William drew the demonic sword, its obsidian blade gleaming menacingly in the dim light. It was a magnificent weapon, its power undeniable despite the unsettling voice that resided within.
He stood motionless, the sword held aloft, until the voice echoed in his mind once more. "Boy, I don't have arms or legs, you know. Put me closer to that bookshelf, and be quick about it."
William, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, obeyed. He held the sword against the bookshelf, a strange warmth radiating from its surface. He waited, his heart pounding, unsure what would happen next.
The sword remained an enigma, its origins and purpose shrouded in mystery. William, chosen as its wielder, felt a growing connection to the obsidian blade, yet he couldn't shake the unease that lingered in its presence. He kept it hidden, its secrets tucked away beneath layers of cloth, a silent promise of power and a potential threat he couldn't fully comprehend.
