[i][/i][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=Gold]The Golden Sword[/color][/center]

[@Letter Bee]

Mithril and the sentient will of the sword listened intently on the words coming from the filthy moth of the slave-lord as details surfaced, talk of his revolution and how without him it would not come to pass. Every word hit home one way or another as desires welled up to boiling point at the potential.

All out war.. a manhunt.. fresh blood.

The talk of an idiot swordman elicited a hissing sigh from behind the face concealing mask. This was sounding like a convenient murder for Myst and not the gleaming gem of potential the sword hoped to crush.. or control.

Many minutes of silent conversation played between sword and wielder, the rare times when Mithrils seasoned years as a traveler served the sword.
At laat the decision was made; A killing, a lesson, and a new thrill. 
The golden sword thrust forward into Mysts shoulder until it blossomed out his back. Nothing vital had been targeted but fresh blood was dripping from the wound.
Not bothering to remove the sword he went to work on the lesson as instructed by the sword. As Myst dropped to his knees, no doubt in great pain, Mithril began.

"This world, this city, your life, none of it has true value on the bargaining table. We are not equals here and now: We are executioners, axe raised to strike off the head of whoever we please," 

His hand struck the handle of the sword sticking from the mans shoulder.

"You are a are no pawn but neither are you the king on this board. We will find this swordsmam, no doubt, and deliver your justice upon it. But make no mistake it is notnfor your benefit.."

Grasping the handle he slid the blood coated blade out of the wound in one clean motion, flicking it to the side deftly to remove the red stain from its gleaming surface before returning to the strap upon his back.

"For another benefit, you will leave this rooftop in agony to remember this moment forever. Consider it the fee for eliminating your problem.." the masked assailant gave a chilling laugh as he reached out ever so slowly. 

[hr]

What followed had been an hour of unbridled cruelty inflicted upon Myst.
 Fingers had been broken one by one as Mithril bent them until at last they snapped with an audible pop. The edge of his blade had been out to cruel use as it cut through flesh with ease, slicing his wrists and hamstring. 

When the need to bloody him was sated it turned to brutish violence as Mithril, empowered by the sadistic urges of the sword, took his time pummeling the wounded man relentlessly. Heavy punches to the ribs shattered the bone without remorse.

When the final strike dropped the bleeding form of the tortured nobleman to the ground half-conscious, Mithril heard the final command of the sword. Left untended his wounds would indeed be fatal..
The golden swords pommel was placed reverently in the noblemans twisted fingers..
New life billowed into his soul as the swords will threw down what little mental protection the man had left and invaded his mind. Like locusts it devoured useful information as it saw fit, stealing names and plans for its own, until it found the description of this mysterious killer.

Sated for knowledge, it returned the favor. The same hellish energy that has mended the wounds upon Mithrils own flesh coursed through Myst. Wounds closed and function returned to his limbs, even the bones had begun to partially heal. 
All at once it stopped. 
Golden sword returned to Mithril he cupoed Mysts chin in his own.

"Your mind is bound to us. Should you need to talk.. we will find you, but until then.."

Mithrils right hand immolated as he whispered his incantation, the flame increasing in intensity with every second; then pressed it against Mysts chest. All consuning fire ate through cloth in an instant until hitting bare flesh, burning the skin black within moments to leave a hideous burned scar of Mithrils hand upon his flesh.

"We'll be in touch again."

The voice of the sword echoed through the metal mask as it cackled, leaving the rooftops and into the city. It would find this swordsman.. in time.