Power Play (Book 2)

Chapter 24: Blood & Steel

Recap: Brandon met with Mandeville, who said he had a way to power up Brandon's nanobots. Brandon was sick of Mandeville's manipulation, but wanted his power restored. Mandeville rigged him up to a makeshift device, ran power through him, and sent Brandon into a strange dream-like state where he was faced with a Blacksmith in his forge. The Blacksmith told Brandon to choose whether the Blacksmith was to forge a new heart of metal for a wounded Knight, or to forge a powerful blade that would take the Knight's blood.

Winning Choice: Forge the blade. Craft the weapon that cannot be broken, so even if the flesh that holds it falls the fight will continue on.

"Make the blade," I tell the Blacksmith.

The Blacksmith frowns solemnly, then turns back to his bench and hefts the soul-stone in his hand. "The steel shall be strong where the flesh is weak. The blade will be forged, and it will cut like none other."

The massive man stokes his forge and the dull orange rages into a hellish red. Streams of sparks flow through the air like fiery serpents, and the heat swells until it seems about to cook the skin right off my bones.

The Blacksmith pounds like Hephaestus himself, staring unblinkingly into the heart of the searing fire and drawing out the soul-stone long and thin. With each swing, as the Blacksmith's hammer meets the anvil, brilliant silver sparks leap from the forming blade and spin around the room with a life of their own.

The hammering is unrelenting, a steel heartbeat within the sweltering room that thumbs inside my brain. I can think of nothing but the clanging of the hammer, and with each strike I feel the blow as if it were landing on my soul.

In the corner, on his cot, the Knight's breathing grows softer and raspier. The blood flows more slowly from the horrible wound in his chest, and he sleeps unconsciously through the pounding.

I watch the laboring giant for as long as I can before settling down against a far wall. Sweat pouring down my face, every limb aching, and my chest on fire from breathing in the noxious air, I still manage to fall asleep, sliding down into the hay on the dirty floor.

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The pounding finally stops and the silence jolts me awake.

I try to sit up, but I cannot move. I am weak and can barely breathe. The taste of blood is in my mouth, and I spit weak bubbles of it when I try to speak.

I am the Knight.

The cot creaks below me, and a piece of armor falls from my arm as I try to reach up.

The Blacksmith stands over me, a glorious sword in his gloved hands. It burns the colors of a vicious sunrise, the radiance gobbling up the night. The Blacksmith meets my eyes.

I try to tell him I am not the Knight, that I did not want the sword for myself, but I cannot speak.

It does not matter. He knows. I can see it.

"Your flesh will feed its strength," he says, holding the blade over me, point down. Even through my agony I can feel its heat.

"You and the sword will now truly be one," he says. "As we were always meant to be."

He drives the sword through my body, and the blade bursts into flame as it's quenched in my spilling blood.

My eyes snap open to see the ceiling panels of the workroom, and I lurch upright, screaming. Cables snap and pop away from me, arcing and sputtering. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh fill the room.

Freed of the wires and alligator clamps, I tumble off the side of the worktable, the rubber mats sliding with me to the floor. I pass Mandeville's stunned face on the way down. The floor spins and totters like a bad carnival ride, and I really wish it would stop. Burnt remnants of my clothes fall away, leaving me naked. This is disappointing, as I really liked that Bruce Lee shirt.