I wrote this one long ago, influenced heavily by Berserk. As I look back on it, I smile a bit on things like the black goo and the tall man. I also wonder if it's connected, like my imagination creates reality. Perhaps. Maybe all this world needs is some good stories from me. But too bad, I write what I want.
Black Blade
Steel clanged amidst the pile of rotting corpses in a poorly-lit room made of iron. A tall man, dressed in black, grinned into the face of his assailant, a small human teenager wielding a sword far bigger than what he should be swinging.
The tall man pulled his sword back from the fray, a slender tool of death, the very end of life to these festering bodies. The young teen prepared with a grunt as he lifted his giant sword above his head, ready to deflect an attack.
This tall man, this taker of life, this killer of his mother, murderer of his father, and decimator of his entire village. Dark blood coursed through the veins of this tall one, the wounded would whisper before they died. None of them had come close to piercing the tall one and finding out.
The teen deflected another blow aimed at the side of his neck, rolled down upon his knees, and lobbed the monstrous sword up and through the exposed side of the tall one. Black tar began running down the side of his sword, holding it in its place.
The teen screamed in anger, yanking that sword out with all his unknown might, pulling it out of the chest of the tall one. Black goo spayed across the iron walls and walls creating a stench worse than the rot.
The tall one gasped in surprise then began to chuckle, gargled a bit by the blackness dripping down his chin.
“I never thought it would end by one so young.” His words were full, drowning in his lungs.
Young eyes stared back at the fallen tall one. He wanted to laugh, to claim triumph, but no words escaped his mouth.
The tall one grinned. “You are stronger than any human I have faced. A strong one like you needs a strong sword.”
Falling to his knees, the tall one lifted his blade up, offering it to the teen. Long and sleek, it’s hilt solid marble, the steel folded over and gleaming. It tempted the teen. He grabbed the handle lifting up his new prize, the tall one smiling and then falling dead.
The teen began testing his new blade, cutting into the corpse of the tall one, unaware of the black goo congealing around his feet and soaking into his veins.
He felt stronger with the sword, indeed. He also felt a thirst for blood. His family, everything was taken from him; Why shouldn’t he take that from everyone?
His height rapidly growing, the young teen became the tall one. He exited the iron room with his new blade, continuing the bloodshed.