This was the plain of nothing. A field of white that had seemingly no end. I read about this place a few times in some old tomes when merchants came by. It was a place where you are most in touch with the frin inside of yourself. I wish I would've tried it sooner, it rushed through my veins like a violent stream hitting against the banks of a river.
As I assumed a position of meditating, the world around me changed. It morphed into one better suited for darkness, a wasteland filled with crooked dark trees. Rivers of the same dark sludge flowed into the horizon marked out by the eclipsed sun.
Frin flowed freely through me, spreading and attaching itself to my organs. I was becoming one with my magic. From my outstretched hand a deep void spread encompassing and corrupting the pale skin on my forearm. It's coolness froze my skin while the blood boiling inside burned wildly.
That's the first step. Bringing the frin outside of the body was the easiest step, shaping it is by far the hardest part. She mentioned a blade. I've never even considered creating a sword of magic, if I can manage this then I would have one hell of a sword. A retractable weapon that could be shaped with a single thought. Shit. I let my mind wander off.
Right, picture a sword. What are the components of one? A pommel, hilt, guard and a blade. Most swords have this, I think. My one did, I'll just recreate it.
I could clearly picture the shape of the sword in my head. I forced frin into the palm of my hand, bending and shaping small amounts of it in the form of a hilt. This alone took a few minutes. Its body shook uncontrollably from the stress it was under. Frin isn't normally tangible so forcing it took take shape takes great effort. I have to complete something in a short amount of time that took old masters decades.
Below the hilt a small pommel grew out with a winged design. Its shaking form would fool someone into believe that the wings were fluttering wildly as if to take to the skies. Next up was the guard, nothing extravagant. Something that serves the purpose.
My eyes shut once more, creating the image of two bars sprouting up from the hilt. These were more stable than the other pieces so far. Maybe I am getting the hang of it, I might be a genius at this! But no point to get excited until the sword itself was finished, one thing was left…the blade.
This was by far the hardest part of the whole process in the books I read. Frin gathered in the palm of my hand, filtering through my veins into the uncompleted sword. Pushing it out through the hilt all the way into where the blade is supposed to be.
It's form wavered the further up it traveled. It lacked sharpness, its edge was not only dull but also fragile. Sucking and sucking more and more of my frin supply, like a thirsty animal in the desert, until eventually…it dissipated. All of the progress went to shit.
The plain of creation faded back into the pearly whiteness from before. Terrain shifted and reverted back to blankness. My eyes opened, greeted by the stampede of creatures gnawing away at my root barrier.
Sweat dripped down their faces. Zeraf and Ghost had been fighting for god knows how long. Time works differently in the two realms. I could feel the output of frin from Zeraf, a large amount was being expended on keeping the small flames alive. It would be beneficial for her to stop using the fire for a small period of time and rely only on her physical prowes.
Ghost on the other hand was only able to cast magic. As an undead her physical capabilities are subpar while her magical abilities are higher than a rookie adventurer. Even the dead can grow in terms of magical ability. That is why some pursue the path of a lich. Becoming the absolute scholar, ruler of the undead. Though there hasn't been one since Caer Folli. Over five hundred years ago.
(''Boy you are really disappointing me here. Your allies are trying to their very hardest to survive, for what? For a little squirt like you to waste the chance? We can't have that! I'll give you one last tip, if you can't figure it out then I will cut you down.'') Her malice changed the hue of the atmosphere around us. From the smoggy grey to a reddish tint which filled my eyes. (''Your sword doesn't have to be one that you have used before. Frin is part of you, therefore you must become your weapon.'') I still can't get over how the enemy is helping me out here. Help is help but even then I would rather not be eaten.
Once more I erected the root wall to block out any disturbances, The white plain instantly faded into the darkened wasteland. This time different. I was located inside a small shack-like building which was missing two walls. All that is inside is a cushioned arm chair with intricate floral designs. The skeleton of the chair was made with a rich walnut which would only be found in royal palaces.
I promptly sit down and rest my arms onto my lap. My blood began to boil just like before as it coursed throughout my body. Heating everything it came in contact with, spreading the frin to my arms. Its corruption began again, spreading like a hungry parasite and clinging on for its nutrition.
Something different, that's what she said. A sword that differs from the traditional four components. Something basic that can be maintained and used. Make myself into the weapon itself…what could that be though? Do I… become the blade?
Should my arms be the tools that will cut down my foes? Let's try it. Stem like roots raced to form a long, sharpe-edged rod extended from my arm. It would classify as a rapier. This was a good attempt, I've got the basic idea down, now remains just
enhancing it to be the right style of blade. Something thicker that can resist and slash through flesh.
The rod melted back into the pool of frin on my arm. I closed my eyes one more time. A dark, empty world surrounded me. Devoid of everything and lacking any morsels of heat. The warm blood circulating in my body could no longer be felt…to be more precise I felt nothing.
I turn my eyes down to scope out my body. Darkness' clutches gripped at my very soul, gripping and tearing away anything it got its hands on. My arms shook violently without my command. Sparks flew up shinning in the empty space revealing the jagged edges of the blade. It was one with my arm almost as if it grew from the bone.
I opened my eyes, greeted with the empty white plain. Shadows were nowhere to be seen. The horizon marked out by the burning sun which seemingly ran away with the sun becoming smaller and smaller. To my sides were two void-black blades with edges sharper than wolf's fang. My lower half was covered in a goey black sludge.
The time for battle is eminent. But there is one more thing I would like to create before I leave this plain…
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Blood. My vision blurred with blood and my nose full with the smell of rust. Beside me two bodies lay limply. One with a pool of blood around her and the other with no frin left in her body. (''Thank you…now its my turn.'')
Placing my hand below me as support I stood up and stared at Void. Her smile was ever so malicious, licking her lips like an animal in heat. It is do or die from here…no. It has been do or die since the very beginning. What is a battle if not to the death?
I waved my hand over my body. A crown of darkness spread across my temple and around the back of my head. My arm became darker than the very void that she was created from.
The creases on my face burned vehemently and a fire was lit in my heart. Every inch of my body screamed to fight, to kill this demon. I've grown thanks to her, now I must make her regret the day she crawled out of the ruins.
Creatures jumped forward, gripping my clothes in their desperate attacks. A mountain of curpses flew in the air. This was the power of the new blade. A single swipe was all it took to carve the very land we stood on. Even Void was in awe at the canyon formed between us. This was her greatest delight, her shoulders shaking as she laughed uncontrollably before him
(''Congratualtions boy! Ready to die?'')
(''Bring it on bitch!'')