Chapter V: Friendly Giant
In which life becomes complicated...
That morning, Barsch awoke with a scream, a habit which was quickly becoming an annoyance. Whatever nightmare had been tormenting him was already fading, but the deep sense of dread remained, settling in his heart as if it meant to stay forever.
Turning on his side, his gaze drifted over to Alza’s bed, which was now empty. The food he had left for her was gone, along with her pack, but Barsch told himself that she was probably waiting for him outside. Despite this reassuring thought, however, the dread in his heart began to swell.
“Kingston! Are you here?” he called, gathering his things and moving towards the door. Someone had tidied the Station while he slept, and there were almost no signs that anything had ever been disturbed, aside from a handful of missing medicine bottles.
“Alza? Where are you?”
Again, silence was the only response. With one final look back, he left the Station, where Kingston’s hope had died and been reborn.
Outside, the sun was still cradling the eastern horizon. With the new day’s light, Barsch was able to fully appreciate just how much devastation they had caused the night before. A long furrow in the grass marked where Erebus’ blade had just barely missed cutting Barsch in two, and the sudden disappearance of the re-mech’s large footprints pointed out the beginning of its own end. The broken tree-line was still there, although Barsch was now able to trace the re-mech’s exact path through the woods.
Acting on a whim, he drew nearer to the re-mech’s tomb, noting the thousands of metal and wood shards which now littered the forest floor. There, lying in the remnants of a great oak was the fallen guardian. Barsch turned away from it, unwilling to expose his mind to such a sight for any longer than necessary. He still had trouble accepting that Alza had been the cause of everything he now saw. But he could no doubt what he had seen with his own eyes, no more could he force himself to treat Alza as he had before. Even if her actions had a reasonable and logical background, he knew that he would never again see her as an innocent and frail observer.
As he turned his head, he caught a glimpse of something shimmering in the distance. Walking towards it, he saw that it was the re-mech’s chainsword, now embedded halfway into a birch tree.
He was about to turn around and head back to the Station when an errant thought stopped him.
“Take it, and gain the power you crave…”
The voice in his head was not his own, and yet it felt impossibly familiar.
“I suppose it could be useful… I mean, with everything that’s happened, it couldn’t hurt to have a way to defend myself, right?”
While his mind set about justifying his theft of the weapon, his feet slowly carried him forward, towards the gleaming blade. Despite its recent trauma, the weapon looked like it was in perfect condition, which was a far cry from its master.
“You destroyed its owner, it is yours now, by right of conquest!”
Again, the disquieting voice spoke, giving an opinion that he did not have. If anyone had claim to the blade, it was Alza, or even Kingston, but they were nowhere to be found, and the world was full of danger.
“Take it, and make it your own! Its voice will become your scream, and its rage will become your power! Take it, and set free the Beast which lives within!”
A sudden cold sensation on his palm made him look up. Without noticing, he had reached out and grasped the weapon’s hilt. It was a smooth metal cylinder, with laser-etched grooves for grip. It ran into the small engine block, which was mostly obscured by a black moulded covering that joined the hilt and blade, replacing the cross-guard. Emerging from the engine were two small exhausts, exiting at an angle away from the blade. The only other adornment was a thin, leathery ripcord which emerged from a tiny hole at the base of the engine. A small, red button was situated on the underside of the engine block, with the words “KILL-SWITCH” imprinted in tiny lettering. Lastly, a compact dial was located on the right side of the block, labelled from “I” to “V”, which Barsch guessed had something to do with changing gear speeds.
“Take it, and show the world your fury! Take it, and lose yourself to the violence!”
The voice in his head was screaming now, but it did not disturb him as it should have. It was a part of him… a part he had locked away a long time ago, now reborn again at the sight of the beautiful blade. Placing his other hand on the hilt, he heaved, and the blade slid out in one smooth movement. “I guess this makes me a modern day Arthur, huh?” he thought, as he admired the rest of the sword.
It was lighter than he had judged, weighing only a little more than Kingston’s knife. He wondered what miracles of engineering had gone into making such a vile thing. Looking closer, he could make out the circuit board pattern to the lines etched into the black metal, which had been ablaze with blue light when he had seen it last. He placed a hand on the cold surface, and for an instant, he fancied that he could feel the repressed roar of the blade. Whoever had made this had imbued it with enough violence to last several lifetimes.
As he hefted the weapon, another impulse overcame him, and he suddenly stepped forward and swung. The silent blade moved as he wished, and a second later a long, thin gash appeared on the broken bark.
“Not bad, but I’ve seen you do better,” he said, not realising that the words in his mind had been made real. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the ripcord, and after three sharp tugs, the engine roared to life. Immediately, dozens of thin, hooked teeth appeared along the edges of the blade, -apparently from a thin slit running the length of the blade- extending about an inch away from the sword’s borders. The sound of the engine grew in resonance with the speed of the rotating teeth, and both reached their maximums in a cacophony of screaming air.
Once again, he brought his arm up and around, while the sword obeyed its new master and dove towards the scarred wood. When churning metal met battered bark, metal won. When Barsch looked up a heartbeat later, the tree was simply… gone. A few feet away lay a cooling mess of splintered wood and burning leaves, the only remnant of his target.
From that moment on, the sword belonged to him.
“And you belong to me…” whispered the voice, which had calmed the moment he picked up the blade.
The only thing left to do was give it a name, and as he stared in wonder at the powerful weapon in his hands, a memory crept into his mind.
“Lanista: The Instigator of Violence” he announced, sensing approval from the voice in his mind. The name came from a book he had found in Kingston’s study, titled “Famous Blades: A Retrospective look at World Defining Weapons”. The book had spoken of an ancient sword that had been cursed to instil violent thoughts into all who wielded it, and, looking at the roaring blade in his hands, he could think of no better namesake.
Smiling to himself, he pressed the kill-switch, muting the furious blade. He had gained a weapon, but he had lost two companions, and it was time to find them…
Awakening Page 46