LaughingFiend
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Chapter 102: One Week Later
🕑 Added 2024-11-10 08:04:56 +0000 UTCAt this point, fighting to the brink of death had become almost routine for Ricky, and each time it left him bedridden.
Ricky was growing tired of it, of lying around, forced to feel every inch of his body painfully knit itself back together.
For the past week, he had done nothing but wait, his healing factor working overtime, patching up the torn muscles and fractured bones.
It was his saving grace, but even it wasn’t a miracle cure as the damage he’d inflicted on himself was deep, and every agonizing moment of recovery served as a reminder of the punishment he’d put his body through.
Despite his desire to move, Ricky found himself drained and lost in a fog, his mind stretched thin.
Over the past three years, he hadn’t allowed himself a single break, but now, after finally emerging from the chaos, Ricky felt like a new man, someone who deserved a chance to kick back and truly relax.
All his hard work, his suffering, and every grueling hour of training had finally culminated in this moment of victory.
Ricky knew his return to New York was inevitable and also knew there would be new battles to fight, struggles to face to secure everything that had once been stripped from him.
But for now, he allowed himself a rare moment of peace as he had achieved everything he’d set out to do when he first began his exile.
Not only had he earned a respected place within the church, rising to the station of the Black Knight, but he had also gained power beyond what he’d once dreamed possible.
Now, the only thing left was to go back and reclaim what he’d sacrificed.
But for now, though, Ricky would savor his victory, finally able to rest after all he had endured to reach this point.
“Darling?”
“W-Woah, when did you get here?” Ricky flinched, snapping back to reality as he realized Agatha was right beside him, gently brushing his hair back with a soft smile.
“A while.” Agatha chuckled, evading a direct answer, her tone light and teasing.
Ricky sighed, sinking back into the pillows, surrendering to her calming touch.
Agatha had been stretched thin lately, handling the endless demands of the coven and the needs of their children.
Moments together like this were rare as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her presence, letting himself drift, if only for a little while, under her familiar, soothing hand.
“I was worried about you, you know?” Agatha’s voice was barely a whisper, each word laced with a tenderness that spoke volumes.
In those three years, her care for Ricky had deepened into something undeniable, and the weight of her concern was unmistakable in her soft tone.
Ricky opened his eyes, meeting hers, feeling a warmth beyond the healing comfort of her touch as he gave a faint smile, the exhaustion in his gaze softening.
“I know-”
“And those tonics, you cannot have anymore or it might end up killing you-”
“Agatha, I know.” Ricky kissed her palm, the gesture soft but filled with a weight of understanding that only the two of them shared.
Agatha nodded, though her expression betrayed the worry that had been with her for so long.
“The only thing I’m really worried about is your smile falling.” Ricky said with a sleazy grin, his voice lighthearted as he delivered the cheesy line.
Agatha couldn’t help but laugh, her eyes lighting up with a happiness that seemed to fill the room.
“You're so stupid~” Agatah teased, shaking her head as she gazed at him. Her laughter was genuine, pure, and it reflected the relief she felt seeing him alive and, for once, not on the edge of death.
And in that moment, everything Ricky had fought for, everything he had sacrificed, seemed worth it while hearing that peaceful laughter.
“When do you plan on returning to New York?” Agatha asked tentatively, her voice laced with concern.
“You ruined our sexy moment-” Ricky teased, his playful tone lightening the mood.
“Darling, I’m serious.” Agatha countered, shaking him gently, her eyes still filled with that mix of affection and worry.
“Alright, alright.” Ricky held up his hand in mock surrender, showing a conceding with a grin.
“In a couple of days, after I fully heal up and stop by the Vatican.” Ricky promptly explained, leaning back while putting his hands behind his head.
“Oh, another thing, I kind of promised to help break this weird bloodline spell so if you could also find some leads, that would just be great.” Ricky suddenly dumped another problem onto Agatha who could only roll her eyes, shaking her head.
“Then I need to start preparing,” Agatha said, rising from the bed with determination as Ricky’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a distressed look on his face.
“Wait, wait, what about our sexy time, my sugar, my reward, my happily ever after?” Ricky quickly asked, his voice playful but tinged with desperation.
Agatha paused, turning to him with an arched eyebrow and a hand placed firmly on her hip.
“Moving an entire city and coven doesn’t happen in the snap of one's fingers, Ricky. It requires a lot of effort,” she said, her tone lecturing but still soft and Ricky frowned, sinking back into the bed in exaggerated disappointment.
“You’ll get your reward later, but right now I have to start the preparations.” Agatha continued, waving her hand dismissively as she started toward the door.
“Agatha~”
“I love you too,” Agatha winked, immediately freezing at the words that had slipped out before she could stop herself.
“Did you just say-”
“N-NO, I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!” Agatha stammered, her face turning bright red. She quickly crossed her arms, looking anywhere but at Ricky, who was now grinning at her reaction.
Ricky, still lounging lazily on the bed, raised an eyebrow while showing that sleazy smile at her own words.
“Really, cause it sounds like you said you-”
BAM
“Love me.” Ricky's voice echoed in Agatha's mind, leaving a lingering warmth she couldn't shake.
Immediately, almost out of instinct, she had slammed the door shut, almost as if afraid he'd follow her, and now stood with her back pressed against it.
Turning around to stare at it, her forehead pressed into the cool surface, her breath ragged. ‘What is happening to me?’ Agatha wondered, her thoughts racing.
She had sacrificed so much for Ricky, given herself in ways she hadn’t ever intended to.
But It had started as a means to protect her cult, to secure her position, to gain power, but now it felt different.
Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat a sharp reminder that something had shifted.
‘Why did my heart skip when he said that, when I said that?’ Agatha hadn’t expected it, and certainly not to feel the weight of those three words like she did.
Shaking her head, she pushed off the door, her face flushed with heat, and quickly marched down the hall.
She couldn’t be this vulnerable, not yet, not in front of Ricky, not in front of anyone
Agatha’s steps quickened as she had made it clear that she wasn’t about to give anything up for free, not unless he had a collar wrapped around his neck.
“Oh Agatha?” Ricky slowly opened the door with a slow smirk spreading across his face as he scanned the hallway.
"Agatha?" Ricky called out, his voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity as he stepped to the door.
Ricky peered down the empty hallway, his brow furrowing when he saw that she had completely vanished as his frown deepened, a trace of confusion flickering across his face.
Ricky needed more time to recover fully; his healing factor had its limits, especially when dealing with the level of damage he’d sustained.
For example, his left leg had been completely shattered, the bones splintering into countless fragments that were deeply embedded within the surrounding muscle tissue.
Unlike superficial wounds or clean breaks that his body could mend relatively quickly, this injury was complex.
Each tiny shard of bone needed to realign, reconnect, and fuse back into place; a painstaking process that even his regenerative abilities struggled to handle.
The strain of the fight had driven these bone fragments deep into his flesh, creating pockets of damage that his body had to work through one by one.
His healing factor was like a team of surgeons working overtime, gradually knitting together shredded muscle, severed tendons, and fragmented bones.
But it wasn’t magic; it required his body to draw on energy reserves, to rest and regenerate with every step forward.
And because he had pushed himself to his absolute limit, there was no shortcut.
The deeper, more internal injuries needed rest and careful movement if they were going to mend without complications.
"Asterion!" Ricky’s voice echoed through the castle’s stone corridors, the sound bouncing off the ancient walls, but Asterion was nowhere near to hear it.
As it happened, the towering minotaur had decided to indulge in a bit of sightseeing, immersing himself in the landscapes and peculiarities of Transylvania.
He’d been fascinated by the ancient architecture, the sprawling mountains under a perpetual mist, and the local tales whispered by the townsfolk as he strolled past.
After all, it wasn’t every day that he found himself in the fabled land of vampires and folklore.
Asterion’s curiosity had taken him to the outer edges of the castle grounds, where he could observe the twisted forests and darkened skies that lent Transylvania its mystique.
Even the eerie quietness of the place seemed intriguing to him; every shadow, every faint rustle in the trees, and the faint glimmer of light from distant villages stirred something in the ancient warrior’s soul.
Meanwhile, Ricky limped along the castle halls, wondering just how far Asterion had gone.
“Alexander!”
“Garfield!”
Joining Asterion on his impromptu tour were two of Ricky's familiars: Garfield, who had initially been reluctant to leave his secluded space but eventually softened with the promise of extra snacks to indulge in, and Alexander, who, much like Asterion, felt the need for some fresh air after spending too much time cooped up in the castle.
As Ricky’s berserk state faded, the duel link with Alexander broke, leaving him to collapse face-first onto the ground.
The sudden disconnection left Alexander disoriented, but unlike Ricky, his body had endured less trauma as his only real burden was overwhelming fatigue.
Limping through the empty corridors of the castle, Ricky gradually made his way down to the wine cellar, wandering around with a cane being the only thing to prop him up.
Ricky wore an uncomfortable expression as the silence of the place, once filled with echoes of clashes and shouts, now felt unsettling, amplifying his solitude.
Somehow, Ricky reached the cellar, he took a moment to survey the rows of bottles lining the walls, all neatly stacked and untouched.
Without a second thought, he grabbed one, twisted the cap off, and took a hearty gulp, only to immediately gag as the bitter taste hit his throat
“Ewwwww~” Ricky spat, tossing the bottle of O-positive blood aside with a grimace. He wiped his mouth, utterly revolted.
Sigh
"I should've expected this." Ricky muttered, shaking his head in resignation as he glanced around, noting the meticulous rows of bottles, each labeled with a blood type.
With a sigh, he ventured deeper into the cellar, hoping that amidst the sea of vintage blood bottles, he might find at least one actual wine stashed away.
As he walked, he couldn't help but feel the eerie silence pressing in, every soft step echoing through the vast stone chamber.
“Oh come on-” Ricky muttered to himself, rummaging around Dracula’s blood cellar until he accidentally bumped on a lamp, revealing a hidden door that started to open.
Click
“Please be a secret booze room,” Ricky muttered, crossing his heart as he pulled open the hidden door and stepped inside.
But instead of a stash of fine spirits, he found something wholly unexpected, a glimpse into Dracula's long-forgotten humanity.
“What the.” Ricky thought out loud, eyes widening as they adjusted to the dim, reverent glow of the space.
The walls were lined with portraits, each capturing tender scenes of a woman and a child, painted with remarkable care.
The soft, muted light brought out the delicate brushstrokes, highlighting expressions of joy, sorrow, and longing on their faces.
It was an intimate glimpse, not of the infamous vampire lord, but of someone capable of love and grief, Vlad Tepes.
As he ventured further into the room, Ricky's steps slowed, his gaze traveling over relics that seemed frozen in time.
The small trinkets scattered on a nearby desk; a locket, a faded ribbon, a child's hand-carved toy and all seemed to belong to an era long gone.
Each item was preserved with such careful reverence, as if Dracula himself couldn’t bear to part with these echoes of a past life.
Curious, Ricky reached for a weathered leather diary on the desk, its cover cracked from age.
Opening it, he skimmed the handwritten entries, the delicate script brimming with a vulnerability he would never have expected.
There was an undeniable depth to the words; a fierce, unyielding love tinged with aching regret.
Diary Entry: Elizabeth Bathory
In this year of our bastard Lord, 1606, I, Dracula, did encounter a most curious and formidable relation, Elizabeth Bathory, now infamously known as the Blood Countess. Her curious custom of bathing in the blood of virgins to halt the ravages of time not only kept her youthful visage but also granted her an uncanny resistance to my dominion. Her dark practices nearly ensnared me in her sanguine web. Yet, through perseverance and the strength of my own ancient powers, I eventually gained the upper hand and slew her. However her way of using the blood of the innocents will be furthered under my own eyes to better its potential.
-Dracula
"Hm, I thought people only kept diaries in movies or stories," Ricky muttered to himself, flipping through the pages with mild curiosity.
The entries seemed to start innocently enough, recounting what must have been the writer's first encounters with Dracula.
They detailed small moments, glances shared, conversations held in the quiet of evening.
But as he delved deeper, the writing took on a new tone, evolving into something deeper, almost confessional.
Diary Entry 1: Vlad Tepes
In this year of our Lord, 1444, my heart was shattered by an unbearable tragedy. The cruel hand of fate snatched away my beloved wife and our infant son, leaving a void in my soul that no words can convey.
Their deaths were not a mere passing; they were a violent severing of my very essence, a wound that bled with the relentless torment of loss.
The cries of my wife still echo in my ears, her desperate pleas for mercy met with cold indifference.
Our son, innocent and pure, was taken before he even had a chance to live. I remember holding their lifeless bodies, feeling their warmth fade away, and knowing that I was powerless to stop it.
The anguish was so intense it felt as if the very marrow of my bones was being stripped away.
In the depths of that despair, as I knelt before their graves, I made a vow.
The love and humanity that once defined me were buried with them. I swore to cast aside any remnants of my former self, to embrace a path of darkness and unyielding power.
I would become a creature of the night, forsaking my mortal soul to gain the strength needed to protect all that I held dear and to exact vengeance upon those who had wrought this suffering upon me.
From this moment forward, I relinquished any claim to the light. Compassion, mercy, and kindness became foreign concepts, replaced by a singular drive for power and retribution.
My transformation was not a choice but a necessity, born from the depths of my anguish. I vow that never again will I be helpless, never again would those I loved suffer because of my weakness. I would become an indomitable force, a guardian of the shadows, ensuring that such pain would never touch me again.
Thus, I embraced the darkness within, forsaking my humanity, and began my ascent to become the creature feared by all, known to only as not the loving father and husband, but Dracula.
-Dracula
The deeper Ricky read, the more his once amused smile faded, replaced by a frown as the weight of the words began to settle.
Although Dracula had chosen a far darker path, Ricky couldn’t bring himself to despise the man's drive.
Ricky could curse out Dracula for beating him to a pulp, but he understood the core motivation, the same one that pushed him forward every day: the desire to protect those he cared about and do whatever fit with his own narration.
In the end, their journeys weren’t so different, only this time one ended while the other strove forward.
"Dammit." Ricky muttered under his breath, frustration simmering beneath his words.
Ricky tossed the diary aside, into his inventory space, its pages fluttering before it landed.
Ricky's eyes scanned the shadows, catching the faint glimmer of an old, dusty bottle on a nearby shelf.
He reached for it, brushing away layers of dust, his fingers tracing the label before lifting it to his nose.
The scent was familiar, something stronger than any wine he'd ever tasted as that realization brought a smile to his face.
"Finally." Ricky fist pumped, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig.
Sigh
“Holy sh*t, that’s good stuff.” Ricky let out a refreshed sigh, supported almost while looking at the bottle and taking another swig.
“The guy was d*ck, but he sure knew his wine.” Ricky mused, observing the hidden room while enjoying the bottle.
“I wonder if these paintings are valuable-”
Sigh
“What am I thinking, of course I’m stealing Dracula’s stuff.” Ricky let out a small laugh, shaking his head as if it was obvious before literally putting everything residing in this room into his storage space.
As Ricky walked out of the hidden room, the cool, ancient stone of the castle walls brushing against his skin, he took another swig of the old wine.
The bitter taste lingered in his mouth, but for some reason, it felt fitting. He paused for a moment, looking around with fresh eyes.
The grandeur of the castle, which had once seemed so irrelevant, now captivated him.
The intricate carvings on the wooden beams, the faded tapestries hanging on the walls, and the glimmering chandeliers above, and all details he had once overlooked.
“Wow, this place rules.”
Meanwhile in the destroyed throne room,
Lilith’s eyes narrowed, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of her new throne as the weight of the situation settled in her chest, but she remained still, her gaze piercing.
“How bad is the split?” Lilith asked again, her voice smooth but laced with an edge yet was calm, but the undercurrent of her fury was unmistakable.
“It is not good, Your Majesty.” One of the high-ranking vampires replied, bowing his head slightly in respect.
“Verdelt has done as promised and fractured the faction. The loyalty of several key members has wavered, and they’ve taken sides. Some are already considering joining the opposing faction.” The high-ranking vampire continued, trying to word it best as to not incite her fury.
Shortly after Ricky lost consciousness, Veredelt approached Lilith, his dark presence looming over her as he extended a proposal that shook her to the core, marriage.
He suggested they unite the vampire race under their rule, a proposition that would secure his power and, by extension, hers.
But Lilith rejected him, not because she found him unsuitable as a mate, but because she knew better than to allow herself to be used once more.
She had been a pawn in Dracula's game, and the last thing she wanted was to fall into the same trap again with another manipulative alliance disguised as something more meaningful.
Her refusal, however, had consequences as Veredelt, despite his reclusive nature, was a well-respected figure within the supernatural world.
His influence extended far beyond his quiet demeanor, and his stature among the vampire elite was undeniable.
Rejection of such an offer was not taken lightly by her followers.
Her faction, already dwindling from recent losses, fractured further as three of her five high-ranking vampires, those who had once pledged loyalty to her cause, abandoned her, drawn to Veredelt’s power and promise of unity.
They had joined Lilith because they believed in her vision of advancing the vampire race, of building something greater.
But now, after her refusal, they saw only a self-serving leader, one more interested in personal ambition than the greater good of their kind.
The seeds of doubt had been planted, and her faction crumbled as more loyalists turned their backs on her, seeking refuge in Veredelt’s growing influence.
Lilith’s rejection of Veredelt had cost her more than just an alliance, it had cost her the trust of those closest to her.
And as the remains of her faction slipped away, she was left to confront the harsh reality: in this world of shifting allegiances, she was once again standing alone.
"Is the baroness still in the dungeon?" Lilith's voice was sharp, her sudden rise from her chair catching her subordinates off guard.
They exchanged quick, surprised glances, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected question.
“Your majesty you must not-”
“Enough, take me to her.”
Meanwhile in the dungeon,
Baroness Blood’s eyes fluttered open, her once-proud figure now slumped, her body sagging beneath the weight of the silver chains that bound her.
The cold, unforgiving metal dug into her skin, the pain almost a comfort compared to the searing emptiness inside her.
Only a week of isolation had taken its toll on Baroness Blood, but it wasn't the physical agony of the chains that had drained her, it was the betrayal.
The betrayal of her love, the one who had once promised to stand by her side, had hollowed her out completely.
Click
Click
The sound of heels striking the stone floor cut through the silence of the dungeon, sharp and deliberate.
It was a sound that could freeze the blood of even the most seasoned, a signal that something important was approaching.
With a pained groan, the Baroness weakly lifted her head, her gaze dull and lifeless, just as Lilith stepped into her line of sight.
The vampire queen’s presence was commanding, her silhouette framed by the dim, flickering torchlight that cast long shadows across the walls.
Beside Lilith stood her two most loyal subordinates, Bonnie and Clyde; twin enforcers known for their ruthless efficiency and they flanked her, silent and imposing, their eyes fixed forward.
“Have you finally come to kill me?” Baroness Blood's voice was barely a whisper, cracked and brittle as it filled the dungeon air.
She lifted her hollow eyes to meet Lilith's, finding only a steely resolve in her gaze.
Lilith paused, her eyes tracing over the broken form of the once-powerful ally of her father, now reduced to a shell of her former self.
“I’m here to offer you a chance at retribution.” Lilith said, each word carrying weight and purpose.
“The question is, will you take it?” Lilith mused, watching the powerful vampiress in such a pitiful state.
Baroness Blood’s eyes flickered with the faintest trace of emotion, a sliver of hope or perhaps defiance, as she considered the offer.
But the fire quickly faded, and she lowered her head, the shadows reclaiming her face.
“When you’ve made your decision, call for me.” Lilith let the offer simmer in her mind, her voice cool and unwavering.
With that, Lilith turned away, issuing orders to her subordinates while Bonnie and Clyde listened intently, their postures sharp and obedient as Lilith outlined her plan.
They each had roles to fulfill, missions to carry out, as Lilith prepared to attend to her own tasks with precision.
She left the dungeon with the certainty that Baroness Blood’s decision, whatever it would be, would soon follow.
The echoes of her steps faded, leaving the Baroness alone once more, surrounded by shadows and the remnants of her choices.
Lilith’s ambition to take over Dracula’s faction had been bold, but ultimately naïve.
She’d overestimated her influence, misjudging her standing in the supernatural world.
Unlike Veredelt, who commanded deep respect and a formidable reputation, Lilith had yet to prove herself, and her faction was fracturing under the weight of her untested leadership.
Allies slipped through her fingers as loyalty wavered, her authority slowly crumbling.
Desperate, she’d sought support from Asterion and Rachale, only to face blunt refusals from both and each rejection left her increasingly isolated, narrowing her options until only one remained.
Meanwhile, Ricky strolled into the throne room, casually swigging from a dusty bottle of wine.
He traced his fingers along the rough edges of the shattered stone, each step taking him deeper into the memory of his narrow brush with death.
His fingertips brushed against the charred sections of wall, reminders of the fierce clash he’d barely survived.
PISSSSSSSSSSS
Ricky undid his pants, taking a long, irreverent piss on the very spot where Dracula had fallen, pouring a generous splash of wine over it as well and with a smirk, he lifted the bottle in a toast.
"This one's for you, Abraham." Ricky muttered, a rough appreciation for the legendary vampire hunter surfacing in his own unconventional way.
"Hope you're out there farming in Nebraska heaven." Ricky laughed out, before it slowly simmered out completely.
Though their relationship was more of a twisted alliance than a friendship, with Abraham frequently leaving him high and dry only to show up when things got critical, Ricky knew he owed him.
Without Abraham’s last-minute intervention, he might not have been here now, standing victorious and pissing on Dracula’s grave.
After finishing his unceremonious toast, he pulled up his pants and took another swig of wine, savoring the strange sense of victory.
Strolling back to his room, he cast a glance at the Ebony Blade, propped up against the wall.
“Hey, you can hear me right?” Ricky asked, plopping on the bed while sipping on the bottle.
‘I can, I was merely quiet in order to let you rest but it seems you’ve started your-.................................recovery.’ The Ebony Blade sounded in his head, knowing how much he enjoyed what those humans called ‘alcohol’.
"Listen." Ricky muttered, pointing the bottle at the blade with a half-smile.
"When you've got bone fragments lodged so deep in your legs you're practically stuck in bed, then you can tell me how much you need a drink." Ricky gestured, a splash of wine dribbled out, staining his white tank top, which only added to his slightly disheveled look.
Silence settled over the room after that, with Ricky absently scratching at the rough stubble on his jawline.
He hadn’t exactly had the luxury, or the energy, to worry about shaving lately, his body too busy mending itself to care much for appearances.
“Hey-”
“Hey-”
They both spoke at once, each trying to get a word in, only to stop and fall into an awkward silence.
"Alright, let me just get this out," Ricky sighed, rubbing his forehead as if the weight of the moment made it ache.
He hated these kinds of talks, anything that required peeling back even a hint of vulnerability, but he figured he owed the sword some form of apology.
"Look." Ricky began, pausing before he continued.
"Although you f*cked with my mind, I know I’ve been an ignorant ass. I didn’t get it before and I didn’t understand that messing with my head was just the way of letting me tap into your full power." Ricky let out a weary sigh, tipping the bottle back for a long drink, his other hand covering his eyes as if it would help him dodge the embarrassment crawling over him.
“I just really hate the idea of anyone poking around in my head, f*cking with my thoughts.” Ricky muttered, his eyes slowly turning towards the side.
"But you didn’t deserve a lot of that bullsh*t on my part. You’re bound to me, no say in it, and that’s on me." Ricky offered the awkward apology, glancing at the Ebony Blade, and somehow, he knew the blade understood perfectly.
“.......” The Ebony Blade remained silent, absorbing the weight of Ricky's words.
For the first time in its long existence, a descendant of Percival; a human, no less, had apologized, openly admitting fault rather than placing blame on itself.
None of Percival's descendants had ever acknowledged the consequences of wielding its power, let alone offered any remorse.
This moment, brief yet profound, left the ancient blade in a rare state of reflection and let it have a real conversation in a human that was Ricky.
‘No, it is I who has judged you too harshly, Ser Ricky.’ The Ebony Blade responded, its voice carrying an unexpected tone of humility and respect.
Hearing himself addressed as a knight made Ricky raise an eyebrow, tilting his head with a mix of confusion and curiosity but let the sword continue.
‘I am also to blame for judging you too soon. My age is incomparable to yours, yet I acted as a child,’ the Ebony Blade continued, its voice laced with a rare vulnerability.
The blade seemed to acknowledge its own shortcomings, as if aware of the paradox within itself.
Despite its centuries of existence, it had allowed emotions, perhaps even pride, to cloud its judgment, making it as impulsive and raw as a young warrior.
It felt almost foolish now, recognizing that wisdom was not just about age but about understanding the complexities of those it was bound to.
“Here, here.” Ricky raised a toast to the blade, downing another swig in medieval knight fashion.
‘I can see that from your view.’ The Ebony Blade continued, its voice softening, a hint of understanding settling in.
‘Having your mind ripped apart and the constant urge to kill can truly be a devastating reality. I understand now.’ The sword paused, as if reflecting on Ricky’s turmoil as it felt relief for what seemed like in the first time at someone trying to understand, truly understand it without a preconceived bias.
“So, what’s your story, and what are you even made of?” Ricky asked, rolling over onto his belly and stretching lazily across the bed, pointing the bottle toward the sword.
‘Do you truly wish to know the whole story?’ The Ebony Blade’s voice carried a faint, almost wistful tone.
‘It isn’t exactly an exciting one.’ The Ebony Blade uttered, its tone clearly betraying its words since it seemed almost excited to tell someone.
“Eh, why not?” Ricky glanced over at the door, then shrugged nonchalantly.
Ahem
‘Long ago-’
Comments
Your Mom
that was weird but glad your here nonetheless
Unknown
HAHA I FINALLY FOUND YOU. yea idk why but you’re not showing up when i search for you but oh well
