Arcos blinked. His mind was clear. For the first time in what was to him a lifetime, his mind was clear. He felt the coldness of the night around him. He saw the light of the full moon overhead, providing a decent amount of light. He felt calm. He felt centred.

  He felt a weight around his neck, and that was when he acknowledged the familiar red hair around his neck and on his chest. Arcos looked down and saw Nerisity holding him in a tight embrace. She was quiet, but her strength was considerable.

  “Nerisity…?” His voice was croaked and hoarse, as if he had been using it far too much.

  Nerisity looked up at him, her green eyes sparkling. “You- you’re back.” She said dumbly.

  “What- what happened?” Arcos instantly whipped his head around, only now attempting to understand where he was. He recognised it in an instant. The Salt Pit. He was back. And then the memories returned. And all the actions - all the atrocities - he had committed this night flooded his mind in a torrent of pained regret.

  “Oh gods…” Arcos uttered. Nerisity released him, and he staggered back, stunned. “Oh gods… what have I done?”

  “Arcos, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Nerisity said, trepidation clear in her shaken voice.

  Trepidation. He heard that in her voice. What for? For him? Why?

  Arcos saw Darius, injured and bleeding on the ground. His son Thaddeus standing over him with a dagger and glaring hatefully at Arcos.

  Arcos saw Tilda away from him with her sword out and ready, with eyes narrowed by deep suspicion. Torrance, Reeva, and Boras pulling themselves back their feet and approaching them with a wary pace. And Courageous, loyal, and brave, lying away from the group in a crumpled, burning heap and being deathly still.

  He sensed the feeling from them all. Fear. They were afraid of him. What the hells had he done?

  Arcos suddenly gagged as he recalled the guards at the gate and the wall. He had killed them all, murdered them with no even a hint of mercy. One of the men may have screamed out that he was going to be a father.

  Sandra, Darius’ wife. She tried to stop him. To protect her child. And he— he slashed her to the floor.

  Arcos grabbed his mouth with his hand to hold back his scream.

  But not the bile. He threw up, vomiting on the grass.

  He felt his sword hand tremble. He looked at the sword, Alaintiqam. That damned sword. It was covered in fresh blood. The blood of his friends, the blood of innocents. Arcos felt that familiar spurt of rage. But not a rage that was indiscriminate. This rage was aimed solely and purely at the ethereal creature… that monster… who controlled him.

  Nerisity walked towards him, hand out.

  Arcos backed away from her. “Stay away! Stay away!” He barked fearfully.

  He recalled raising the sword at her.

  He actually felt his intent to harm her. To kill her.

  He couldn’t believe that.

  He couldn’t have thought to do that.

  But as he looked around at his friends, all of whom were injured by his hand, he knew deep down that a part of him allowed it. A part of him… enjoyed it.

  He couldn’t trust himself to be near her.

  “Just stay away… please.” Arcos begged. His voice was wracked with regret and fear.

  Nerisity did not listen. She stepped towards him. She did not stop. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

  “Nerisity-”

  “Shut up.” Nerisity stepped into Arcos's arms and hugged him around the torso, head pushed into his shoulder. “Just shut up and cry.”

  “What?”

  “Go on. Just let go.”

  “I-I-I-….” He struggled to find the words.

  Then Arcos suddenly felt the pain in his throat as it tightened.

  His voice sagged and the tears swelled in his eyes before bursting down his cheeks. He wrapped his free hand around her and cried bitterly into her neck, howling in such emotional pain. Nerisity closed her eyes and wept, if only in silence. The pair stood there in the darkness before their friends and spilled all the tears they could.

  They spilled tears for the suffering that the Silverstreakers had endured.

  They spilled tears for the injustice set upon the country by the Barons.

  And they spilled tears for the child they would never have.

  After that moment of mourning, Arcos stepped away from Nerisity and looked into her eyes.

  “You were in my mind…” Arcos said at last. “I… I could feel you. You were there.”

  “I… I think so.” Nerisity furrowed her brow. “It was odd. So odd. I was walking into your memories… I don’t know how I did that… I saw everything. Everything. Gods, Arcos. I am so sorry. I didn’t know that happened to you.”

  Arcos turned his head away. “It’s something I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m sorry.”

  Nerisity gently pulled his head by his chin to look into her eyes.

  “Never say sorry.” She pleaded. “Not for that…”

  Arcos stared into her. Those eyes were so blue, like turquoise. So beautiful. So… so…

  He leant in and kissed her. Nerisity melted into it. It was a kiss that they both craved. Something good against all the pain and misery they had endured.

  Tilda began to walk towards the pair, feeling the sense of safety emanating from them. But as she neared, a fresh feeling of danger shocked her mind instead. A sense that served her well in the past.

  “Oh no.” Tilda said before running for the pair.

  Arcos opened his eyes mid-kiss and felt it. The voice. Alaintiqam. It was barbed in his mind.

  You ungrateful, useless, little wretch. Must I do everything myself? So be it.

  Arcos lost all feeling in his swordhand. It went numb, as if he had become paralysed. He whipped his head towards it and saw the swordhand glowing a moonlight silver. Alaintiqam had taken possession of it.

  “No!” Arcos grabbed Nerisity’s shoulder and pushed her back. That saved her life, as the swordhand swung down and sliced the air where her neck had been.

  Nerisity fell onto her back, shocked.

  Arcos's left hand latched into the forearm of his right and felt a strength that was inhuman.

  Stop fighting me, Arcos! I am trying to give you the justice you seek!

  “This is not justice! I did not want this!” He cried.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Could have fooled me with your wanton need for bloodshed. Stupid child. I saw your smile as you butchered the Bodyhunters. As you slew Markus in the pinnacle of his gloating. So ignorant of your needs. Allow me to correct you.

  “Nerisity!” Arcos shouted at her. “Get away from me!”

  Nerisity scrabbled back as the swordhand lunged after her, nearly yanking Arcos off his feet. The sword plunged into the mud where Nerisity’s foot had been. She leapt to her feet and staggered away.

  “Arcos!” She yelled.

  Arcos roared. “STOP!” He balled up his left hand into a fist and hammered down on his right hand, further pushing the sword into the ground.

  Alaintiqam yanked the sword up, but Arcos hammered it back down. “No!” Arcos yelled. “Enough! You are not going to make me do this!”

  Alaintiqam screeched behind Arcos’s eyes, making them sting.

  It will never be enough! Not for your kind. You always crave more than what you require. And even when you get what you ask, you still crave for more!

  I have only done what you asked and now, with some much death on your soul, you stop?

  If I go, you will be nothing with me! Nothing! You have only your rage and anger and pain! What else do you have, Arcos Blade? What else!?

  Arcos grabbed the swordhand and pushed it to the ground. But Gods above and below, the spirit was strong. His hand shook with the strain of holding the swordhand in place.

  This pain is what has got you so far in life! I have helped refine it and sharpen it! You use it and me as a weapon! What will you have left when I go?

  I made you, you worthless scum! I made you! I MADE YOU!

  “No! You’re wrong!” Arcos bellowed. The sword and the hand that wielded it glowed brighter and brighter. And as it did, Arcos felt his freed hand beginning to burn. His skin started to sizzle and crack as the intense cold began to eat away at his skin. He grunted and roared in pain, but his mind, once addled with anger and blind vengeance, was surprisingly clear. He saw Nerisity shouting his name. He saw Torrance, Boras and Reeva frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Darius and his son, dumbfounded by the events before them. And Tilda, wise Tilda who believed in him and his potential. And Scar-Sire in her hand.

  Arcos set his jaw.

  “You’re mistaken, Alaintiqam.” He stated flatly. “You didn’t make me. I did. You didn’t help me. They did. I was mistaken and foolish to think that you made up all that I am. You are only a sword.”

  His swordhand shook and shook and shook. It shook so much that the ground around its embedding began to crack and crumble from the sheer power. But Arcos held the sword in place. And he did so as he frantically recited a series of words, words that Tilda recognised without question:

  When one is sworn to the Black, one is forever placed in Her service.

  When one is sworn to the Black, one must take life.

  When one is sworn to the Black, one shall never take life with pleasure.

  When one is sworn to the Black, one must preserve the balance.

  When one is sworn to the Black, one must love life.

  When one is sworn to the Black, one must respect death.

  And when one is sword to the Black, one must remember the Creed:

  We are the Children of the Black.

  We are the Messengers of Her word.

  We are silent. We are mighty.

  We do not fear. We do not cry.

  For we will die.

  “I am a Child of the Black.” Arcos whipped his head towards Tilda. “TILDA!” He yelled.

  And Tilda knew what to do. She sprinted across the dirt and grass, over the frozen and dead grass where Alaintiqam’s power had struck during the fight, and dove right for Arcos.

  Arcos lurched his free hand away from the embedded swordhand.

  Just as Tilda drew back Scar-Sire and cut the black blade into and through Arcos's right forearm.

  Blood spurted as Arcos fell away, holding the stump where his right hand and wrist were no longer there. The pain rushed through his mind as Alaintiqam screeched in an incensed rage.

  There was a rumble of thunder that shook the clouds above, and the moon’s light seemed to dim.

  The pain faded as their voice did, falling down into the abyss of Arcos's mind and soul. And just like that, Alaintiqam was gone.

  The severed hand and wrist remained latched onto the hilt of the sword that was still stuck in the ground, like a macabre flag of gore.

  Arcos felt a deep loss of strength, and the injuries he had endured from the entire night came upon him in a rush. He fell backwards, nearing the point of unconsciousness, and was only caught by Tilda, who supported his fall to the ground.

  Nerisity was on him in an instant. She slid to her knees and held him up as Tilda turned her attention to the others approaching them.

  “Are you okay??” Nerisity implored, as she stroked Arcos's face, clear of strands of his hair that stuck to his skin with blood and sweat.

  Arcos, barely functioning from the sheer exhaustion, made a weak smile. “I’ve had better days…” He chuckled. “Are you alright?”

  Nerisity sobbed a laugh and kissed his forehead. “Of course, I’m alright, you idiot. I’m a tough girl.”

  Arcos lifted his severed right wrist, seeing the blood flowing in a slow but persistent pace. Nerisity immediately acted, tearing shreds of cloth from her dress and tying tight knots around his forearm to stem the bleeding.

  “Thank you…” Arcos said.

  “Holy shit, mate…” Boras knelt by Arcos's other side with Reeva. “What the hells…”

  Arcos stared in pain at the injuries Boras had. The broken nose, the burns, the cuts and scrapes. He saw Reeva, equally hurt and bleeding. But the pair of them did not look at him with fear or anger. But concern and care.

  Arcos felt his eyes sting as fresh tears threatened to return. He turned away, ashamed.

  “I’m so sorry…” he whimpered as the tears won the fight and started to flow again. “I’m so sorry…”

  Reeva reached out and grabbed his left hand. “Enough. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

  “She’s right.” Boras agreed. “We need to get the hells going before anyone turns up. In case you weren’t noticing it, but this wasn’t exactly a discreet fight.”

  “Exactly.” Tilda started to clean Scar-Sire with her cloak. “Let’s collect ourselves and that sword and go.”

  “Darius!” Torrance called out. “You still alive?”

  They all looked over to Darius, who had slowly risen to his feet and was supported by his son. He looked upon the group and wordlessly nodded with silent gratitude.

  “Then that is that.” Torrance sighed. He rubbed his shoulder, clearly bruised in the fall, and massaged his cut cheek that spurted fresh blood. “Fuuuuck… We’re going to need a lot of Blood’s Bark…”

  …no…

  All of them stopped moving. Arcos saw them all freeze and look around.

  Boras blinked a sweat bead away from his eyes. “You— you all heard that, right?”

  “No. It’s impossible…” Arcos croaked. “How are they still—”

  “Damn!” Tilda snapped. She was immediately back into her guarding stance, Scar-Sire ready for more blood. “Prepare yourselves!”

  Boras groaned as he and Reeva staggered back to their feet.

  Torrance sighed angrily, but rolled his shoulders and prepped his claws.

  Nerisity grabbed a swallowblade from Boras and remained by Arcos who struggled to get back to his feet. Darius and Thaddeus were already attempting to flee, but they were grievously slow.

  ..No…

  Alaintiqam’s voice was a whisper before. Now it grew to the strength of a brisk wind. And with each word that followed, that wind grew into a storm. A whisper that turned into a scream.

  No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO! NO! NO! NO!

  The clouds above the Salt Pit and the surrounding area suddenly dispersed, as if swept away by a giant invisible hand. The full moon shone in all its brilliance, bringing a ghostly illumination to the dark fields of Fennaposia’s southern plains.

  Bathed in the moon’s essence, the embedded sword with its ghoulish appendage suddenly began to glow its own brightness. It glowed so bright, so strong, it became the colour of silver. It sparkled like a lighthouse and beams so near-blinding to the group that watched it.

  The grass around the sword froze and withered. The ground itself snapped into jagged shards of muddy ice. The sword shivered and shook, quivered and raged until it exploded from the ground, sending debris into the sky.

  The sword spun and swung in the air, with no clear direction. It seemed to be revelling in the freedom. Soon the sword stopped its motion instantaneously. It instead hovered in the air, point facing the sky and the moon as if it was saluting it like an officer.

  The hand and wrist that remained attached to the hilt began to twitch. It twitched with new life until its grip tightened like a vice upon the handle. And flowing from the wrist, the blood stopped and the silver mist began. And from the mist, and to the horror of the group witnessing it, the mist formed an arm, a shoulder, a chest and a torso. From the torso grew a waist and legs and a neck and a head. The mist whipped the form into shape and into reality. The neck grew the head like a ghostly flower, the wisps creating the lips on a mouth, a tweak on the nose and the furrow of a brow. But no other expression nor definition could be seen; it was a blank canvas of a face.

  Two arms, two legs and a body, the body of a man held aloft the sword whilst still floating in the air.

  The group watched on in silence.

  The figure from mist and moon slowly lowered himself, landing the pair of bare feet on the grass. The grass which he landed upon instantly turned to ice. The ghostly figure grew a set of silk-like clothes that trailed him in long, gentle strands like the tendrils of a jellyfish. He looked down at the grass and then at his open hand. He turned it over, seemingly marvelled by the sight. He gripped his hand tightly, flexing the fingers into his palm.

  The figure finally glanced up to see the group away from him. All of them silent and still, yet armed and ready. The figure cocked his head and then shook it slowly.

  With each shake, the undefined face shifted like mist on water. It shifted and then settled into one face that all saw and recognised.

  It was Arcos's face. Every dimple, wrinkle, tweak, and curve. But what was different was his eyes and his expression. Where the real Arcos's eyes were a deep blue, this version had pale moonlight eyes. And where Arcos's expression would be one of anger, joy, or sadness like those of a human, this thing had an expression of mirthlessness and ice.

  ‘At last,’ they spoke in Arcos's voice, ‘to breathe the cold air… to feel the earth beneath me once more…’

  For the second time in a multitude of millennia, Alaintiqam, the Vengeance of the Aged Ones, stood upon the ground in the realm of mortals.

  Alaintiqam’s calm expression twitched to intense, poisonous rage the moment they set their moonlit eyes upon Nerisity.

  With a burst of speed unknown to humanity, the Aged One launched their attack directly for her.