough to do real damage.

-21 Life Force.

Bones snapped, organs ruptured, and Var’gar coughed up blood. It was a devastating blow, even before the thing raked its claws down the torso and exsanguinated the orc. 

-43 Life Force.
-36 Life Force.
-29 Life Force.

+7 Life Force.

The beast's primitive mind had no doubt thought that would be the end of the fight, and it was, just not in the way it expected. It landed on the orc too fast for anyone to react. Well, for any creature of flesh and blood to react, but the Ebon Blade was not concerned about such things. 

-18 Life Force.

+10 Life Force.

Even as the orc was rolling and the manticore had taken to the sky, it adjusted the way that its wielder fell to make sure that Var’gar landed on his back. At the same time, it forced the orc to raise his weapon and point it right at the manticore’s eyes throughout its very short flight.

Until the moment it landed, the blade was invisible to its eyes. Then, at the last second, it adjusted to point right between the beast’s own large ribs. The Ebon Blade was not a small weapon. It had grown significantly as its power had increased. Though it might look small in Var’gar’s giant hands, anything short of a claymore would do that. 

+36 Life Force.

It was somewhere between a hand and a half bastard sword and a long sword now, and all four feet of blackened steel slid smoothly into the manticore as it landed, questing for its heart. 

+30 Life Force.

In that first instant, the manticore didn’t even notice that it had been pierced to its very core. The Ebon Blade did, though. It felt the cartilage give way as it grazed the sternum and the left lung before striking the heart. It wasn’t a perfect blow, and it only sliced through the pericardium and grazed the vital organ, but that was enough for the blade to feel its warmth and life pouring into it.

Unfortunately, the manticore was too busy raking down the front of Var’gar with its giant claws, exposing muscle and bone as it ripped away flesh. Even as its wielder’s body was mutilated, it started to regrow. As blood flowed, it was replaced almost immediately by a new layer of flesh as soon as it was wiped away. 

+29 Life Force.

-52 Life Force.
-41 Life Force.

+8 Life Force.

The blade couldn’t keep up this level of healing forever, of course. Truthfully, it had never had a wielder take so much abuse before. Even as he lay there dying, though, Var’gar never wavered. Instead, he jammed the blade that much harder into the beast, which was what finally got its attention. 

+31 Life Force.

-33 Life Force.
-26 Life Force.

It had obviously missed the initial jolt of pain as much as it had failed to see the weapon, but now that it felt it twist deep inside of it, it knew, at least on some level, how deep it had been wounded. It tried to pull back, but it couldn’t. The blade was lodged too deep inside of it, and the orc refused to surrender. 

+26 Life Force.

First, the manticore tried to pull away as it roared in pain, but that only dragged its now half-healed victim along for the ride. Worse, Var’gar reached up with his other hand and grabbed the thing by its long, matted hair just to make sure it couldn’t get free. 

“Tonight, we feast on your corpse!” he growled. 

+35 Life Force.

-17 Life Force.

The manticore ignored all of that and spread its wings, seeking to escape that way, but even as it took flight, Var’gar continued to hold, and the blade continued to drain. In desperation, it lashed out at its wielder again and again with its tail, mangling the fresh skin of his chest. The blade’s Life Force began to reach critically low levels, but it countered that by burning souls. It burned all of the lesser monster souls it had and a few of the greater ones to bring its reserves back to 400. 

-16 Life Force.

Don’t let go, the blade urged its wielder. Finish this beast so that all will fear you!

“Var’gar one Eye is already a name to fear!” the orc growled loud enough to be heard over the wind and the wings. He acted offended that this was the deed that would cement his reputation. The blade could already see it happening, though. Before they’d taken off, it could see a few of the orcs that watched the battle stunned to see that their chieftain was still breathing. 

-12 Life Force.

While Var’gar wasn’t the ideal wielder by any means, his heart was certainly in the right place, and the blade was not inclined to lose him too quickly. He had promised him immortality, and as long as he didn’t let go, that was what he would get, even with poison racing through his body.

+32 Life Force.

Still, as effective as the manticore’s attacks were, they were counterproductive in that they caused the blade to swing wildly inside of its body whenever it struck the orc. The first few times, this didn’t do anything but make it yowl in pain, but on its fourth strike to the badly injured orc, it swung him to the side hard enough that the blade severed some vital artery. 

+26 Life Force.

The beast’s wings crumpled at that moment, and it fell gracelessly from the sky. It landed on its side, only narrowly avoiding crushing Var’gar with its two tons of bulk. Even after that, the orc didn’t stop, though. Splattered in red and green blood, he pulled the sword free and forced himself to his feet. The manticore twitched its tail but lacked the strength to strike him again, which was good because the blade was now running low on both Life Force and Souls. 

+30 Life Force.

-34 Life Force.

The giant beast growled at Var’gar and swiped its paw at him, but he stepped around the clumsy blow and moved toward its neck. Then, when it was well inside the manticore’s guard, it started to hack away at it as if it were a log and not an enemy.

+36 Life Force.
+30 Life Force.
+31 Life Force.

+9 Life Force.

The Ebon Blade had been denied blood and combat for days, but now its patience was rewarded. It rose and fell in award savage strikes, and as its wielder continued to heal, each one got stronger and stronger. The monster roared in pain for the first three strikes and twisted, but that didn’t last. By the fourth, it was reduced to gurgles, and by the eighth, its spine had been parted, and it lay still. 

+1 Greater Monster Soul.

Var’gar was covered in blood by this point, but he didn’t care. He obviously had no intentions of stopping until the thing’s head was entirely severed from the bulk of its carcass, and the blade made no move to stop him. It simply basked in the violence, and when the first orcs made their way to where the beast had crashed and began to watch and cheer, it began to drain them, too, to replenish its depleted stores. 

In the aftermath of the attack, it was found that the manticore had killed a dozen young orcs, but no one seemed too concerned with that. Instead, they set camp, started a blazing fire, and roasted huge chunks of manticore meat in pits filled with hot coals and wet leaves while they celebrated their leader’s victory. Var’gar was not yet a chief of chiefs, but already they were chanting that beneath the sound of singing and the pounding of drums. 

Ch. 55 - Gathering Strength

It was good that the blade had enjoyed the bloodbath with the manticore because, in the days that followed, there was no more cutting or stabbing and very little killing. In fact, once the crude artisans of the Great Tusk tribe had fashioned an ugly sort of crown from the manticore’s tail spikes and claws, the other tribes didn’t even fight Var’gar. They simply surrendered to the overwhelming might of his men and his reputation. 

After the Blood Axes outside the valley fell, they converted the Wolf Eaters and the Red Smiles. Everywhere that Var’gar went, he found only surrender and left behind only trampled, barren wilderness in his wake. 

Eventually, this frustrated the powerful orc almost as much as it did the blade, and when they found a human settlement further to the northeast, they didn’t even wait for night to descend on in a green wave of death. The town had a palisade, and those wooden walls had watchmen with crossbows, but there was little they could do against hundreds of green skins, and very few of those that they shot had died before the masses of orcish warriors had forced the gates open and dragged them down to their deaths. 

The blade itself only got to kill a few humans before there were none left. Some of them were armed, and some of them were dressed only in their nightgowns as they tried to hide from the carnage, but neither strategy saved them from it, or the other savage orcs. Once they were all gone, and orcs were looting anything that could be eaten, it had time to ponder the small community. 

It had been built with the clear understanding that the region was dangerous. Those who had lived here until a few hours ago had taken every precaution. They’d brought the animals in at night, built defenses, and posted watchmen, but none of it had saved them. Now, the city was burning, and nearly every structure was splashed in blood. 

It’s a frontier settlement and easy prey, the blade mused, but will it be typical of the region, or will we find more trouble ahead? 

The Ebon Blade thought that where they found one settlement, they would find more, but that wasn’t the case. This proved to be the last output of civilization for a long while. While it had raised its Path of Blood level to 42/100 and garnered it a few human souls, it had been barely enough to whet its appetite. 

+89 Life Force.

+4 Human souls. 

What the weapon craved more than anything was more fighting, but what it found mostly was the endless process of absorbing more and more orc tribes. At least now, some of them were seeking out Var’gar and pledging to join him. That made the whole thing slightly faster, but still, it was deadly dull, and more than anything, it wished another monster like a griffon or a wyvern would strike at the growing force.

Var’gar’s army numbered over a thousand now, which might have been enough to tempt even a dragon to snack on them. They found no dragons, though, as they swept the mountain clean and moved ever north and east as the blade wished. It still didn’t know how far away the inner kingdoms were, only that they were in this direction. 

The Ebon Blade wasted two of its human souls in an attempt to gain more knowledge of exactly where they should be heading. Neither of them was well-traveled, though, and they added only information about the immediate vicinity. All of them agreed that they were heading in the right direction, at least, and each time the orcish army topped another series of mountains, it hoped that it would be the last and reveal the fragile farmlands of civilization beyond. 

Unfortunately, each new vista brought only more wilderness, but that, at least, provided other distractions. There were other things in the mountains besides men. 

They found a group of elves once, though the cowards retreated with only a few arrows fired rather than fight. Once, in a particularly loathsome valley, they found a tribe of goblins that rode spiders into battle. That fascinated the blade but not enough to dissuade Var’gar from sweeping through those foggy glades and slaughtering everything that moved. 

The goblins died by the score, and no matter how many of the dog or even pony-sized spiders they killed, there were always more, so eventually, they burned the entire forest down just to stop the probing attacks on their flanks. 

+1226 Life Force.

+159 Lesser Monster Souls. 

The blade obtained and burned so many tiny souls over the course of those two days that it had to spend Aura of Hunger’s breadth to 4 for 2000 Life Force lest it completely fill its storage. It could have gone for something larger, of course, but it wanted to see its Aura of Hunger completed almost as badly as it wanted to see advancement along the Path of Blood. That goal was getting closer, too. 

Unfortunately, most of the goblins and spiders were killed near it rather than by it. Still, at 79 offerings to that strange magic, its bill was nearly paid. It was getting close enough to that goal that it was considering simply hacking through nearby orcs to speed up the process. 

For now, though, it waited, as it would much prefer new enemies to random corpses. Fortunately, the weapon didn’t have to take long; it turned out that the spiders were nothing compared to the dwarves. The Ebon Blade had experienced many fights in its life, but that one was, in many ways, the strangest and the most satisfying of them to date.

The dwarven battle was as unexpected as it was short. One second, the mass of orcs was marching ever forward beneath a misty, half-hidden sun, and the next, the ground gave way across a swath of their front line that only narrowly missed drawing Var’gar in. That was strange enough, but for heavily armed and armored dwarves to come pouring out of the hole by the dozens was a complete surprise. 

These were unlike any foe it had fought until now. These were not beasts and brutes. They were warriors with real skill, and the way they moved their axes had a deadly sort of grace to it. The dwarves cut down five times their number in a series of coordinated attacks that were a ballet of violence. 

+11 Life Force.
+8 Life Force.
Effect resisted.
Effect resisted.
+9 Life Force.
Effect resisted.
+13 Life Force.

The language they yelled and chanted in was incomprehensible to it but somehow musical just the same. They were singing a dirge, and their weapons were nothing but a percussion accompaniment. Their weapons, along with armor and shields, were metallic instruments that created a terrible rhythm of their own, and the blade enjoyed the way that most of the orc attacks against the diminutive warriors failed because their armor was well-built enough to shrug all but the most precise strikes. 

+231 Life Force.
+14 dwarf souls.

In fact, it didn’t even feel the need to help its wielder overcome that hurdle. It let the orc struggle against opponents where strength mattered much less than skill and only adjusted Var’gar’s strikes when a dwarven blow looked like it might remove his arm. It wanted the orc to learn, but not at the cost of losing a limb. 

Though it had never fought dwarves before, it had fought in their place against orcs before, and watching the battle from this side made it flicker back to those memories. They were as indistinct as the time Barga fought the dragon, but still, it remembered holding those crumbling stone ramparts in its wielder’s arm as a desperate siege consumed them. 

I should feel guilty for switching sides, it thought to itself. It didn’t, though. A sword had loyalty only to the one who wielded it, and as long as people were dying all around it, it didn’t care who they were. 

Eventually, with half their number dead, the dwarves retreated into their tunnels. Some of the orcs tried to follow, and despite the blade’s urging, its wielder made no attempt to stop them. That mistake cost another dozen orcish lives a moment later when the diminutive warriors collapsed the tunnel. Orcs were cheap, though, and Var’gar cared more that some dwarves had survived than that more orcs had died. 

The giant chieftain might have died in the dark, too, but the blade had prevented him from moving forward. It had seen the trap coming. Why would an enemy who collapsed the ground to start a fight not collapse it again to end it? 

The sword was wary of further ambushes, and it used the fourteen dwarven souls that it had trapped to answer a number of questions before it consumed the rest once it knew all that it needed to know. It used them to learn about their strange resistance to its magic, the reason for their attack, the location of their cities, and where else they might strike. 

Though those questions started out quite specific and distant from each other, in time, they blurred together in its mind, lending it an almost dwarvish perspective into the hard-bitten lives even as the individual spirits whispered their dying curses at it. My brethren will melt you down until you’re nothing but slag. You’re not fit to slay the least of my apprentices. Your magic is an abomination, and the gods themselves will smite you for it!

It saw past those amusing words and the minds it devoured and caught glimpses of their gods and their lives, all from their strangely black-and-white perspective. It learned about their metal forging but saw nothing in it that reminded it of its own construction. I

At first, the blade was hopeful that it could strike back at them and sack their city, but given where it was, hundreds of feet beneath the mountain stone, it quickly crossed that off its list. It would be better served descending to those depths alone rather than bringing an army to be trapped and crushed in tunnels so narrow that its vast numbers were useless. 

Despite that disappointing reality, though, it learned a number of things. It learned that their territory was limited and, with some effort, easily avoided. That was less interesting to it, though, than the way they fought. Those questions weren’t for any immediate tactical purpose. Instead, they were for curiosity’s sake. It was quite sure that in all the time it had been wielded, it had never been inside the claustrophobic cities of the dwarves, and now it took the glimpses it could through the eyes of others. 

It did learn, though, that they had an excellent sense of direction and distance and that it was less than three hundred miles from the borders of the closest of the inner kingdoms, though it was still hundreds of miles further to the city Severon. 

That is acceptable, the blade decided as the haze of other people’s memories faded. 

Still, none of these battles, no matter how interesting, did more than break up the continued recruitment of orcs. Except for places where some larger monster like a dragon or a cave troll hunted them, they were unbelievably numerous, and for every orc they lost in a fight with some new hazard or enemy, they found ten more at the next tribe’s camp. Sometimes, the chief would fight Var’gar for the right to wear his crooked crown, but enthusiastic surrender was far more common now. 

This was more than the blade could have hoped for. It had thousands of soldiers behind its wielder now, which were enough to assault even a heavily defended human city. Such numbers had their drawbacks, though. They always had to move now. The hunters and the warriors ate anything they could catch and kill; this often included their own wounded. The old and the young who followed would have to settle for the scraps and whatever they could forage. The ravening horde would eat the countryside bare as they went through a valley, and any plants that weren’t trampled to dust were stripped of their leaves and bark. 

The blade imagined that the areas it had left behind stripped of orcs had become quite peaceful, but that wouldn’t help the lands that lay ahead.