“So was all of this just to show me to how bad I am with a sword.” Kenan dropped his weapon to the ground. He tried to throw it, but a laceration on his arm made the action throb. As each second ticked, both his agitation and his pain continued to climb. While the control of his will was still wrapped around the burn of his skin, the thrill of danger dropped, and the sensation of each injury multiplied.

The cackle of his uncle's laugh cracked at his already sore patience. “No… not really. It was to show you how much room you have to grow.” Doco swatted his hand and the sword on the ground was sent away telekinetically. The glare sent his way was hard enough that he held his palms out. “I mean it, Ken. Just because you can pick up a weapon…”

“Doesn’t mean you can be confident in it. Even something of the same type. Getting comfortable gets you hurt, or worse. I know uncle.”

“That's good.” Doco sighed. “There is a lot of history behind what I’m going to give you. A lot. You need to handle it with the respect it deserves. You will listen to what I say about it; you will do only what I say to do with it, understood?”

“Uncle?”

“Kenan, that weapon you used, The Black Blade. It’s cursed. It erodes the minds of its users.”

“Then I won’t use it again.” Kenan shrugged.

Doco shook his head. It was slow, like it was weighed down. Then, in bursts, deep emotion showed on his face, most of a melancholic nature, but a few of anger. Like quick reactions to fast uncontrolled memories that came unbidden. “It’s not that simple. You… when… gods! Connection with magical items requires a few things. Normally they are some combination of blood, time, or mana. The blade that you used, only required one thing.”

“A life?” Kenan asked. There wasn’t a real question like there wasn’t any discernible answer. He already knew.

“This thing, the blade. It’s alive. If you use it too much, for too long. It'll drive you mad. Too little use, it… well, the thing takes from you. You'll become a husk.” There It was again, subtle shifts in Doco's face that spoke louder than words.

“Sounds like a bunch of cow manure for no milk,” Kenan said.

Doco smiled, but the emotion behind that fled to everything else that revolved around his mind. He nodded. “At points, it is just shit. But, there is a reason that sword still exists.”

Then The Black Blade floated In front of Kenan. Appeared as quick as sight. It was close, and for the first time, he got a good look at it. The sheath was a mat black wood. It was smooth, too featureless to be natural. Its hilt was also a simple affair. It was a straight, thin line, and its thickness ebbed before it evened out again. It, too, had the same material and finish as the sheath. Its handle wasn't wood, metal, or any other material Kenan recognized. But it seamlessly formed into a wide, curled black ball for its pommel, and the rest of it was just rough enough for a grip. Otherwise, it was smooth.

And then it was unsheathed. The blade was single-sided. Its spine was thick and angled down to a wicked sharp edge. The upper half of the sword had a slight curve. In the crisp blackness of the metal. Kenan got lost, sucked in like the light around it. As he peeled away his thoughts and conscience, there was something. It was new, and when Kenan noticed it. His body and mind burned. That feeling pulled him away from wherever his mind went too. The sensation only happened for a second, but it was so great he felt like there was an echo of it in his physical body.

“Take it, Kenan,” Doco said with a frown. It was deep and went beyond the situation in front of him. “It has more blood on it then me or you will have combined. Respect it, and fear it. If you don’t. It will kill you.”

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Kenan reached up and gripped the handle as its sheath was whisked away. It felt wrong and right. A part of him wanted to throw down the sword and kick it away so he would never see it again. Another fraction of him knew. The sword belonged in his hand. Then, from that initial break in thought started a domino fracture of pressured conception in which he worried about the blade's influence, where it ended,, and his own cogitation started.

The Black Blade had a hand-and-a-half handle, and so he used both hands. Bringing it up, he placed the spine at a forty-five-degree angle towards the sky. The cracks of knowledge and experience were closed as his feet were pressed to their correct spacing without his active movement. Fingers and palms were all put accurately. Kenan held that position. The pain of his arms, the subtle shake of his broken muscles were washed under the sensation of assurity. He knew his sword and it told him how to hold it. If it was informed, so was he. That freaked him out.

Doco also slid down into a stance. Kenan gulped, but his sword whispered where he could not hear it. His uncle had fought against his blade before. "Use it all Kenan. Give me everything you have, anything else is unacceptable.”

Without any more words, the action started. Doco, with speed a fold quicker then before, was upon Kenan with an overhead chop. The blade guided him, and Kenan let it. A quick side step with a twist of his sword let him catch the steel with the blade. The force, shock, and unrelenting pressure his uncle forced upon him was more than Kenan could bear. He then shifted his weight to the side and Doco's short-sword glided away.

Kenan stepped forward and tried to shoulder-check Doco, but his uncle had already taken a step back. Then they shared a fast series of blows.

The tempo of this exchange was vastly different. Kenan didn't fumble on the ground for fear of pain but stood. He did not give an inch of ground. Still, he did not manage to keep himself out of harm as a few cuts either bled a new or were freshly formed altogether.

Kenan had received a deep wound on his shoulder. This time he almost heard the voice of the blade. While Docos's edge was still in his shoulder, with both hands, he heaved his sword and knocked Docos's blade out of his flesh. It ripped more viscera out, too much for a spar. But Kenan was too steeped in a battle haze for him to care. And, at the moment, his uncle's sword was out of the way and too far from his uncle's control to become a factor. Kenan lunged and the tip of his curved blade headed straight for Docos abdomen.

Before it landed, the short sword redirected the blade to the side, and then down. It had so much power to it that Kenan's blade was forced all the way to the dirt. He looked up to see Doco's hands-free, but the blade still pushed.

His uncle nodded as he continued to repress both weapons with his telekinetic power. “Good Kenan. Use it all.”

Then Doco's sword lifted in the air. It was twirled and leveled so its point floated towards Kenan. There was a second of silence before a flurry of steel and blood started.

The short sword danced around Kenan faster than he could comprehend. It stabbed, sliced, and cut. Each second was a series of blurring attacks.

Even with his alien knowledge and experience, he was hard-pressed. Every third attack hurt him in some way. But there were so many assaults in an almost omnidirectional manner that his one or two blocks did not lessen the punishment he was going through.

Kenan flagged. Thoughts of unconsciousness threaded his mind, and pain wracked everything else. Even the whispered comments of his blade failed.

But there was something. He had forgotten about it. Or maybe he just didn't think about it. He wasn't sure. Even now he couldn't place his thoughts on what he felt. But it was there, in sight when both his mind and body failed. Bright against the agony and fog. Doco wanted him to give it his all. He would.

The pupils of Kenan's eyes stretch to fill In the sclera, and the blade lit up in a thousand different white dots. The stream of energy he pulled on thrummed In the blade as something between the two buzzed. Kenan felt the synergy rise as his sword, too, rose.

Doco's eyes shot open, and he even lost focus on the magics he had his grip on. “Par-conventus?!” he half yelled.

Then when The Black Blade fell. Along with it came Kenan. His body convulsed and twitched on a rapid onset of a deep affliction. Foam escaped his mouth as his head thudded against the ground. “Kenan!” Doco hollered.

But that sound was lost. Kenan's sight was nothing but fire and flame. His bones and flesh all melted in the heat, and his nerves burned to the point he felt nothing else. The torture escalated, and his conscience fled.