Kooroo
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The shining cone of spiraling blacklight howled towards the arbiter’s heading, trailing a procession of violet helixes. Syn’s two targets approached one another, their intentions far too clear.
But The Parting cared not for their quarrel. Just as the two foes came to a head, the vortex was upon them, in all its righteous fury.
Silver-clad heretic and world-worn heathen were knocked aside decisively, blood-trimmed steel and hoary cloth banished by lilac judgment. The armour-bound warrior was sent spiralling away once again, yet some form of devilry kept the world-worn elder on the ground.
And with those brutal displays of obeisance, Syn’s path was clear.
There was nothing ahead of her now, save the shadows and what lurked within them. The heresy she had set her sights on was now behind her, an ironic change from her ideology.
The Bleached Arbiter twisted and pulled on Providence, drawing the blade from the storm’s eye. She swiped it as soon as it was free, pulling its glowing edge across the breadth of the tempest. Empowered quartz sliced through whirling blacklight and the roaring ceased. The silence brought on was brief, only to be replaced with the sound of splintering glass once more. Sparks flew from Syn’s boots as she slowed to the halt, the fountain of light matched only by the darkness gushing from her plate.
She gritted her teeth, ignoring the scorching heat radiating from her center and resisting the temptation to sag against her sword. Weariness was unusual for her, just as the extent to which the heat bothered her. Armour, sword, and flesh; everything burned. It was rare for infidels to put up a lasting fight, but if this was His Trial, then of course it was bound to be challenging.
But her task was not complete; she had yet to judge a single one of them. Even without His Guidance, the arbiter knew that no matter the path she sought, it would require arduous amounts of bloodshed; either hers or theirs.
The din emanating from the crux of her being had halted, dying down to that low, familiar murmur. All was quiet around Syn; silence prevailed, save her breath, the hiss of smoke, and a rattling from behin—
Her grip tightened on her sword as something caught her in the back; a light prod, like a child might do to a parent. The arbiter whirled just in time to catch a sword to her chest.
Syn’s eyes widened as the claymore surged forward, through the opening of her coat.
THRACK!
She stumbled, the blow strong enough to send her back a half a unit. But while the strike was powerful, it was what she saw that had made her pause.
A claymore; its golden blade shimmering with the lights of the heavens, the singularity in its hilt shining like an aurora.
Providence.
The blade was Providence, in everything but material and nature. A lustrous facsimile of the darkened sword, graciously given by her absent Lord.
But… how?
As though res her thoughts, the false blade vanished, dissolving into dust. She’d seen that happen before: it was the fate that had befallen the pearl whips summoned by—
The knight’s eyes found the old man, his ruined form illuminated for all by her Lord’s Gaze.
A pulse of coldness swept through her as Syn’s eyes sought the heretic’s gaze, boring deeply into those dark, sunken orbs.
This heathen… this impious cretin dared to imitate her sacred blade? He, a faded shell of a man, sought to taunt her, to provoke His arbiter’s wrath? A dying man’s unwitting invitation, to welcome judgment with proffered sacrilege and a mocking smile?
Perhaps a trap, then. The sorcerous infidel wished to fell her, using deceit and devilry.
Syn narrowed her eyes and stalked forward, both hands on Providence before her. So be it. As was Decreed: If there was no faith in life, then there would be repentance in death.
Her quarry’s lips moved, speaking a command only to himself. Alabaster chain shot forth from arcane disk once again, honing in on her neck. Syn freed her right hand and swatted at it, punching outwards as she had the other knight’s shield.
The cable of bone had other plans, however, and it bound itself tightly along her arm, locking it in place. She pulled on the imprisoned limb, testing it, but the chain refused to yield any quarter. No matter, a swing of h—
Another murmur came from up ahead and another ivory rope launched itself at her, shooting straight for her chest. Syn swung upwards as it neared, but its sibling denied her the correct angle, and Providence went too wide. The second chain slowed as it approached, and then flitted forward, poking her once more. All Syn had time to do was glare before it faded, shifting into a pure white blade.
It was the very same blade the girl—perhaps she—had wielded in the memory.
The moment of hesitation was all that the bonecraft needed. Providence swung around again, coming down to intercept, but Syn was too slow. The snow white sword thrust forward and stabbed through her worn coat, cutting straight through the lapel.
Another vision flashed behind her eyes, more fleeting than the rest.
She was looking at a tall man, who was holding up an almost identical coat to her. The girl looked at the proffered garment, then back at the man and said something, eyebrow raised. In response, the man jerked his head, and made as though to take it back, before the girl protested, spouting apologies.
Induction day. A treasured memento of a lost age, worn in respect of… of…
Syn didn't know. It was a guess, an educated one at best, but it was still conjecture. Another question that needed answers, another inquest that could wait.
Following its ancestor, the startlingly white sword vanished into the air, turning back into the darkness from which it had spawned. Barely a mark was left on her plate, easily mistakable for a pup’s teeth.
But the same could not be said for the arbiter’s coat, which was left with a rather sizable hole through its lapel and breast.
The cold determination within her grew stronger and Syn let out a growl: a most uncanny sound for the usually stoic arbiter. A similar sound echoed from the depths of her chest plate, and strength flooded the faithful’s limbs.
She tugged on her bound wrist again and pulled, twisting across her body. There was a moment of hushed anticipation, broken only by the sound of straining, splitting bone...
And then Syn was free. Bleached links failed, shattering, and fading into air as the holy warrior broke free, resuming her slow and steady march. A satisfied grin breached her lips, unbeknownst to her former captor, who could only watch helplessly as she neared.
It was time.
The holy sword which had been subject to the ancient heathen’s travesty glowed, its edge glimmering menacingly. Providence rose up high and above Syn’s head, a beacon of faith, an icon of piety to her omniscient Lord.
“With this strike, I cast thee—“
A rattle of bone interrupted her, the sound coming from behind the steadfast warrior. She glanced to the side, just in time to see a restraining tongue of bone surge forth and lash tightly around her chest. Another length of chain wrapped around her arms, essentially trapping the arbiter mid-motion.
So close. She was so close, barely out of range.
Snarling, Syn tried to lunge forward, pushing off her right foot. The action did little to worry the chains and their master, however, rewarding her with a jangle and a vacant stare for her efforts.
”So when do you leave?”
A man’s calm voice, as smooth as velvet. The sound evoked a sense of calm within her, a strange reassurance. Different to the empowering clarity that His Presence provided her, but perhaps just as pleasant.
”You’ll be rid of me in three days.”
A woman’s contralto, cheerful and jesting, in contrast with her counterpart’s. This one was familiar. Far too familiar.
This one was hers.
“And… what’s this?” he asked, tweaking an eyebrow and gesturing at the presented sword.
“Won’t be needing this, will I?”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s your blade. It was made for you,” The man shook his head. “Keep it.”
“I… You know that they provide us with swords, right, father?” she asked, doubtfully. “No ‘bring your own’ shenanigans. Can’t have cadets accidentally killing themselves with homemade weaponry, afterall.”
“Did I forget to teach you how to hold a sword?”
“Jokes really don’t become you.”
He gave her a small smile.”It was worth a try.”
Her father moved closer and took her hand in his, the marble sword clasped in between them.
“Keep it,” he insisted again. “Keep it by your side and I’ll be content knowing that my daughter is safe. Hold it close and you will never truly lose your sense of self.”
Syn laughed. “Lords, father. I’ll be fiiiiine. Do you really need to try and make everything so dramatic?”
“How long did you say you’ll be gone for?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to write!”
“You’ve been avoiding this. Everyone’s asked, but you haven’t given anyone a straight answer. So tell me, daughter… how long will you b—”
So she told him. In a hushed voice, she told him and he sighed, closing his eyes, as Syn’s heart dropped. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and her throat tightened up, but she forced herself to remain strong. Deep breaths, tha—
“We’ll miss you.” Another woman’s voice: her mother’s.
Her mother had been listening all along.
Syn made to turn, to face her, but a pair of arms wrapped around her before she had the chance. Her father moved forward to join them, hugging both of them, their daughter at the heart of their embrace.
She was struggling now, trying desperately not to break down. It wouldn’t do for her to collapse into a blubbering mess now, especially if—
More footsteps. The girl knew exactly who they belonged to.
Oh Lords, please. No…
Another pair of arms joined the hug. And then… surprisingly, yet another.
That was the final straw.
The floodgates opened and the tears started, flowing freely down her cheeks. Her sword dropped, forgotten, as her sobs grew, until she was howling into her father’s shoulder.
Her family’s embrace faded with the memory, just as the arbiter felt the chain embracing her arms and torso ripple. The latter slid along her chest, curling around her neck and began to squeeze, attempting to crush her through her collar’s guard. Its sibling loosened slightly, leaving it up to its twin to finish their master’s task.
That would be their final mistake.
The glowing sword being aimed at the heavens glowed and glimmered, then shone, as its blade blazed with lilac power once more. Then, in a blast of violet light, its screams reached a new pitch, as Providence erupted with purple flame. Energy crackled and spat around her gauntlets, as The Guiding Hand ripped and tore at its wielder’s hands.
Syn focused back on the memory, back on that last, finite embrace. She focused on her family’s warmth and let it fill her, adding to the venerable heat coursing within her.
Her heart and her sword roared, blazing with power and purpose. Syn added her own voice to the din, before bringing her blade crashing down.
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