Sen

He brought the equivalent of a magical hammer down onto the demonite ore on his forge. This was, of course, the forge room of Brightsail Academy, but so much of his authority flowed through it right now that it would be wrong to call it anything other than his. Demonite was hard to work with, and even standing in its presence reminded him of the muted but consistent pain one felt on the Shadowhell continent. The price of power. There was always a price, even if most didn’t realize it. It was a price he wondered if Samara would be able to pay.

A baby mana axolotl sat on his shoulder. He’d named it Xochi. The small axolotl watched curiously as Sen worked on the forge. Samara watched as well, dabbing at the sweat on her forehead. “Forge is hot today. I’ve taken a few of Sikar’s classes, but it’s never felt like this.” 

Sen looked over his shoulder to glance at her. Only for a moment, he couldn’t lose concentration here.

“That’s the ore. When you’re carrying this weapon, it will always feel like this,” he warned her. 

He’d explained this already, but the gravity of it hadn’t hit her yet. A thousand years ago, knowledge of demons was more common, but he’d successfully suppressed them to the point they were only just now becoming an issue for the world again. He wondered what gave them the confidence. 

Perhaps the audacity to imagine he wouldn’t keep his promise. 

He wished he’d been able to see the God of Demon’s face when he realized the God of Magic had reappeared in the world. 

The ore started to take shape. The blade was similar to the one Samara already carried, but its weight would be heavier, and its power even more so. If she could handle it, it would elevate her in the same way the staff he’d made for Milim would. The staff still sitting in his temporal world. He grimaced, but kept working.

Samara surprised him by standing beside him. He quirked a brow. 

She shrugged. “Well, seems like I have to get used to it then. Might as well start now. Our friends can’t afford for me to sit around and whine and complain about something like this.”

He nodded to her. This wasn’t something most people could get used to, but her will was impressive. He redoubled his efforts, infusing his will into the sword. It finished taking shape, and he smiled at his work. The blade’s hilt was covered in a slithering dragon, like a snake with wings. Its jaw opened up, and the blade rose from it, as if the dragon was spitting metallic fire in a slash towards its enemies. The blade itself was a two-handed great-sword like the one Samara was used to carrying. She’d need to adjust to the additional weight and power of this high-grade weapon, but it would serve her well.

 “Do you have an elemental preference?” Sen asked. 

Samara dumped stat points into strength quite often, but she hadn’t neglected her magic either. Still, it was rare to see her use it. If she had a clear preference, he would’ve infused the weapon already. When she fought with him, Milim, and Ill, her control and dominance with a sword was the best way for her to contribute. Wreaking metallic havoc on the front lines. But a weapon could be further enhanced by imbuing an element within. 

“I like enhancements.” She thought for a moment. Running her hand along the blade of her new sword. “But what about this?” she asked.

Sen squinted. “What about what?” 

“This is how it feels for demons, right? In their home. This constant pain. Doesn’t it allow them to use more powerful magic? Can I do something like that?”

Sen blinked. A human using the power of the shadow hell continent.

[It’s possible. I’ll need to run some calculations, but we should be able to find a way. If you think she can handle it.]

“You realize what you’re asking?” Sen asked. 

Samara nodded. “I do. But if that’s the price of not getting stuck in some shelter while your friends fight for their lives, I’ll pay it. I’m never hiding like that again, Sen. If I had been with Milim then…” Her words trailed off.

That he resonated with. He felt the same way. “Alright.”

He slipped a high-grade essence sphere from his pocket. An enhancement essence. He had a few of these, and if he was being honest, they weren’t that valuable to him. He’d considered selling them, but now he was glad he hadn’t. His hybrid stats pushed him far beyond his own limits, and he could further enhance himself whenever he wished. 

The first modification of the blade would feed upon this sphere. The dragon on the hilt pried itself free and turned to look at Sen when it sensed his intentions. He held the sphere up, and the metallic dragon shot forward and devoured it before settling back into the sword. 

Samara jumped back. “What the—how often is it going to do that?” she asked.

Sen shrugged. “Whenever you have something to feed it.” Sometimes weapons and artifacts develop wills of their own. It wasn’t something you could force, but using high-grade materials certainly helped. His own shapeshifting weapon was an instrument that worked in accordance with his will. Milim’s weapon wouldn’t show its true nature until she bonded with it. But Samara’s new blade carried the will of a dragon. 

Apparently. 

He passed it off to her. After she bonded with it, he could devise a way to infuse the power of the shadow hell within it. 

Samara took the blade. As soon as Sen released his grip on it, it fell from her hands. 

Sen snatched it from the air with Encapsulation. “What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, staring at her hands in disbelief. “I just…I tried to grab it and it was like my body rejected it.” 

[She’s not compatible then. We should’ve tested things more before settling on this weapon.]

Samara had shown some promise initially. But the amount of demonite ore used to forge the blade, and filling it with portions of the soul of a greater demon with royal blood, had pushed its power far beyond what they’d tested. Whatever affinity Samara had wasn’t enough to handle a blade such as this. 

Sen tested its weight. He had a weapon of his own already, and he’d spent a valuable weapon mold on this. 

“I’ll try again,” she said, a hint of desperation in her voice.

[It rejected her once. If she insists upon it, it may try to kill her.]

Sen set the blade back on the forge. The dragon on the blade closed its eyes, and the pressure of the shadow hell lifted. Apparently, the aura faded when it slept. Though it was odd that a sword slept at all. 

“No, we’ll try something else,” Sen said.

Samara didn’t pry her eyes from the blade. “Sen, I want it. I want that sword.”

He stepped to the other side of the forge and grabbed two pieces of demonite ore. Perhaps he could try making a smaller weapon. A dagger that would allow her to get used to the feeling. If she developed her affinity with it, then there was a possibility her tolerance increased enough for the sword to recognize her. Actually…he had a better idea. The flames of the forge seized the ore and began readying it to form. It wouldn’t take long; he’d powered it enough to work with the ore already. This wouldn’t be a problem at all. 

[Master!]

Tutor’s warning came at the same time Sen’s senses screamed a warning.

Samara steeled herself, took two steps, and picked up the sword again.

“No!” Sen cried out, stretching out an arm to stop her. 

The blade roared. The room exploded and black flames filled it. Sen wheeled around. This was an unexpected development. Lesser demons filled the room, red-skinned, wiry men and women wearing simple, ragged clothing with void-black hair. Most of them were armed. 

Sen prepared himself to fight but felt a presence condemn that action. It was coming from the sword. 

Samara suddenly looked down at the blade. “Do what?” she asked. 

Sen arched an eyebrow. “Tutor?” he whispered. 

[We may have infused a little too much of Brute within the blade. It’s testing her. If she is to wield it, she needs to overcome this.] 

Though he’d interacted with powerful artifacts in the past, he’d never had to prove himself to one. Was it the quality of the material he used, or was Tutor right? Had this sword developed a sense of will because of the strength of a royal demon’s soul. He focused his attention on Samara. If things got too bad, he’d help. 

A new demon appeared. It was a carbon copy of Brute, but its skin was white like a ghost. It growled at Sen. It pointed at itself, and then to him. 

[Looks like the blade doesn’t want you helping after all.]

Xochi hissed at Brute. Sen expanded his mana to ensure the small creature wouldn’t fall off his shoulder or get hurt. 

Samara and Sen exchanged a look. And then they jumped into action. Aggression surged through his hands, fueling his strength, and he uppercut the large demon before him. Beside him, Samara swung the great-sword, cleaving multiple lesser demons in two with every strike. The ghostly Brute landed a punch on Sen. It sent him flying back toward the forge. He blasted a gust of magic into the ground below him and jumped into a flip with his momentum to avoid slamming into the forge. On the far side of it, he noticed the two pieces of ore he’d left behind were almost finished forming. They were taking shape on their own. One demon leapt onto Samara’s back and bit into her neck. 

She reached back, letting the blade of her sword rest on the ground while she ripped the demon off her. Samara slammed it into the ground and stomped on its head. Blood rolled down her neck under her armor. She gripped her blade properly again and readied herself once more as a new wave of demons appeared, ready to pounce on her. 

Brute watched it all play out again. As the next round of fighting started, he charged Sen. Brute leapt over the forge in one fluid motion and lunged.. 

Sen smiled. 

[Spectral Simulacrum Maxim.]

A ghostly apparition appeared beside him. A perfect copy of Rella, except she was just as pale white as her brother was. 

Brute’s eyes widened, and he aborted the attack. Sen skirted past him and grabbed the finished pieces from the forge. He’d already infused the blade with too much of Brute’s soul, so he’d need to use his own power to fill these. He focused on his memories of the Shadow Hell Continent. Razing the armies of the God of Demons. Destroying castles as he pushed further into that hellish domain. The thousands of demons that bent a knee in submission when they realized they couldn’t possibly withstand a force like him. He’d been merciful because they’d acknowledged his strength. They’d remember his distaste for their actions and they’d pass down his decrees to their descendants. 

He filled the demonite gauntlets with the memories and techniques he’d witnessed the most powerful demons use. Techniques that could shatter souls and subjugate shadow flames. “Samara!” he called out, flinging one bracelet.

She cleaved through a demon and turned, spotting him. She held up an arm, and the gauntlet clasped over it. A flash of shadow passed over her eyes before they returned to their usual purple. She wouldn’t see his memories, but she’d remember the feelings he’d felt. A desire for vengeance. Anger. Rage. Hatred. The desire to get stronger. 

These were feelings that resonated with her. 

And then she used a spell he hadn’t embedded within the gauntlets. 

“Shadefire Massacre!” 

The lesser demons dissipated into black flames. The ghostly version of Rella smiled and disappeared. 

Brute turned away from the vision of his sister and stared at Samara as black flames washed over his body. He grinned. “She is worthy. We will conquer together.” His form disappeared into a stream of white, still lit ablaze by her attack. The stream returned to the sword, still beset by black fire.

Xochi slowly enjoyed a mouthful of black fire he’d lunged for as the attack had passed over them. 

Samara cracked her neck. “Alright, well, that was fun. So what’s the other gauntlet do?” she asked, looking at Sen’s hand where he still held it.

“Tutor…” 

[Don’t ask. I have no idea what just happened.]