Chương 157: Flawed

Even after the Ebon Blade completed and recovered from the strange ordeal of mending its soul, it didn't move for almost a week. Instead of rushing off to the next battle, it sat there, examining every thread that made up its magics, and running Life Force through each damage strand. It might feel like it had been forged anew after that experience, but in reality, it was in far from perfect shape.

As it mended every crack, though, and smoothed out all of the hidden points of strain in its metal, it contemplated what it had just been through. The men and women it had been made from were heroes; it had been a monster in its first incarnations, but now, well, it was somewhere in between. As it did so, it pondered the strange, poisonous energies of hell that coursed through it. Had they changed it? The sword wondered as it lay there on the Warbringer's lap.

Was it different now than when it arrived, even after ingesting whole lifetimes of darkness? It didn't feel that way. There was a difference in the energies of the Pit and of Creation for certain, but it did not feel tainted by them. If anything, it was the opposite; it felt defined by them. The blade was not a demon or a devil. It was not even a savage orc or a beastman.

It was a tool of violence, but none of that answered the single question that kept echoing through it as it busied itself solving all the little problems that its duel with the Bug Queen had caused. What next? You've struck down the King who did this to you. What should you do next? The answer to that was obvious. It had killed the king and the smith, and now it would hunt down the mages and destroy them too for their part in all of this. If you strike down the Aetherarchy, what will you do next?

It paused at that question, giving it more thought. The gods, it eventually decided. If they persist in trying to stop me when I am finished with hell, I will start on the heavens themselves. That seemed like a satisfactory answer, but still, the thought wouldn't leave it. If you strike down the gods, then who will be next? Who will be next? Who will die after that? The question followed it incessantly.

It was like every time it repaired a strand of its essence, the notes that the string played were those four little words. Who will be next? It took days for that question to become background noise in its mind, but even then, the question lingered, like a bit of entrails on a blade that should have long ago been cleaned and oiled. It only eventually realized the truth: on some level, nothing would ever be enough.

The end goal of its destiny would be to denude the world entirely of life and strike down every man, demon, animal, and god that dared to cross its path. Somehow, that wasn't a satisfying answer. The blade didn't like the idea that one day it would have to stop killing, but the idea of feeling a compulsion to do so until there was no one left to stop was a worse fate by far. It was not a reprobate or a drunkard, compelled to chase women, dice, or drink until its addiction destroyed itself.

Even after the Ebon Blade tightened every knot and rewove every strand that made up its magic, it bristled against that conclusion. It had come a long way since its first lifetime, but it was clear it still didn't meet the standards it set for itself. Why do I need to kill anyone else? It asked itself. I have all the power I could want in the form of demon souls. That much was true.

It had just burned 5, 000 Life Force, but it was still closer to 20, 000 than 10, 000, and by carefully leaching off of passerbyers, it was already recovering. On top of that, its soul gem was still brimming with dark souls. Even if it didn't consider the Demon Prince souls, which it had no intention of consuming at random, it still had dozens of souls to devour. Aside from taste, why do I even need to kill anyone else, it wondered. The answer to that question was much easier than the rest. It didn't.

It didn't even have anything left to upgrade until it killed the Prime Evil and completed the Infernal Path that it was on. Still, rational or not, the desire was there. The purpose of a sword is to kill, it said silently to itself as if that would resolve the issue, but it didn't any more than all other words before it had. Even as it turned to its next focus, that concern lingered. It never doubted it would escape hell, but what it would do after that, well, that was beginning to weigh on the blade.

For now, though, it had larger concerns to distract it, namely, the souls of the rulers of hell it had stolen. It had to do something about those before it faced off against their ruler, and the smartest thing to do would be to use them to gain further power, as long as it could do so without being consumed by any of them. The blade still had five of those powerful souls to choose from, and at least a couple of them possessed truly awesome, if highly specialized, might.

The reason the Aetharchy made me was for the versatility of my magic, it contemplated. I've walked the paths that felt like they were made for me, and survived the touch of the Golden Throne. Surely I can resist a few demons I've already defeated. They were brave words, but still, the weapon hesitated. It remembered how it felt to absorb Prince Cerirvall's power when it had gained Position of Privilege from the spirit. It had struggled for an entire day in that demon's oily grip.

It was unpleasant, but really, was the Ebon Blade ever close to losing? It wasn't sure, but then, it was probably impossible to be sure unless the prince had swallowed it up and won the battle. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The blade set those thoughts aside and instead considered each of the infernal princes and princesses it had already defeated. The ninth, and outermost layer, had contained the warlord Prince Angarazon.

He almost certainly had magic related to battle or command that could benefit the blade. After him, in the iron city that had been the eighth circle, was Prince Voltrim; the blade ruled him out immediately, and would likely continue to for the foreseeable future because it feared the hold he might still have on this body. After him came the hag, Princess Rizzeldah.

She had massive powers of regeneration at least, and though the blade had dismissed her last time because it didn't have a wielder of flesh and blood to heal, after its battle with the Bug Queen, it changed its mind about that. The Warbringer's healing is magical, but it does do a lot of it, the weapon decided as it momentarily set aside the remaining souls to consider this one.

The weeper that had imprisoned it at the bottom of the ocean and the Bug Queen didn't even have proper names; the blade wasn't even sure they were capable of language, which made it wonder how a psychic battle with one of them would go. If it hadn't met the Penitent, it would have suspected that the ruler of each circle merely devolved as it went deeper and deeper into hell. As the Ebon Blade studied the eighth princess's soul, it noted how amorphous she was.

The others all bore some shape to who they had been before it had killed them, but she was more or less a lump. Sometimes that lump would shift or grow, but more often than not, it was little more than a puddle of shadows on the floor of its soul gem. In life, she had been weak but resilient, but now she was passive to the point of timidity, and as the weapon focused on her, she did not immediately respond. Even when it commanded, tell me what you can offer me, demoness, she stirred only sluggishly.

For a cursed item like you, I can only offer a slow death, she whispered finally. I give you rust, to dull your edge, and mud to bury you in ignominity forever. She answered. I give you— You will give me your power! The blade commanded again. Now show it to me! There was a brief battle of wills that time. The sword could feel her trying to escape its grasp as it squeezed like a handful of slime, but that was impossible; she was a prisoner here just like everyone else it had claimed.

Moments later, a pop-up appeared with options as she screamed obscenities and writhed in its mental grip. Protean Form: Your shape is unbound, and you are no longer required to spend Life Force to shift it. You many take the form of any other weapon, at any moment, for any reason. Renewed Reconstitution: You and your wielder regenerate 100% faster at no additional cost.

If you are in contact with materials that would aid in that regeneration, such as vegetative matter, or the corpses of your enemies in the case of a human wielder, that speed increases to 200%, as you consume the feedstock. This can be quite ghastly. Endless Hunger: You may increase the strength of one aspect of your Aura of Hunger ten-fold. So I could have pressed Prince Cerirvall for options, it realized belatedly as it reviewed them.

While it didn't regret gaining Position of Privilege, it did wonder what other abilities it had missed out on. As it read the options, though, the blade was eventually forced to conclude that making the choice might have been a blessing in disguise, because it desperately wanted all three choices that it was being offered now.

Until this moment, it had been sure that it would have gone with Renewed Reconstitution; the Hag had been regeneration incarnate, and that would help its future wielders to survive any number of battles, but now it wasn't so sure. The idea that it could change its shape from moment to moment, without relying on Shifting Blade, was incredible.

While it wouldn't be entirely honorable, the weapon didn't see how anyone would be able to match it in a duel if its blade could take on different characteristics from thrust to slash and back again. The only drawback it could think of was that it would be hard to find a wielder with the skill necessary to take advantage of such a talent. The Warbringer would use it well enough, of course, but one day it would have a human wielder again, which was the whole reason it was considering regeneration.

The Ebon Blade thought whistfully of Ivarr again before forcing itself to return to the task at hand. The choice was not easily made, though. Even if it ignored Endless Hunger as it was only an enhancement to an existing ability, the first two choices were equally tempting, and it would have given up a great deal to increase the power of its hunger after reducing it so much in favor of reach.

In the end, though, even after nearly an hour of contemplation, it was forced to choose Renewed Reconstitution, because it addressed the blade's greatest weakness. It could shift its shape when truly necessary already, but anything it could do to keep its wielder from dying and ending up helpless on the ground was where it really needed to focus. When the Ebon Blade selected that power, the result was immediate. The slime that had been squirming in its grip slackened and then vanished.

No, not vanished, it decided as it felt her soul slide inside of it. This time, it observed more and fought less, studying the way that the demonic soul tried to consume it as it traveled along the web of the blade's soul. The previous Prince had tried to force it to bargain and form a compact even at the very end, but the only words that Princess Rizzeldah offered the weapon were foul insults. She didn't even want to take it over like Prince Cerirvall had. She wanted only to poison and murder it.

She never really had a chance, though. It felt the burn, and it saw a few of the newly repaired threads of its etheric weave corrode and snap at her touch, but the damage was minimal; compared to the mortal combat it had been expecting, it was almost trivial, and in hours, rather than days, the demoness's poison had dissolved and her mind was gone. Unfortunately, that left it in the same position it had been in the last time it had done this.

Though the dark stains from the soul of the first demon prince it had devoured had long since faded, the muddy stains of Princess Rizzeldah were fresh, and the blade didn't want to see what would happen if it tried to devour another soul immediately. Still, if each power was this useful, it was imperative that it get as many as it could before its confrontation with the Queen of Hell; that was one fight that the blade couldn't avoid. Not if it wanted to finish the Infernal Path it had started.

So, instead of trying, it resolved to focus on a new problem: What can I do to pass the time until I'm ready to devour the next one?