Labyrinth of the Sword

A wave became a pulling mist over the deck as it came from the scabbard, stinging with dispose. The two encroaching brigands were felled. It reflected clear many sounds of chaos, while in those same strokes giving them order. Finality. So were claimed the incoming three.

Steel orchestrated steel across an invaded deck. Many upon the lesser. The entropic symphony of cause, playing over ageless waters.

It was ancient-forged. In its time, the blade had dulled but never sheared. Bent yet not severed. And restored it always was. Kept through primal craft by those keen enough to suffer its meaning. Histories of blood-kept secrets.

Such were its long trials, yet endured.

Battlefields. Arenas. Revenges of status and passion. Generations of feared and encrypted solitude. Bequeathed titles since forgotten, each with a freshly wrapped grip since weathered. A lost count of times thus renamed.

If steel’s sentience were known, that day it would have accepted fear. Wielded by a seasoned yet destitute hand aboard a burning ship upon a hungry sea. Many were his wounds. Dark and deep the water below.

Those depths.

It led more to the veil, a metal true to purpose. Gracefully parting life from vessel. But he was at last bested.

“I told you.” A shadow of himself twisted a blade at his throat. “I will have the map.”

Around flew the cries of his dying crew. Yet in none of these was heard the sound of regret. Valor to the last. Honor to orders, presented in blood known to be soon washed away.

The captain swung up his sword and removed his neck from harm. Gathering footing he met his opponent’s scarred visage. “Brother, we needn’t—”

It was a sparking hymn, a resonant unspeakable ode, what cast over churning waters. Great arcs of gleaming intent and visceral purpose, intersecting paths each dedicated to the other’s demise.

Every slash and thrust met with equal defense and riposte. As though a warrior faced his mirrored self. No footing could be gained.

A splintering thunder shook, though without flash. The deck lurched and both slid toward a boiling fissure.

Waters rushed. Amidst scrambling recovery, the brothers met eyes.

He threw it.

The plunge to those depths began.

Fast it sank. Its long-edged form suiting the task with lethal precision.

Light hastened away, becoming a strange twinkle reflecting its edge.

Finally, darkness. Cold and true.

How long to forge steel? How long to break it?

Sinking. Sinking.

A crash echoed through the liquid darkness above.

It rose, breaching and crossing waves in the grasp of its captor. Eyed as a treasure scorned for the reclaiming.