[center][img]http://orig04.deviantart.net/992f/f/2016/274/0/9/blackblood_by_fenixking13-dajgrkh.png[/img][/center]
[center][color=1b1464]Mithril Blackblood[/color]
[color=aba000]The Golden Sword[/color][/center]

[@Lucius Cypher][@ADamnFiddle]


Every thrust, every lunge, every bloodthirsty swipe, was executed with the skill of a master swordsman and the grace of a world class dancer mixed into its every fluid motion. It was the apex of a fighting style extracted from the memories and experiences of a dozen wielders of the deadly arts. Yet this justice spouting stain on history was repelling his onslaught with, almost, wordless bravado. Adapting to every new step of his blooming performance like a Seraph of battle. The last lingering threads of humanity found in the heart of Mithril Blackblood was lost in the awe of it all for just a brief moment, inspired to make the melody of steel on steel turn to a symphony of their art!

But the sword demanded his attention with a grip of frozen steel. It hungered for victory and his body was nothing more than a vessel to meet its demands, no matter how 'blessed' his opponent or how skilled they wielded their blade. This cursed entity cared nothing for the dance beyond the results.

With a vicious swipe he defeated one more such lunge by his well versed opponent before taking a skip backwards, his own leap intertwined with Marias in complete synchrony. Again the withered heart in Mithrils chest spoke praise to this woman and her blade works exquisite form. 

[color=0072bc]"My dear, you give me too much credit. I am not an evil person. Nor am I good.. What I am is the little spark of chaos in every fiber of every being. The spontaneous moment between right and wrong. To kill a creature means to never choose between the golden gods or the lurking devils. It is to slay without choosing sides! I am hero and Villain both!" [/color]

A tingle crept into his mind suddenly, triggering the beginning of a spell he had created. An alarm by the golden sword as it responded to a sudden growth in magical power from behind. The power being formed by his opponent had doused his flames. The elf girl possessed water magic! No matter.. The memories and movements came from a time long passed, a warrior who fought with the blade only as a means of deflecting attacks. This pit fighter had mastered a form of unarmed combat that depended solely on his reflexes. Another such wielder had melded the same style with potent fire magic, resulting in devestating blasts on command. 
Using these skills in tandem with the body of Mithril Blackblood was easier than clenching his fist. 

As the hydra blades lunged in, he pivoted as much as the sudden ice at his feet allowed. The incantation spewing from his mouth was well rehearsed even as he twisted his back, his fist now aflame as he shouted the final word of power at the pinnacle moment before his balled fist connected with the lunging spear of ice. 

[color=0054a6]"UR GOA!" [/color]

His gauntlets protected his exposed fist from a few of the lancing blades of ice but his upper arm felt their frozen sting all too keenly as it shredded through his clothing and into his flesh moments before the explosive ball of flames erupted in a flash of heat. The resulting blast of heat and pressure cracked the ice, already slightly weakened from the suppression, just enough to allow Mithril enough force to break free and again make a leap away as more thrusts came from that deadly polearm. Left arm hanging at his side it was all he could do to put some distance between the three of them. 
Two thrusts came close to their mark but his rapier met the partisan at the tip of its blade and deftly pushed it to the side before executing another hop. The blades of ice made this extremely difficult. Had he been using a dagger or a heavier weapon it would surely have been defeat. 

Again the aura of suppressing flowed out of his body in a great wave, the audacity of this elf bitch taking advantage of his unprotected flank. Another cross on the blade took on an angry red glow, still thankfully concealed by the thick black cloth wrapping save for the golden wings upon the swords guard, and Mithril smiled behind his iron mask. The fight almost over. Everywhere near the swords presence was being smothered by the oppressive will of the blades dominance. Every time a cross began to glow meant that a wave of complete suppression had occurred. Every wave sapped every aspect of an opponents strength like rot on a carcass. 
A warrior would find their weapon heavier. Their body would become sluggish and reflexes would suffer. Even magic, divine blessings even, suffered in the presence of the trapped soul of this evil blade. By now it was beginning to sap nearly 40% of their power. 

The blood had stopped flowing from his arm as one more of the cursed blades powers began to tip the scales yet more.

[color=ed1c24][i]YOU ARE NOT BEATEN YET, MY PUPPET. SOON YOU WILL STRIKE THE TELLING BLOW. [/i][/color]

Mithrils true feelings burned in his chest at the thought of taking the lives of such powerful fighters.. Yet he was trapped, forever bound, to this hungering will.