A Blade and Her Witch

To Have, and To Be Held (Blade)

Content Warnings:

My revelation is proven true within moments as the caustic bubbles of Physis crawl over Borazag. Truly a beautiful spell. Cleaning combined with the thoughtform of a plague, treating flesh as the filth it is and leaving naught but pristine surfaces. I consume it reflexively, dissolving the spell into my own Physis as she runs. I want her, crave her, need to pierce into her and become one with her as I absorb her Ousia into me, another log added to the flame of my existence.

Borazag finally sees her and follows. Through his eyes I watch her lithe form flee from certain death with spellforms shunted from concealment to acceleration.

Run Run Little One.

Borazag is many things, and nimble is disappointingly not one of them. Fast, but unable to handle sudden stops or turns, a fact I am reminded of as he impacts the wall the Spellweaver was hiding against and breaks one of his antennas.

Idiot thing.

My perception is affected by his reduction, not significantly, but enough that I am displeased by it as inferior lifeforms like him cannot repair such damage.

Unacceptable. Unforgivable.

Borazag continues to give chase as I begin to reevaluate my upcoming meal. Human, at least in appearance. Could be a replacement but…

I won't. I can't. No one gets to own me, no Divine or mortal. Especially not if she's a Witch. None are worthy. None are — what in the sealed tomes is that?

As she runs down a hall, a porcelain shell dressed like a person rushes past her towards us. Four arms ending in bladed talons, a mouth crammed with two sets of fangs, and a complete lack of Ousia.

It becomes obvious very quickly that the oaf can't keep up with it, yet the thing's talons can't find purchase on his shell with my Physis reinforcing it.

It is sleek, elegant, deadly, everything I find most appealing about myself. I want to wear it like a glove and grasp my shaft with its hands as I am finally free to act without regard for another. The torn leather it wears strains under its exertions as I analyze it closer, spending Physis to speed Borazag for the purpose.

I want it, I need it, I HATE IT, I HATE IT, I HATE IT.

I realize that it is not a mere puppet controlled by the Spellweaver but has independent processing. With a lucky swipe by the oaf, I spike Ousia into it, attempting to destroy its will and leave it empty perfection to no avail. It is tethered to her and is not directly vulnerable to my machinations. I'll have to go through her. Nothing will stop me, I won't allow it.

I speed Borazag more and more, cramming my Physis through his body until he can finally outmatch the porcelain beauty, my future sheath, the nearly perfect match to me. Six two foot-long Quills crack free of the thing’s back and start to fill the chamber with a screaming song.

He impales it through the sternum with me and I shudder with the delightful sensation of being inside it. Where I belong. The distraction causes my working to slip and the thing decapitates Borazag the futile with all four sets of talons.

A wash of lethargy flows over me as the corpse falls back and the sheath kneels. My Ousia aura collapses into my frame with the recoil of losing so much Physis. 

With my senses lost, I cannot understand what is happening until I feel marble hands grasp the hilt of my blade, fingers curling under my quillon in preparation to withdraw me. I burn Ousia to flare the shoulders of my head into wicked barbed things. I need to ensure that this poppet cannot extract me itself, and that the Spellweaver puts hands on me. Then I can feast and inhabit. I can finally be whole.

I wait in anticipation while the prosthesis attempts to remove me, shredding its insides as it attempts to slide me back out like a key. It fails of course, delicate mechanisms screaming in protest as I am wretched back and forth. 

There is stillness. I am released, still transfixing the entity, pinning the butterfly in display. Order binding chaos, as it should be.

She approaches, the Bluest Blue I've ever felt, and I almost feel pity for the need to end her, to add her color to my mosaic. She makes the others look cheap in comparison. A Blue so deep I could drown in her forever.

Her hand wraps around me and I freeze. She's a Witch. There's no opening, no weak point I can penetrate to hollow her out like she did to so many of that dead bug's kindred. Her Ousia forms a hard shell that seals her Physis away from me.

No. No. Not Again.

I feel my shape being pressed against, an attempt to warp me, to simplify my form, I am able to prevent it but I comply, I surrender as I search for a way through her walls. I need to ensure that she keeps me with her, so I may escape this shithole, and consume her. No matter how long it takes. I sleep, passing into a Driftdream once more.

Thanks SO much for reading this SUPER fun collaborative project we is doing with Ruby, Blade of Dusk

Linkies to Ruby's other works:
Scribblehub
Royal Road
Tumblr

Aaaaaaaaaaaand check our our (Nevarii & Els') other works below!!!

Lamentations of The Dead Dreamer

Sun Spoken Turn