Rise of the Living Forge

“What an upset!” Kraven screamed, not caring in the slightest that a man’s life had been withered away right before him. “Who would have seen that one coming?”

The crowd screamed, but their voices sounded distant to Arnold’s ears. His ears rung and blood pounded in his skull to the beat of an invisible drum. There was nothing he could do to pull his eyes away from the pile of ashen armor that had been a man mere moments before.

This was far from the first time he’d seen someone die. Arnold wasn’t a professional warrior, but he’d seen his share of death as an adventurer. But never before had he seen a death like this. There had been no chance to fight back.

One moment, there had been a knight.

The next, he was gone, and all that remained was a pile of fallen armor and the memory of a man.

And above that pile rose a shadow with eyes like molten stone. It flowed from the hilt of the sword impaled in the ground beside where the knight had fallen — and its gaze was turned straight toward Arnold.

“You’ve been carrying me around without drawing me once. I’m offended,” the shadow said. It couldn’t have spoken any louder than a whisper, but he heard it perfectly.

He heard it perfectly, and he knew the voice it spoke in. Arnold knew it well.

It was his own.

“I was told not to,” Arnold said, swallowing heavily. His hair stood on end and his throat felt gummy and dry. The crowd roared above him, thinking that this had all been part of some master plan. Everyone probably did — and the only ones that knew it wasn’t were him and the sword. “Please leave my team alone.”

“My price has already been paid,” the shadows said with an eerily familiar laugh. “Wield me. The cow has been slaughtered. Why waste its flesh? There is nothing to fear. Nothing to lose but your cowardice. Would you stand back and do nothing while your allies are torn to shreds before you? Allow victory to slip through your grasp when it lingers at your fingertips?”

Arnold glanced from the sword to his team. The sword was right. They were still losing the fight. Taking the knight out hadn’t changed anything. If anything, it had just put them in an even worse position.

They’re going to try to kill us to take revenge for the knight. It doesn’t matter if he started it. All that matters is that his team will end it.

If I could use this power, we could win. Maybe more than win. We could keep going, maybe until we won the whole —

No.

Arnold’s jaw clenched. The churning desires built in his mind like churning water in a dam, but he refused to let them break through. There was no denying that the sword was immensely powerful.

But it wasn’t his. This power could never truly be his. It was borrowed at best, stolen at worst. They’d be no better off. Even if the old woman planned to leave the terrifying weapon in his possession after the tournament was done, he’d be completely dependent on it.

I became an adventurer to make something of myself. To make my friends and mom proud. Can I really just keep using a weapon like this? Godspit, even the knight wasn’t strong enough to wield that thing. How would I? Am I supposed to keep sacrificing people to the sword so I can use it?

Arnold drew in a deep breath. He stared at the sword for a moment longer, then turned his gaze to look dead on at the shadowed form awaiting him.

Then he shook his head.

“I’m not going to wield you. I’m sorry. You were a good luck charm. That’s it. I’m not going to become reliant on your power. I’m giving you back to the old woman as soon as this fight is done.”

“Then you may as well get what you paid for,” the shadow said. Its voice sounded even closer to Arnold’s, now. Almost as if he were speaking to himself. “One fight. That’s it. Have a taste of what a real warrior can do.”

“But the cost hasn’t been paid for, has it?” Arnold asked. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. The old woman’s words ran through his head once more, like an echo passing through a long tunnel. She’d warned him about the cost of power — and the sword was far too persistent. “There’s more to wielding a weapon like you than what’s on the surface. Your cost isn’t just the life you took. It’s more than I’m willing to pay.”

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“So what will you do?” the shadow asked. “Give up on your dream? Die here?”

“You act as if I don’t have another option,” Arnold said with a weary, pained laugh. He bit down the pain wracking his body. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. Even if he didn’t have any magical energy left to work with, he wasn’t down for the count.

And, magical sword or not, so long as he could move, he could always fight.

***

Esmerelda’s fingers drummed against her chin. She sat alone in an empty viewing room, overlooking the arena. Esmerelda had never been one for excessive company. There were times where the silence of her own thoughts was far preferrable.

Arnold’s team had lost.

The three of them had put up a fight, but their remaining opponents completely outclassed them. That really wasn’t a surprise. The boy had left the sword untouched where it had fallen. Without it, he stood absolutely no chance against the other team.

The difference between the teams had always been clear. Arnold’s group had been meant as a sacrifice to their opponents. A way for the Secret Eye to build them up for whatever round they were preparing for — but those plans had gone up in flames.

Even though Arnold’s team had lost, Esmerelda was willing to bet that there wasn’t a single person in the crowd who hadn’t been completely focused on the fight — nor was there anyone who gave a rat’s ass about who had won it.

Funny, isn’t it? Tournaments aren’t like real fights at all. In the real world, the only thing that matters is victory. Victory, no matter the cost. But a tournament? Victory is just the cherry on top. The people are here for a show, and that naïve, fresh little brat and his team sure put one on.

Esmerelda blew out a long sigh and let her head roll back so she could stare up at the ceiling. “What a pain in the ass. Loopholes through loopholes, and the boy doesn’t even bite. Honor. Pathetic. He could have been a monster.”

“Your words lack the sting that they once held.”

Esmerelda turned to a shadow rising up between the cracks in the stone beside her. It formed into a flickering, humanoid shape. Two molten red eyes burned as they met her gaze.

“Don’t get uppity with me. You’re a rancid fart trapped in a hunk of steel,” Esmerelda said. “How long has it been since you last showed up? Sorry excuse for a devil, you are.”

“Hardly my fault. We both know how this works. The Dealer doesn’t use her own weapons, nor can she truly choose their wielders. She can only select when someone gets a chance to try. The only reason I haven’t done anything is because you haven’t tried to sell me to anyone suitable in years. Recent times have made you soft.”

“Picky,” Esmerelda corrected. “There’s nothing worse than an idiot with a strong weapon.”

“The words of a woman who’s lost her touch.”

“The words of one who has been biding her time.”

“Is that what you call growing fat and complacent? You haven’t sold a single cursed item in months. I wasn’t the only one growing hungry, Esmerelda.”

“Brat. You’d do well to learn some patience. All of you. These complaints are nothing but hot wind.”

“What makes you so certain?” the shadows flickered.

“Do I look like a baby to you?” Esmerelda rose to her feet. “If you make me answer that, I can assure you you’ll regret it. Don’t mistake my patience for weakness. I was old before you were a spark in a forge. I am the Dealer. And you are satisfied with my work. If you were not, the sword would have already returned to my possession.”

The molten eyes narrowed as the faintest streak of orange light marked the figure’s lips as they pulled up into a smile. “I am. The others just wanted me to check if you still had what it took. Your choice was apt. He has strong ideals, but he is stupid. Arrogant. Lacks a true purpose. A bumbling fool with fragments of notions that could make a hero and none of the glue to keep them together. He is trash… but trash can be refined. The building blocks are present within him. In time, after he has been broken, he may become competent. And if he does not — we will meet again sooner than planned. I have no complaints.”

Power flowed into Esmerelda, burning through her veins like freezing ice. Her features didn’t so much as twitch. She hadn’t gotten this old by revealing her emotions so easily.

“Then be off with you,” Esmerelda said in a flat tone that hid her thoughts perfectly. “I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

The shadow didn’t respond. It was already gone. The sword that housed it had long since vanished from the floor of the arena.

And, though the Secret Eye would search for it, they would find nothing.

Esmerelda lowered herself back into the chair she’d been sitting in and stared down at the arena, her face unreadable.

Everything in this world comes at a cost. It seems Arnold took my words to heart, but the price of a life stolen is far more than one mere snuffed soul.

An ancient weapon had chosen its wielder. Such a thing could not be denied so easily, and humans always got things mixed up. Devils rarely dealt in death. The real bargaining chip was everything that came up before it — and Arnold’s soul was still in play.

It would remain that way until he either mastered the weapon or fell to its powers. The boy didn’t know it yet, but the cost of his continued existence was still yet to be paid. Only time would tell who the tab landed with, but there was one thing for certain.

“In the future, he’ll might become a valuable asset indeed,” Esmerelda mused to herself. “If he survives, that is.”