Corruption Sicks

Chapter 7
Reunion


“You said you could track him!” Frost snapped. “What's the problem?”
Steve held the scythe helplessly before him. They stood outside Tyrassa's magic shop, but had not yet entered. It had taken a very great deal of time to repair Blade's scythe, further irritating Frost and Hides. Steve had immediately stopped and had begun to babble on about tracking Blade.
“I can track Blade, but something's wrong. It's not right. It doesn't fit. The pieces are jumbled up. The image is cracked, the stone is marred. The metal is warped. The squirrel can't find his nuts, and the tree has lost its blossoms. The cake hasn't received its frosting. The...”
“Steve!” Hides screamed after slapping his palm against his forehead.
“Alright!” Steve snapped irritably. “I can track him, and I expected him to be far away.”
“He's close by?” Frost asked hopefully.
“Sort of. No, not really.” Steve replied. “He's actually really far away, but he's coming closer. Really fast.”
“How fast?” Hides asked.
“Really, really, really, really, really, really, really fast.” Steve explained.
“Wow.” Frost breathed sarcastically. “That is fast.”
“I know!” Steve shouted, not picking up the sarcasm, but picking up several stares from the surrounding citizens.
“When will he be here?” Hides queried.
“Well, if he stays like he is...” Steve began. “Half-past sometime?”
“That's accurate.” Frost added, still sarcastic.
“Perhaps when the chimera cries oink?” Steve offered.
“Never mind, let's just get this scythe in working condition for when Blade does get here.” Frost took the scythe angrily from Steve and marched into the magic shop.


* * * * *


The sun hung low in the sky when Blade caught sight of Medavesus. While on the ground the city inspired his awe, from above, the spires and airships were nothing short of breathtaking. As the westering sun struck the climbing edifices of the buildings, the light glinting off of their materials, Blade had to stare. He simply couldn’t help it.
“We seem to have arrived, Blade.” Xyrcan muttered, his hands moving across the sphere, causing the ship to slow somewhat and turn ever so gently toward a domed structure near the northern end of the city. Standing next to Xyrcan, this newest ally, Blade knew he would have to say farewell soon. The thought did not sit well with him.
“I shall have to find you again one day.” He promised.
“Indeed, I look forward to your visit. Pray tell me: will you see what you can do to learn some magic?”
“Of course, Xyrcan. I thank you for all you’ve done. I owe…”
“You owe me nothing. Your conversations are thanks enough.”
Blade nodded, not knowing what else to say. From this high up, he could see much of the surroundings of the city. To the east was the desert and the many twining canyons that made up that area. To the west was still more dessert, but much more flat. In fact, the farther out Blade looked, the more it looked like a bowl or a crater. The south contained more plant life, although it was still as arid and dry as the other two directions. To the north was a wasteland. At first, the golden sands of the dunes stretched far from the city, and then it turned a dull grey. Dark clouds governed the skies in that direction. Blade hoped he never had to venture in that direction. The mere appearance of it filled him with dismay.
“That is the domain of the Empire.” Xyrcan interrupted, seeing Blade’s line of sight. “I do hope to never learn of your presence there.”
Blade looked from Xyrcan back to the bleak grayness of the distant north. “As do I. What civilization would endure such an existence?”
“It is a magical cover, a deceptive defense against invasion. Indeed, it is a very reasonable paranoia that grips them. They have made many enemies. It makes sense to take every possible precaution to defend the heart of their lands.”
“Magic made that?”
“Indeed, but no single creature could do that. Not even I alone have that power. There would need to be several magi to do something to that grand of a scale.”
“There isn’t a being alive that could hold that much power?” Blade queried.
Xyrcan sighed. “Once, there was a race that commanded such power. Their battles were monumental, rivaling the power of the Gods.” Xyrcan’s eyes seemed to mist over. “They were the ancestors of the Dracos.”
Xyrcan sighed again, lowering his gaze to the dome beneath them, now beginning to open wide for them to land. “But that race is long extinct. No, there isn’t a single being alive that could command such power.”
Blade left Xyrcan to his silence. It appeared that this powerful Dracos carried a respect, a reverence toward this extinct race. He felt it prudent not to press the issue further.
The ship descended into the much darker hangar of the Medavesus. As it landed, and Xyrcan removed his hands from the sphere, he stepped down from the raised platform and walked directly up to the window. Blade followed, stepping up beside him to look up at Xyrcan’s face.
“I want you to take one of my guards with you.” He said suddenly.
“What?” Blade demanded.
Xyrcan turned to him, truly concerned, it seemed. “This Edge character you have described concerns me. His description is uncannily similar to another I know of, but it needn’t concern you for now. I merely want you to take a form of escort, as a precaution from a friend.”
Blade thought on it a while. He didn’t truly see much harm in it. After all, it would afford him yet more protection. It could even provide him with more insight upon the Dracos, for Blade was truly intrigued by this winged race. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a sort of discomfort. He didn’t want to accept the escort, but had no idea why. Something was unattractive about the arrangement, but he couldn’t dispute Xyrcan’s hospitality.
“Very well,” Blade conceded.
“Fakyr!” Xyrcan shouted.
“Yes, my lord?” Came a response directly to Blade’s left. When Blade turned to face the sound, there was a Dracos in heavy combat gear directly in front of him, towering over Blade, but not quite as tall as Xyrcan. Surprised as he was at the sudden appearance of this Dracos – Blade never was certain as to how he had gotten so close without detection – the poor man gave a yelp of surprise and fell back on his behind. The Dracos regarded Blade curiously before returning his attention to Xyrcan.
“You needed me, Lord Xyrcan?” The tall Dracos asked. Having regained a measure of his senses, Blade now examined this new character. The Dracos was clearly seasoned, his armor crisscrossed with numerous scratches and dents, many having been repaired with newer, brighter material. The scales, a deep gray, bordering on black, that Blade could see had lighter patches and stripes, clearly scars, as had appeared on Lugumo's skin. However, unlike Lugumo, whose fur had never grown over the scars, this Dracos' scales had been replaced after whatever grievous wounds that had struck him healed. The scales, though, having grown over scar tissue, grew lighter.
The newcoming Dracos, if indeed Blade could say that in the face of his apparent experience, was somewhat shorter than Xyrcan, but still a few inches taller than Blade. The man saw this when he drew to his full height, being careful not to come between Xyrcan and the Dracos. Blade glanced at the seasoned warrior's wings, and saw the membranes damaged and filled with holes, especially near the edges, likely where the Dracos had taken the most damage, and had never fully recovered. Blade doubted that they were capable of flight any longer, and he felt a pang of sorrow for the old Dracos. It was clear he had given much to his duty, and Blade had to wonder what it would be like to have the ability to soar among the clouds and be free of any tethers the solid ground to offer, and then lose it. To be stuck firmly on the earth forever more.
“Blade,” Xyrcan said, drawing the man's attention from the old Dracos. “This is Fakyr, and I wish him to accompany you. I owe much to him, so please, pay him respect.”
Blade turned to Fakyr, and bowed, an unspoken apology for such an unceremonious greeting. “Well met, Fakyr.” Blade greeted, attempting to act as formal as possible. He had no intentions of disrespecting either Xyrcan or Fakyr. Rising from his bow, Blade intended to finish the formality. “I am called Blade. I am very pleased to meet you.”
“Fakyr,” Xyrcan began, addressing the new Dracos directly. “You are to assist and accompany Blade and his companions until further notice. I would also like you to chronicle your ventures whenever possible. This one's story seems an interesting one indeed. Will you do this?”
Fakyr nodded, as a soldier would. “If you so ask it of me, my lord. Although, I would ask your certainty. Is my place not by your side? Is that not my duty?”
“It is, my friend, and I do not make this decision lightly – you are my most capable subject, and are among my closest allies. I trust your ability to the fullest, Fakyr.” Xyrcan explained to the now somewhat disappointed Fakyr. Blade noticed an oddity about the Dracos standing before him now. In the sanctuary, and often among the crew of the ship. They would speak another tongue altogether, likely their native language. However, Xyrcan and Fakyr spoke Blade's language quite clearly, likely for the convenience of the poor man's interests.
“Very well, my lord. Shall I depart immediately?” Fakyr inquired.
“Indeed, as that is also when Blade shall be leaving.” Xyrcan replied.
“Right!” Blade interjected. “Where's the nearest exit?” He asked, now eager to return to his friends.
Xyrcan smiled as much as his reptilian maw would allow, and turned to face outside the window. Blade stepped up beside him, confused as to the Dracos' designs. Before he could utter another question, though, Fakyr roughly picked him up by the back of his collar, and hurled him at the window. As Blade came close to the window, he shielded his face as he expected it to shatter. It never happened, though, as the magic of the barrier allowed him to pass right through it to land heavily on the ground.
Xyrcan and Fakyr shared a hearty laugh, expecting Blade to join in on the joke. Indeed, Blade would have, if he had not been assailed by another danger.
That feral beast inside had been insulted.
Trembling visibly, though he did not register it, Blade breathed through clenched teeth in hard, ragged gasps, still on his hands and knees before the Dragon's Mystery. The bestial presence was indeed powerful, but the first time it had surfaced, Blade was weak in his mind and completely disoriented. This time, he almost expected the animal within and could prepare for it. He also had a much more powerful mental projection, having recovered fully from Steve's psionic barrage.
Blade was successful in slowly beating back that feral entity. He had to wonder, now, where it had come from. Had Edge done this to him? Did that man even exist? Or was it that part of his mind attempting to find an origin to the abnormality that had taken him over? Was the dream he had even real? Why was Edge such a prominent character in this drama that seemed to be his life?
Blade's many questions raged his mind as he remained, still crawling, Fakyr dropping down beside him. Kneeling, the old Dracos placed a hand on Blade's back, and got Blade's attention from his stoop. “Are you alright?”
Blade stared hard at Fakyr a long moment before shakily getting to his feet. “Yeah, I'll be fine.” Blade looked up at the ship, and Xyrcan waving at them from behind the magical window. “We should probably get clear of the ship.”
“Agreed,” The two jogged to the nearby entrance to the hangar and watched as the domed ceiling again opened wide to allow the Dragon's Mystery to rise near vertically, and fly off to Xyrcan's home.
And Fakyr's as well, Blade realized. Blade stared hard at Fakyr, wondering just what he was sacrificing to follow Xyrcan's orders. How homesick, Blade wondered, might this old Dracos become? Could he merely desire to settle down and forget the tiresome ties of duty? To merely relax at long last?
Then again, Blade couldn't truly understand the inner machinations of Fakyr's mind. Either way, Blade had a new ally, a very powerful one, he could tell.
Fakyr suddenly turned to Blade. “Shall we find whoever we're supposed to find and move on?” He asked. That's when Blade realized that Fakyr had clearly never been filled in on Blade's current position.
“Perhaps. Maybe it would be best if you understood what I know thus far.” Blade proposed.
“I'm listening.” Fakyr prompted.


* * * * *


Frost tapped her foot impatiently, standing in front of a door at the back of the magic shop. Hides paced back and forth nearby, and farther away, Steve juggled several magical potions. Frost had told him repeatedly to put them down, but when she tried to enforce her command, he ended up eluding her, never once dropping a vial. The shadow, of course, helped Steve's cause by catching whatever Steve missed or distracting Frost as Steve moved to catch a high-thrown potion.
Eventually, Frost gave up.
After an agonizingly slow wait, Tyrassa emerged from the door with a worrisome look on her feline face. “What's wrong?” Frost asked. “Is the scythe ready?”
“Well...” Tyrassa began, fumbling for the words. “The spell worked, but it was more difficult than I thought.”
“How do you mean?” Hides asked.
Tyrassa hesitated for but a moment before explaining excitedly. “It seems Blade has a bit of a magical essence about him. It lingered on the scythe and interfered in my spell casting. It is indeed far, far more durable than it was before. In fact, with the magical leftovers from your friend, it may well be virtually indestructible. But...”
Tyrassa reached behind the door's frame and produced a scythe that neither Frost nor Hides recognized. The blade was still an inky black, but now it seemed to reflect more light, and yet seemed eerily dull in luster. Where the blade met the shaft, on the opposite side of the blade was what appeared to be an elongated skull of a creature none of them could place. The eye sockets were black pits. Frost even entertained the notion that perhaps they were bottomless, or perhaps were enchanted for holding. The skull was missing its lower jaw, the upper coming nearly to rest on the shaft.
The shaft was just as frightful. Instead of straight and perfect, as Blade had found it, it was curved to reflect the natural curvature of a spine. And indeed, it appeared to be made up of many vertebrae, smoothed and rounded, rather than with the many protrusions that extended from an ordinary spinal column.
“Is that Blade's scythe?” Hides demanded incredulously, unable to wrench his eyes from the unnatural weapon.
“It is. The magic of its master has interfered greatly with my own spells. I tried to reverse it, but it seems that it will be like this forever.” Tyrassa lamented.
“I actually kinda like it!” Steve exclaimed, surprising Frost as he practically appeared behind her rather than walked up. “It looks cool. And it talks to me!”
“I think everything talks to you, Steve.” Hides interjected.
“No!” Steve snapped indignantly. “Not everything! … Dammit...”
“Dammit?” Tyrassa queried.
“O' death and bebother!” Steve suddenly shouted.
“Why don't you take the scythe. Try to explain to Blade that I tried, but I did not know he had magical qualities.” Tyrassa held out the weapon for someone to grab it.
Nobody did, at first.
Hesitating, even looking to each other for support, Hides, Frost and even Steve stared at the weapon almost fearfully. Finally, Frost gingerly picked up the weapon, afraid for a reason she knew not. As she lifted the scythe from Tyrassa's grip, it felt almost lighter than it was before. However, when she swung it around to lean it on her shoulder, the swing itself held the same weight as it did before. It almost unbalanced her.
“Steve,” Frost began. “Could you track Blade with this?” She held out the scythe to Steve.
He stared at it, wide-eyed, almost hyperventilating. Frost could see a bead of sweat slide down the side of his face. He lifted the weapon after a final reinforcing glance at Frost. Holding it, he felt no different, as he had expected. He was afraid because he felt a presence about it. He had feared he would have to contest with it, to battle for control. No such conflict arose, and Steve was relieved, but only for a moment.
Blade was within the city. The aural emanations were undeniably powerful.
“He is close.”
“How close?” Frost demanded.
“Really close. Like I could toss this scythe at his head, if there were no walls, and he'd catch it.” Steve's fear of the weapon seemed to almost sober him up a bit from his insanity, if temporarily. “Let's get this to him, and hope he takes it. I grow weary of its weight.”
Frost raised her eyebrows at Steve's sudden sophistication in contrast to the childish man that had just been juggling potentially dangerous potions like a foolish teenager. Steve, holding the scythe as far away from his body as possible, walked out of the shop, leaving Frost, Hides and Tyrassa to stare at his back as he left.


* * * * *


“You said you might have damaged your scythe. Do you think they went to repair it?” Fakyr asked.
Blade pondered for a moment. Indeed, the logic seemed sound. “We should try to find the weapon shop.” Blade led the way through the crowds in the reception area, and led Fakyr out onto the streets.
“It is so much warmer here. How can you stand it?” Fakyr complained.
“I would ask the same of your frigid mountain resort.” Blade retorted with a bit of a smile.
A smile that went away at the flutter of a white trench coat.
Between the shuffling crowds, Blade knew it was him. Blade knew it to be Edge. The massive sword strapped upon his back, and the two sabers upon his hips. Blade knew him to be the Edge from his dream, and his memory, there could be no doubt.
“Are you alright?” Fakyr asked again.
“Yeah,” Blade began, absently. “You go on and find it, I'll catch up.”
Fakyr shrugged his scarred shoulders and moved through the crowds, standing out plainly, for he was even taller than the Lamadan, and no other creature within the city had wings.
Blade began to shuffle toward Edge, his back turned, showing clearly the dragon's emblem upon the coat. Edge began to walk away, and Blade began to speed up, afraid of losing this chance to learn of his past. Who was Steve? From his dream, Blade figured that Edge and his master sent Steve after him. Why?
Edge continued to walk away, somehow not hindered by the crowds. Blade started to shove people out of the way to get to Edge. A Lamadan passed between Blade and Edge, and Edge was gone.
Blade looked frantically for his lost chance, a possible rival with information to spare. Blade finally slumped in resignation and frustration. He had no choice, now but to return to his friends, and followed Fakyr toward Lugumo's weapon shop.


* * * * *


Blade met Fakyr in front of Lugumo’s. Fakyr turned at Blade’s approach. “You said ‘Lugumo,’ correct? I believe I found it.”
“Yes, you have.” Blade confirmed. “Now, we just need to find…”
“Blade!” Two voices called from behind. Blade whirled, recognizing the voices, and wearing a smile of relief that nothing had happened to Hides, Frost or…
Steve.
Confusion, anger, fear and that feral beast all rose up at once, threatening to overwhelm Blade. Why was Steve with his friends? Was that bastard holding them hostage? Had Hides and Frost somehow defeated him and were now holding him prisoner? If so, then why did he hold a weapon? Indeed, with its vertebral shaft, and skeletal crosspiece, it seemed to fit the lunatic perfectly. And why were all three of them smiling? It seemed either Steve would be frowning and the other two smiling, or the other way round. It made little sense in Blade’s mind.
“What is he doing here?” Blade snapped immediately, his smile washed away. “He tried to kill us!”
Hides lifted his hands defensively, a nervous smile curling his lips. Frost grew concerned, and Steve almost seemed to gain the expression of a child being scolded. “Blade, after you left, Steve decided to join us.”
“Why?” Blade coldly retorted.
“He said that he couldn’t tell us unless you were here.” Hides helplessly explained.
“And is his loyalty proven?” Blade queried.
“Actually, he was tracking you with your scythe. It’s how we knew you were in the city, or even alive for that matter.” Frost interrupted.
“And where is my scythe?” Blade asked. At this, Frost turned to Steve and took the scythe from his grip. She held it out plaintively to Blade. “What the hell is this?” He asked, growing irate. What was this random piece of scrap that they decided to toss his way?
“It’s your scythe, Blade.” Hides tried to explain. “We went to fix it at Lugumo’s, and he suggested that, since you trashed it in a day, we take it to Tyrassa to strengthen it. So, she did her hokus pokus, but I guess you’re kinda magic. So it screwed it up. And this happened.”
Blade frowned in disappointment, not quite believing that magic alone could transform his beautiful weapon into this embodiment of evil. He looked down to the still black blade of the scythe, and thought on his own appearance. Black hair, a black shirt, black pants, black boots, all topped with pointed ears and black eyes; truly Blade had little room to talk of evil appearances.
He reached forward, resolving to find his real scythe later, thinking that this was a hoax or a prank, likely orchestrated by Hides. He promised to properly throttle him later, when there weren’t so many witnesses. Blade’s palm came to rest on the scythe’s shaft, followed by his fingers grasping it firmly.
And couldn’t let go.
Blade felt a tingle, then a shock run up his arm and into his shoulder. He immediately attempted to release the scythe, but his hand would not obey. He jerked back, attempting to get away from the weapon, but ended up ripping the weapon from Frost’s grip, surprising her and those he nearly struck with the back swing.
As he came to rest, his panic subsided as he felt the new balance of the weapon. Running his hand down the intricate curvature of the shaft, Blade no longer wanted to release his grip, felt a deeper connection to it than he had when he lifted it from the stand in Lugumo's shop. Never before had he been so compelled to take the weapon up, and yet felt no malice from that desire. He wasn't hateful, nor did he derive a cynical pleasure in the thought of killing with this scythe. Instead, he was merely reinforced in his goal of knowledge of who he once was.
“Are you alright, Blade?” Fakyr asked, the third time thus far he had.
Blade felt the beauty of the weapon, despite its appearance befitting a demon. He came to accept it, to know that he could use it to achieve his ambitions. It felt more natural to hold now, with its curving and now more easily held shaft, having been grooved by dips representing the gaps between vertebrae.
Blade nodded slowly, reverently, and swung the scythe into his reflex sheath. It felt lighter, but swung with the same force as it always had. Blade wondered how that could be, and decided to look into it at a more convenient time. “I'm fine, Fakyr. But one thing still remains.” He turned sharply on Steve, still suspicious of his motives. “What is so monumental that you have to tell us?”
Steve looked nervously between Blade, Hides, Frost and Fakyr. And then his gaze shifted to something farther to the side. Blade followed his gaze, and his eyes widened. Then he chuckled, for he should have known who he saw now.
Cloack now approached, excitedly and filled with the lust for adventure, standing out just as blatantly as Fakyr did.
“What are you doing here?” Blade asked.
Cloack, catching his breath quickly, began to explain. “I stowed away on the Dragon's Mystery. Then I slithered away as it was taking off and followed you guys. I want to come with!”
Blade shook his head. “You're coming with, but right back to your home.”
“You don't even know where that is!” Cloack protested.
“But Fakyr does.” Blade retorted.
“Look, I'm already here, aren't I?” Cloack resolutely argued. “It would take forever to get back to my home, and it would be ungodly expensive to get an airship to get us there. I'm staying with you guys.”
Blade pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. What might Xyrcan think of this? Could this possibly destroy his friendship with the powerful Dracos? If so, what consequences could it have? Either way, Blade had little choice. Cloack was correct; it would take days to get to that mountain stronghold without the endurance of the beast that had brought Blade there to begin with, and he didn't even know the first thing about getting an airship, or a pilot to fly them there.
“Fine!” Blade irritably snapped. Cloack jumped in excitement, letting out a childish squeal of joy. Blade heard Fakyr chuckle softly. “But,” Blade stipulated, pointing a scolding finger at the young Dracos. Cloack's mirth ended abruptly, making way for the fear of a young boy being reprimanded by his father. “You will do exactly as I say, when I say it! No questions had best come from your mouth, or so help me you will wish you had stayed home. Hear me?”
Cloack frantically nodded, and Blade feared his neck would snap with the rapid motion. “Good boy. Now,” Blade turned back to Steve. “Back to you.”
Steve looked around and crouched low. Blade put a handle on his scythe, thinking the maniac to be attempting an attack. Steve rose, snapping his arms straight out. A wave of oddly colored light extended and painted everything with the strange pigments. It almost seemed that everything, save the six companions, were suddenly opposite colors from which they had started. Blade looked around, and was gripped with an undeniably eerie clench of his gut as he realized what Steve had done.
All the citizens stood frozen where they stood, stuck in the moment of time that Steve had stopped them in.
Blade turned to the still unpredictable Steve. Steve shrugged, and said, “I can't have anyone overhear me.”
Blade sighed in resignation and further irritation. “Very well. What do you have?”
“He's coming for you. He wants you dead.” Steve said cryptically.
Blade's brow furrowed as Hides and Frost stared at Steve incredulously. “That's it?” Blade snapped. “Who's coming? Who wants me dead?” Blade could guess the answer. This Edge seemed anything but a friend of Blade's, but he couldn't begin to fathom why.
“He knows where you are. You need to get out of the city.” Steve harshly whispered, as if someone might overhear. “If you remain, he will kill everyone here.”
“Who!” Blade demanded, not even a question anymore.
“Edge.” Steve breathed. Blade's shoulders slumped as his worst fear came true.
“Who is that?” Hides asked. “Do you know him, Blade?”
“I...” Blade began, honestly uncertain. “I don't know. I had a dream about him. I saw him earlier... or... maybe I did... I don't know. I wasn't even certain he was real.”
“Oh, he's real.” Steve said. “What was the dream about?”
Blade thought back to that dark memory, of him waking up choking Hides. “He was in a dark room, talking to something in the shadows. He said that he sent you after me. At least, he said 'Steve.' I don't know if it's the same one. They said I was magical, and that he cast a spell on me that made me forget everything. Is it true?”
Steve nodded, seeming to expect this. “They did send me after you, Edge and his master. You do have a magical aura, and Edge is the reason you can no longer remember.”
“But why?” Blade frantically asked, desperate to know more.
Steve smirked. “You don't remember what you are, do you?”
Images of that feral beast emerging assaulted Blade's mind. He realized that, indeed, he had no idea what he was. He shook his head, slowly.
“You are an experiment, as I was.” Steve quietly announced. Blade's eyes widened, as did Hides', Frost's and Cloack's. “One of many.”
“An experiment for what?” Frost demanded.
“The master is not human. From what I know, he has been trying to create more of him, his kind.” Steve explained. “There have been many failures, but he's getting close. He is powerful, which means if he successfully makes more of himself, all the world could be in peril. In order, Edge came first. In an attempt to duplicate his efficiency, I was constructed of a different template.”
Steve reached up and grabbed at the ends of his hair, tugging at them nervously. His voice cracked as tears welled up in his eyes. “I was rejected and imprisoned for study.” Steve sniffed sharply, and then continued as if the sudden sorrow never existed. “Then came you.”
Blade's brow furrowed, almost uncomfortable. Was this lunatic reliable? Was he telling the truth? Or perhaps his insanity is fabricating a lie based upon the world around him. “How can I believe you?”
“You will learn soon, I am sure.” Steve insisted. “You were made using the same template as Edge. However, more was done to you, in an attempt to improve upon, and ultimately replace Edge.”
“What was done to me?” Blade insisted.
“I don't know the specifics, but I believe the master tried to insert aspects of his kind into you; ferocity, magical might, so on and so forth. It was hoped that they would become one and create a creature similar to the master. It seems, however, that they remained separate. They began to rip you apart from within your mind.”
“So how did I escape?”
“That, I have no idea of. Whatever happened, you got out, and Edge came after you personally. However you escaped, you seemed to give Edge a vendetta, and he chased you to settle it. I know you two fought, and from what I've learned, the spell he cast locked you mind.”
“Locked my mind? How can that happen?”
“The spell placed barriers within your subconscious mind, hiding away your memories, and your abilities.”
“In my brain?”
“No!” Steve near screamed, and Blade again feared an attack, placing his hand again on the shaft of his scythe. Steve calmed however, as if the outburst never happened. “You don't seem to understand. In your mind! It locked up your mind! And I think I know why you went nuts in our fight.”
“And why's that?” Hides asked.
“When I did my awesomeness at you, I think I broke the first barrier.”
“And let that thing out?” Blade snapped, misunderstanding Steve's attack to have intentionally provoked the beast that even now edged Blade's thoughts.
“Looks like!” Steve jovially shouted. Then he grew somber and dipped his head, peeking up at Blade from beneath his brow, like a nervous boy. “That's actually why I want to come with you. You beat me, and Edge always needed help. Together, we might be able to beat them.”
Blade raised an eyebrow, still uncertain about all that was being said. Could his past truly have been so traumatic? “You really think so?” He asked, primarily just to play on Steve's momentum.
“Yeah, kinda.” Steve responded. He snapped his fists downward and the world around them returned to the norm, the citizens continued their commerce, and the imperials resumed their normal patrols. “So what do you say?”
“You still tried to kill us.” Blade pressed.
“But I promise I'll make it up to you!” Steve vowed. “I swear I will! Just please! Don't make me... me...” Steve again grew sorrowful. “Don't make me go back.”
Blade sighed, knowing he couldn't be so cruel, even to Steve. “Very well.” Steve nearly cleared Blade's height with his jump of joy. “Now where is it that you don't want to go? We could find Edge there and squeeze a bit more out of him.”
“I don't know.” Steve hesitated a bit. “I never paid attention. Whenever I got out, I would just focus on getting away. I never looked back, or around, or up, or down, or left, or right, or up, to the left, and slightly back, or...”
“We get it Steve.” Blade interrupted. “Alright. Well, if I'm magical, it might be wise to go see Tyrassa again. Come on.”