Parry sat himself down on the toilet, hugging himself, trying to get the feeling out of his stomach. Whoever was toying with his sword was definitely passing it between one person and another. Two sets of memories were flooding through to him- equally brutal, equally depraved. And every time someone touched that sword, it was like they were touching him- grabbing him. Possessing him. 

A Celestial's sword was a powerful thing.

When Parry was formed, his sword was formed with him. It was equal parts weapon, conduit and symbol of office.

It didn't grant the power to completely control Parry, mindfucking him into a killing machine that murdered everyone in the bunker or gave away their location. But just touching that sword allowed whoever had it to reach into the core of his being, that font of the Nether he called his soul, the most intimate of places, and he would [i]know[/i] they were there.

So when Rikive showed up, waiting for an answer, he was absolutely torn in two about what to say. There were no secrets between them. Rikive had bailed him out more than once in the past few months alone, and Parry had done the same. She alone knew what he was from the beginning. At the same time, he'd already fucked up once. Hard. There was absolutely no way to call it anything else. That the enemy had his sword and potentially had power over him was a sobering thought.

The blade was passed back to the woman. The summoner. That demon-tainted spirit touched him again, brushed at his center, and that forced him to make a decision.

"No, I'm not," Parry said, his voice breaking a little bit as he spoke. One hand reached up to his bare chest, still smelling of melon soap, while his eyes grew red and watery. "I think... I think the Mummy has my sword."