People had always praised Jarel Craith for his restraint.

Even when he was a boy, he waited his turn to speak. He paid careful, quiet attention to his teachers. He abided by the rules. Early on, perhaps before he could even speak, he became aware of the difference between the way things were and the way they ought to be.

And that bothered him.

He didn’t approve of disruptive children. The ones who made the instructor stop the lesson to deal with them. Little Jarel Craith would glare quietly, frustrated at the lack of efficiency of it. He felt it was a theft of his time.

His disapproval of the ones who ‘stood out’ began early.

It was no different in the academy. Again and again, Jarel Craith collected compliments and commendations for being cool under fire, for possessing unshakable focus, for the ability to stay calm and de-escalate a tense situation, for maintaining his composure and following orders precisely no matter the situation.

None of those people would recognize him tonight.

He laughed into the wind.

His face was burnt, his robes were in ruin. And he was engaging his own superior in a battle to the death.

Holding Lifedrinker and Soulstealer.

Jarel Craith shot at the Governess like a cannonball, a blur of slashing death. The blades in his hands drinking deep of his own vitality, lending him speed and power at the cost of…

Everything, perhaps.

But he didn’t care anymore.

At the very least, it was gratifying to see the smugness wiped from Mecia Porsena’s expression.

Her sword was forged of a fine grade of Star-Steel, as befitted someone of her status. It was longer than Lifedrinker or Soulstealer, straight and double-edged, coming to a tapering point that flashed in the moonlight when it darted past his guard. But her strikes, though quick and accurate, were noncommittal. They were distractions. Her blade wove through a dizzying defensive pattern in the meantime, a challenge even for his enhanced perception and speed.

Corpus: 55,464

Gnosis: 12,301

She was stalling.

Placing her bet on Lifedrinker and Soulstealer to win the battle for her.

If he failed to overpower her in time, he would be utterly drained.

Lifedrinker and Soulstealer hungered for everything. For all of it. For her life force and for his. The blades guided his hands, well trained as they were, lending untold eons of malice to his every movement. They were hateful things, these weapons, no doubt created in anger by some ancient god bent on destruction. Even as they helped Jarel they were killing him, extracting their heavy price from his body and soul.

The moment he let go of these things, he would feel quite weak.

Which meant he couldn’t let go. Not until it was done.

And if he should have no more life left of his own, he would still have bested a traitor and a blasphemer.

A fine trade.

Mecia evaded flurry after flurry, soaring away from them, making him chase her across the evening sky. Only now she did not harry his pursuit with Skills, no doubt knowing that Soulstealer’s touch could consume them. As he charged she turned, the point of her sword striking like the stinger of a scorpion, straight and true, forcing him to abort and deflect or evade, and by the time he chose she’d escaped again. And again. And again.

With a trace of that mocking smile on her lips.

Corpus: 40,023

Gnosis: 9882

Her tactics were working.

A cold knot of fear began to form in his stomach.

Perhaps recklessness was the wrong course. Perhaps he had doomed himself.

Foolishness.

Jarel’s eyes widened.

He looked down at the blades in his hands.

Thou art still holding back, said Lifedrinker.

Thou art playing her game, said Soulstealer.

Lifedrinker pulsed with a dark energy. She exploits thy hesitation, it whispered. Every moment thou delayest, she grows bolder. Release thy fear and let us guide thee.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Soulstealer thrummed in agreement. You cling to restraint, even now. She sees it, uses it against you. Abandon the chains of thy past. Embrace the power we offer.

You are more than you believe, Lifedrinker urged. More than Numantia's perfect soldier. There are many of those, and but one of you. You are a force of nature, unbound by their rules.

Let go of doubt, Soulstealer insisted. Let go of the need to be recognized by those who never understood thee. Thou art beyond them now.

We can end this. Trust in us. There is a storm within thee, Jarel Craith. Unleash it.

Jarel felt a surge coursing through him, a thrum of power emanating from Lifedrinker and Soulstealer.

His grip on the hilts tightened, and he sensed the ancient malice within the weapons aligning with his own resolve. The boundaries of his own strength expanded, the limitations he had known dissolving in the wake of their dark promise.

Decide now, said Lifedrinker.

Decide to win, said Soulstealer.

It was a simple decision. Truly, it was no decision at all.

And in that instant, Jarel Craith became aware of the contents of his own heart in ways he had never perceived before.

He understood that all his life, he’d been building barriers around his anger at the world. Containing it. Confining it with training, with patience and discipline. Trusting in the rules. At first he believed that his fidelity to those rules, to the correct way of doing things, earned him recognition and honors because his superiors valued the same thing.

Not so.

They valued him only insofar as they could use him.

The disruptive brat-children were still among him, in positions of power over him, and it filled him with rage.

Good. Thou sees it. Now use it, said Lifedrinker.

Rage is thy weapon, said Soulstealer.

He was on Mecia Porsena so fast it looked like he’d translocated.

Perhaps he had. Perhaps he had the power to do so all along. He only held it back.

Again he noted with satisfaction that her smile was gone. In its place was a glare of intense concentration, as the blur of his blades pushed her defensive acumen to its limits. The clashing of swords echoed throughout the city below, faster and faster, the clamor of steel taking place at a tempo no human hand could match. She broke away, but barely, sailing through the air to the site of their next exchange.

Corpus: 30,014

Gnosis: 8253

He was there when she arrived. And this time, he saw fear in those eyes.

It was the first time he’d ever found Mecia Porsena attractive.

Their duel would not be won with a masterstroke of perception and precision. He did not spot, at last, a fleeting gap in her exceptional defenses. Nor did he bait her with feints and patterns, only to change his rhythm at a fatal moment. His encyclopedic knowledge of the martial arts did not avail him in the least.

This time, Jarel Craith prevailed with brute force.

His arms and the weapons they held were a blur. Too fast to be observed by the mortal eye. Lifedrinker and Soulstealer flooded him with power, made his offensive velocity into something unstoppable, unbeatable, the paths of those blades seamlessly integrated by the harmonious action of not one but three minds. A ghostly, heatless fire emanated from the edges of the blades, flowing up his arms, red on the right, blue on the left, and the two became a haze of violet in the space between himself and the Governess.

Mecia appeared to understand that her guard wouldn’t last much longer. He could see it in her eyes.

The strain on her face made Jarel smile. Her smugness was a bitter memory.

She sensed a small gap in his offense, tried to break away again—

Soulstealer struck the sword from her hands. It went spinning through the night sky, glinting in the light of the moons.

Lifedrinker bit deep into her stomach. Blood sprayed from her back as the blade punched out, running her through.

The fell blades and their wielder felt a thrill of bloodlust, as if the three were a single consciousness.

Corpus: 45,516

Mecia Porsena let out a convulsive, and distinctly un-ladylike snarl.

She grasped the wrist holding Lifedrinker in both hands. Kicked the hand holding Soulstealer so fast he barely had time to register the blow. He felt a jolt of fear as his grip on the black blade failed and it fell. But all he would have to do is conjure it from the God-Slayer’s Arsenal again and—

And then she smiled at him.

Velavesna’s Detonation

There was a flash.

When he regained consciousness, he could feel himself falling. The chill night wind buffeted his ears, blew his hair into his face. His body felt feeble. A new set of pain points on his body throbbed insistently. And he was even more badly burnt than before.

Jarel Craith blinked his eyes open, as if reluctantly waking from a nap. And then they snapped open when he returned to his senses.

He righted himself in the air. Realized he was empty-handed. But it was no matter, Lifedrinker and Soulstealer would have returned to the God-Slayer’s Arsenal. He could call them again at need.

But… Where was Mecia Porsena.

He was above the water. Taracon lay before him and far beneath him. In the darkness, there was no way of knowing where she’d landed. Perhaps she fell into the sea and drowned.

He locked his eyes on the Governess’s tower and streaked through the air toward it as fast as he could fly.

Confirmation would be necessary.

He would dispatch a search party to locate the Governess’s remains.

He would summon Arnth Turan and Lar Tathvaal for an emergency meeting.

And then he would assume command as Provisional Governor.

Jarel flew in through the hole Mecia had blasted in her town tower, and made haste to her offices. There he called up the atlas of Volos, looking for her System tag.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that there wasn’t one.

Good.

All that remained was a search for her corpse, then.

Jarel Craith fell into the Governess’s chair — the Governor’s chair now — and closed his eyes. For a few long moments he simply breathed, recovering, a quiet but growing swell of exultation in his chest.

He’d actually done it.

But all is not complete, said Lifedrinker.

Nay, there is much yet to be done, said Soulstealer.

Jarel’s eyes opened. A pang of unease shot down his spine.

The swords should not be able to speak to him from their storage space.

We are in thy heart now, Jarel Craith, said Lifedrinker.

Now we can give good counsel to thee at any time, said Soulstealer.

We would see you rise to great heights. To conquer thy enemies, and to institute the order thou desires.

We are most interested in your foe as well. The one called Redmane.

Yes. Well-versed are we, in the ways of slaying demons.

Jarel shook his head, as if to clear their voices away.

He did not answer them, but they spoke no further. They were right about there being much to do, however.

As he got on the Pharos and called for the formation of a search party, summoned his remaining Sicari for an emergency meeting, sent messages to Arnth Turan and Lar Tathvaal for the same, and began drafting an emergency address to the people of Taracon and the citizens and Factions of the Imperial Province of Volos, he attempted to ignore the lingering sensation that he was no longer alone in his own mind.

Lifedrinker and Soulstealer indulged him with silence, for the time being.