"The bonding process has begun, surrender yourself mortal, resistance is futile. Just let devour you."
Azazel watched in horror as the corrupted blade crept up his hand.
He hadn’t even been aware.
There was no sound, no movent, no pain.
Nothing to give the sword away.
"When did you—"
"Hahaha... when did I? Foolish mortal, the bonding process started the mont I pierced your heart."
It laughed within his mind.
"You asked what corrupted ? Well let satiate your curiosity, after that ’thing’ descended, the world beca ruined, my owner was killed, despite the strength he and his party acquired, they were re ants in that thing’s presence... hahaha, it’s laughable, that thing possessed strength even my creator, Amun Rá could not best."
Azazel felt his hand twitch, the markings writhed causing the violet glow to intensify.
"In the end they all died, at least the ’you’ of that tiline actually put up a good fight, the sa with the other redhead and my master but it was futile. That thing couldn’t be killed."
Akatharto’s voice sounded grim.
Gone was the contemptuous venom it held in its voice.
What remained was just the voice of a lonely sentient blade.
"Even Apeiron was destroyed, damned like the rest of them while I was left to rot in a battlefield soaked with the resentnt of dead soldiers. As the divine blade sol, I sustained myself with the radiance of the sun and the vigor of warriors, but after the war I was forced to feed on the resentnt of the dead and the darkness of the broken world."
Azazel let out a sharp gasp, a flicker of pain marred his face but the blade continued without paying heed to him.
"History will repeat itself but I, if I can have your body then I should be able to stop it, I just need sufficient preparation, the power of chaos has much more potential than you can imagine, if you understand then you know you’re destined for ruin, all of you are. Just give your body, save yourself the torture of witnessing a ruined future and let handle the rest."
A sharp pain tore through Azazel’s skull causing his vision to go white.
The world lurched sideways; his skull tightened in response.
His body shuddered as invisible hands crawled beneath his bones, tearing his very soul apart.
Pressure blood behind his eyes until his sclera turned bloodshot.
His veins pulsed like sothing was trying to claw its way out.
Azazel scread, his body spasd as a gut wrenching sound burst forth from his throat.
Nausea rose causing bile to scorch the back of his throat, his stomach twisted and clenched, rebelling as though sothing rotten had taken root inside him.
He clawed at the air desperately trying to hang on to sothing but within the vast space of whiteness he was left alone in his agony.
The pain tore him apart, unmade him, while a foreign presence invaded his mind, swimming through his mories.
His mories, his sacred sanctuary.
The one thing he had to himself alone? Even with all the pain the re thought of sothing tampering with his mories made his chest burn with fury.
He snarled, voice raspy and harsh.
"Where do you think you’re going!"
Akathartos froze.
Not because Azazel had called out but because there was sothing else within the body of the redhead.
It could see a silhouette staring back at it with a small smile.
Akathartos couldn’t make out the features but it knew it was grinning.
The fragnts of mories floated around the endless void of Azazel’s mind but then the space trembled and a hiss split the silence.
A colossal serpent appeared as if it had always been there, watching and lurking to protect its sanctuary.
The force behind the hiss was enough to push the corrupted sword, at least enough for Azazel to will it out of his mind.
Akathartos snarled, its consciousness was returned to the hand of the human which was tainted.
"What are you? just what are you keeping inside your body, answer !"
It didn’t ask, the corrupted sword was demanding.
Azazel scowled, his face morphing into a grimace while he struggled to form words.
"You... little dipshit" he forced out.
He stared at the blackened hand with murderous intent, his gaze was dark.
"My mind, my mories, every fucking piece belongs to ... don’t you dare walk in thinking you can go through them as you please."
His Chaos attribute mana enveloped his left hand, its presence distorting the very fabric of reality around it.
Without warning he moved, clawing at his tainted hand.
His mana tore through the shadowy wisps of black and violet markings in quick successions.
He bit down on the inside of his cheeks as he continued to attack his right hand rcilessly.
Akathartos howled in pain.
"Stop... stop it you foolish mortal, stop! I’m doing you a favor, I’m trying to save the world, why won’t you listen."
"Bullshit!" Azazel snapped. "I understand you’ve endured things, I understand you’ve been through tough shit but that doesn’t justify your thods, you’re just a relic of the past! Wake the fuck up, if you want to save the world then help , watch as I break whatever accursed fate awaits the world in the future, I will sever its damned threads with my own hands and you will bear a witness to my success! I won’t fail like your master and his cohort, I will defy fate and create a perfect ending."
The blade snarled.
"You’re delusional."
Azazel chuckled.
"I’ve been called worse."
"You will fail, that ’thing’ isn’t sothing you can defeat."
Azazel laughed in-between pained gasps and choked breaths.
"Defeat it? Who says I will? I’m a trickster not a fighter, no! That role belongs to Elias and his party, I’ll sche, I’ll deceive and I’ll use whatever thod available to to make sure even that untouchable being ends up in death’s embrace."
The blade fell silent.
For the first ti in a while, it didn’t have words.
He had seen the redhead in the first world, and had watched each of his master’s companions; he knew them perhaps even more than they did themselves.
And clearly...
"You’re not the sa as him." It spoke at last.
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