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Sorry for being quiet for the past month or so. Been dealing with some personal things.\n\nPetran has been visiting the museum for the past several days now, though there is really only one thing that he is here to see. A sword. Supposedly the thing is some 2000 years old, but it looks almost new. And it is whispering to him. Calling him. He needs it. It is his sword... or so it tells him. So he finally decides to steal it. But he is not the only one who wants this mystical artifact...\n\n- - - - -\n\nA massive thank you to my top tier subscribers:\n[fa]booleangemini352[/fa] | Sedyna | [fa]Kaden22[/fa] | [fa]jafferroshak[/fa] | RoleplayCentral | [fa]Tierr[/fa] | [fa]akinkyyfox[/fa]\n\nIf you would like early access to my stories, weekly previews and updates, access to my private discord, chance to have your character become part of the lore, and other bonus content, please consider subscribing to my [url=https://subscribestar.adult/xp_author]SubscribeStar[/url]", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Hey, I'm not dead! Sorry for being quiet for the past month or so. Been dealing with some personal things.

Petran has been visiting the museum for the past several days now, though there is really only one thing that he is here to see. A sword. Supposedly the thing is some 2000 years old, but it looks almost new. And it is whispering to him. Calling him. He needs it. It is his sword... or so it tells him. So he finally decides to steal it. But he is not the only one who wants this mystical artifact...

- - - - -

A massive thank you to my top tier subscribers:
\n\t\t\t\t\tbooleangemini352 | Sedyna | \n\t\t\t\t\tKaden22 | \n\t\t\t\t\tjafferroshak | RoleplayCentral | \n\t\t\t\t\tTierr | \n\t\t\t\t\takinkyyfox

If you would like early access to my stories, weekly previews and updates, access to my private discord, chance to have your character become part of the lore, and other bonus content, please consider subscribing to my SubscribeStar", "writing": "\n[center][b]Whispers in the Steal[/b][/center]\n[center]By XP Author[/center]\n\nPetran Shinkael tilted his head. The massive painting before him was a blur of color on canvas, sweeping reds and flowing yellows, mixed with dark shadowy blues, set on charred greens and burnt browns. The figures within the battlefield were little more than shadows. A commander pointing, his mouth open in some shouted command, while the soldiers around him aimed long rifles at the charging cloud of enemy troops far in the distance, a cannon mid-fire half-obscured by the cloud of gunpowder smoke. A scene from a battle more than five centuries ago. Or so the story went. The painting itself was only a few decades old, long after this battle supposedly happened. Though the creator was also long dead, and left little documentation of his creation, so no one could ask where he got the idea. The only thing that was left was the painting's name: The Retaking of Vesta.\n\nNot that the reptilian had any care to ask. The tale of the Vesta Kingdom and its struggles against the Republic of Jyn were things of myth and legend. Stories of warrior princesses and evil usurpers, witches and mages, angels and demons. Fanciful tales with only the barest hint of real history within them, not to dissimilar to Arthurian legends. What he was more interested in was the art itself, the use of color to depict the battle, the fear in the shadows, the way it tricked the eye to make the fire look as if it moved upon the static image.\n\nBut he did not linger too long on this single painting. The museum had many such works for him to see. The skink always enjoyed going to these exhibits. It helped to cure his boredom... somewhat. For a short time. This one in particular he had visited many times over the last week. Though he was doing what he could to avoid the real reason... for now. He saw it, the room it was held within. The object. But for now, he turned his attention to another, moving instead to a wing for relics from old Egyptian and Greek eras. Pieces of wall with carved images, jewelry supposedly worn by kings and generals, and rusted tools dug out of the earth from thousands of years ago.\n\nHe was aware he was getting almost as many glances as the impressive pieces of history. It didn't surprise him. Not only were reptilians somewhat rare, especially ones that weren't dragons, but he stood out even among them. His scales had an iridescent quality to them, giving them an almost metallic look. The effect made him seem to be covered in copper, with long, thin lines of gold running down the back of his bare head and neck, continuing along his long, thin tail. He did little to hide it, and even leaned into the look a little. His clothing, a simple casual suit with a long coat, was well tailored, but in just basic black. Not only did it accentuate his already thin frame, but the plain color made his more vibrant scales stand out that much more, making him seem almost regal. Not too far from the truth.\n\nEventually, he could resist no longer, and turned his attention to the western room. He strode in, looking anywhere but where he knew he must. Laid out were artifacts from the far east, from the old dynasties that predated China, to Mongolia, to parts of India, Japan, Korea, and eastern Russia. An eclectic collection of weapons, armor, tools, pottery, plates, clothing and jewelry. He fixed his attention onto the jewels from some Indian ruler of old. Made of gold and silver, polished to shine in the lights overhead.\n\n[i]...see me...[/i]\n\nHe did not hear the words as much as feel them. As if someone was whispering within his own chest. He had no other way to describe the sensation. He tried to ignore it.\n\n[i]look... at... me...[/i]\n\nHe could resist no longer. The call too great. The pull too hard. As casually as he could, he moved over to the display. Set within was a blade. A simple, ordinary sword of steel. With a long blade, a simple guard, and a handle made of ivory. The age of the weapon was both clear upon it, and yet time seemed to have barely touched it. For something supposedly dating back thousands of years, it looked less than a century old. Possibly even newer than that. Part of him wanted to say it was more likely a recreation, but somewhere in his bones he knew this was the real thing.\n\n[i]...free...[/i]\n\nHe stared, transfixed. It was, in that moment, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The most desirable thing. He needed it. It had to be his. It [i]was[/i] his. He had to-\n\n\"Please don't touch the glass.\" He flinched as he heard the woman's voice behind him. He looked down to see his hand had reached out, an inch from touching the display case. He hadn't even realized.\n\nHe pulled his hand back and turned to the source of the voice. \"Sorry.\" His voice was almost sheepish. He was glad his scales could not blush, or he would be showing his embarrassment even more.\n\nThe woman nodded, giving him a smile. \"It is alright.\" She was a reptilian like him, and about his age, late 20's, maybe slightly older. Though more clearly a dragon, with scales of a blue so light they looked almost powdered. She was almost as tall as he was, the swept-back horns atop her head making her that much closer to his height. Though unlike him, she had a full head of reddish hair that hung neatly down her back. She wore a simple dress and blazer, with the logo of the museum upon it. She turned her slim face to his, her eyes an iridescent yellow that caught and somewhat reflected the light, not unlike his own scales. \"It is a fascinating sword, isn't it?\"\n\nHe blinked a few times. For a moment, he had been as transfixed by her as he had been to the sword. He cleared his throat. \"Yes. It's... quite an interesting thing.\" He turned to look at the sword again, once more happy he could not blush. \"It's hard to believe the thing is almost two thousand years old. I didn't think that restorations like that were done on artifacts like this.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"They don't. That is the truly fascinating thing about this. It has never had anything more than the most basic cleaning done upon it, and yet it remains in this near perfect condition. It's a real mystery.\" She grinned, glancing over at him again, then holding a hand out. \"I'm Clarissa Jones, by the way.\"\n\nHe took the hand, finding her grip surprisingly strong. \"Petran. You work for the museum?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Yes... in a way. More of a consultant. I'm what you might call a freelance historian.\" She turned her attention back to the sword, his own also returning to the thing. \"Have you heard the history of this particular piece?\" He shook his head. \"Well, it was found in the ruins of a city in modern day Turkey. The name of the city is, unfortunately, lost to history. However, it is clear that the city was the cite of a battle between Romans and another force, likely Persians. Likely fought during one of the roman's many incursions into what then was known as Anatolia.\" She pointed to another display, showing very old armor, decayed with age and exposure to the elements. \"Many roman legionary armor sets such as this were also found nearby.\"\n\nPetran nodded. \"That actually looks like it's from back then.\" He motioned to the sword. \"How come this doesn't look that old? Was it under something?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No. Well... yes, but nothing that the rest of the artifacts weren't also under. Rubble and dirt, mostly. Among many other weapons that were decayed from age. And then this blade sat among them. No one knows why it is in such pristine condition.\"\n\n\"Maybe it was left there later. It doesn't seem like it's the same design as the rest of the weapons...\"\n\nShe glanced to the side at him, a smirk on her lips. \"Good eye. That is one theory, but there is no evidence of it. In fact, most evidence shows that it is very much from that time. It was found amid what can only be described as a mass grave for soldiers, found under other clothing and armor and weapons that were more decayed.\" She leaned a little closer to the display. \"There is another theory. Well, more of a conspiracy theory... That it is a cursed weapon.\"\n\nHe scoffed. \"Cursed? By who?\"\n\nShe chuckled softly. \"No one knows. The gods, possibly. There are many legends of deified champions wielding blessed and cursed weapons of their godly benefactors. And there are a few tales being told about this blade now. That it drives people made in an attempt to satiate its lust for battle, seeking its true chosen wielder.\"\n\nThe skink shook his head slowly. \"Odd to hear a historian talk about magic like it was real.\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"Well, magic or no, there has been a lot of bloodshed involving this particular artifact. The crew that found it are said to have gone mad one night, killing each other over what they found. And the archaeologist who had been leading the dig was found murdered in his home a few months after the dig was completed, his throat cut. The rumors are that whoever did the deed was looking for this blade... though most likely it was just some thief that didn't expect to find him home. A good many of his possessions were stolen. Archaeologists tend to be collectors, after all.\" She glanced at him again. \"But you have to admit, the legend of a blade seeking a chosen wielder and driving those who are not its chosen mad is a fascinating tale.\"\n\nHe nodded slowly, keeping quiet for a moment. He didn't want to tell her that he had heard it calling to him. No, not heard... [i]felt[/i]. Was the legend real? Was it really calling to him? Was he its chosen wielder? Or was he being driven mad by it? Perhaps he was already crazy... the urge to reach out and smash the glass, grab the sword and cut his way out of the museum with it... it was almost overwhelming. But he knew better than to listen to an urge like that. It was insanity to think he could get away with it. At least in broad daylight...\n\nHe cleared his throat, turning to her. \"Yes... it is a fascinating legend.\" He forced a smile onto his face. \"Well, it was very nice meeting you Miss Jones. But I should probably be heading out.\" He reached out to shake her hand again. \"Thank you for the history lesson, though.\"\n\nShe returned his handshake, and his smile. \"Very welcome. I hope you have a lovely day.\" He nodded to her, then turned and walked away, though it took a lot of effort to do it. Not just because of the sword's calling. There was something about that woman that he found... magnetic. Though at the same time, there was something about the way she looked at him that set his scales crawling. Like she was somehow looking through him. It was probably just his nerves. After all, there was no way she knew what he was planning on doing tonight.\n\n[center]* * *[/center]\n\nPetran grunted as he scaled over the ledge and onto the roof. He let out a long sigh now that he was up here. Though this was only the first major hurtle done. He turned and pulled the rope up so it wasn't left dangling over the edge of the building for anyone to see. He left it coiled on the ground at his feet, then turned and started to look around. He had found drone footage of the museum's roof, ironically posted by the museum owners. It was supposed to be used in some promotional material for the museum, but the deal had apparently fallen through. Not wanting it to go to waste, they just posted the whole thing online to show off the building. Using that he had learned where things were up here. Namely, the roof access to get inside. Even better, there were no cameras up here. At least, he was pretty sure.\n\nThe skink still made his way slowly, looking around. He had changed into an all black, scale-tight bodysuit. With the tight hood up and the mask over his muzzle, it covered almost all of his coppery scales. The feet were also padded, keeping his footsteps light and quiet. Incidentally, it also showed off his lithe and lanky frame. Though he moved with a grace that surprised even himself. He had never trained to do anything even remotely like this, living a much more pampered life. Eventually, he got to the door access. Taking a deep breath, he reached to open the door. To his surprise, it wasn't locked, opening inwards easily. He let out a slightly satisfied grunt at his good fortune and stepped inside.\n\nThe stairs led him down into the employee section of the building, near the warehouse in the back. Of course, everything was dark with most of the lights off. Instead of fumbling around in the dark, he pulled a pair of goggles out of the bag at his hip. Putting them on and hitting a button on the side, they made a high pitched whine for half a second, and his vision was filled with green as the nightvision kicked in and adjusted to the low light. Only then did he risk opening the door into the facility itself. Exiting the roof access room, he found himself in a long, wide hallway. One way led to the warehouse dock in the back, where artifacts were brought in and out, or stored when not in use. Nearby was a break room for the employees, and an office for the curator.\n\nHe went the other way, slowly creeping down the hall until he got to the main section of the museum itself. It was quite different in the dark, but he did recognize where he was instantly. He had cased the joint enough in the last few days to have mostly memorized where he needed to go. Even so, he took it slow, keeping on the look out for any sort of security. To his surprise, he didn't see any. Movies and TV shows had primed him to expect to see patrols wandering the halls, flashlights sweeping side to side. He saw none of that. None of the doors were even locked.\n\n[i]come... to... me~[/i]\n\nHe heard it. The call. Still not hearing the traditional way. He heard it deep inside of himself, more feeling than anything else. There was a pull that came with it, something tugging at his very soul. He knew where to go, even if he hadn't memorized the layout of the place over the last few days.\n\n[i]free... me~[/i]\n\n\"Yeah, I'm trying.\" He hissed under his breath as he passed by several displays. He kept himself low, moving both swiftly but cautiously. He had seen where most of the cameras were during his previous visits, and was pretty sure he knew where to avoid stepping.\n\n[i]HURRY![/i]\n\nThis was the loudest the call had ever gotten. He almost did hear it this time. But the insistence was not something he could ignore. He turned familiar corners, and was finally in the room with the sword. The thing that called to him. He stood in front of the display, lifting his nightvision goggles to look directly at the object inside. He could swear, it was almost vibrating, as if quivering with anticipation for him to take it. Or maybe that was his own anticipation. He reached out and set his hand against the glass. \"Now how do we get you out...?\"\n\n[i]Take me! Hurry! Wield me, chosen![/i]\n\nPetran blinked. This was the most coherent the calling had ever been. It was not just a ghostly feeling, he could almost hear a voice in his head now. \"Give me a minute. I need to find out how to open this without smashing it. I'm sure it's got alarms or-\" he stopped himself, realizing he was talking aloud to an inanimate object.\n\n[i]Break it! They know you are here already! They come! You must wield me now![/i]\n\nHe felt his jaw tighten. It was ordering him now. But it... responded to him. \"This is crazy...\" Before he could overthink things even more, he balled his fist and brought it down upon the glass... only for it to thunk off of the display. \"Shit... ow, that hurt!\" He shook his hand, looking at the glass. It wasn't even cracked. \"Right. Not like the movies.\" He looked around, the nodded. He picked up one of the poles for the rope barrier that surrounded a nearby display. The thing was heavy, especially the base. Hefting it up, he swung it down. It connected with the glass, and this time, the glass shattered. The pole also fell out of his hands and to the floor with a clatter so loud he thought it might deafen him. \"Shit...\"\n\n[i]WIELD ME, CHOSEN![/i]\n\n\"Yeah, yeah. Keep your scabbard on.\" He took a deep breath, then reached out, brushing broken glass away. Then his fingers touched the handle of the blade, and he felt a tingle run through him. Something told him to remove his glove first, so he did, using it to brush more glass away. Finally, he slid his fingers around the handle and gripped the sword. It felt... right. Like it belonged in his hand. He felt almost a sense of bliss from the object. He also made sure to take the scabbard that was laying with it, tying it to his waist.\n\nHe turned, holding the blade up and turning it this way and that. The handle was long, and he could hold it with one or two hands. The blade itself was also quite long, and while he felt the weight of it, it also felt weightless. He moved it around in front of him, and found himself doing a masterful flourish, twirling the blade about as if he had trained for decades. This was the first time he had held any blade bigger than a kitchen knife. He was sure he felt exhilaration from the thing, too. It was not just his own. It was definitely the sword.\n\n[i]At last! Your hands hold me, chosen![/i]\n\n\"Petran. My name is Petran.\" He tested, seeing what reply he might get.\n\n[i]Very well, chosen Petran.[/i]\n\nThere was no denying it now. It responded! Either it really was somehow alive, or he had completely and utterly lost his mind. \"Um... what do I call you?\"\n\n[i]I have no name. I am what my wielder chooses to call me. My last owner named me Sanguinarius. You may name me whatever you wish.[/i]\n\nHe couldn't help but chuckle. \"Yeah, I'll come up with that later. For now, we should get out of here before-\"\n\n[i]No! They come now! Ready yourself. They would stop you leaving with me![/i]\n\nSure enough, almost at that exact moment, a dog in a security uniform rounded the corner, gun in hand. He pointed the pistol at Petran. \"Drop the sword!\" Petran raised his hands up slowly.\n\n[i]Cut him down![/i]\n\nHe flinched. \"W-what!? I-I can't!\"\n\n\"Yes you can, sir. Just put it down.\" The guard couldn't hear the sword talking. \"Do it, or I will be forced to open fire.\"\n\n[i]DO IT! I need his blood![/i]\n\nPetran tensed up even more, though his muscles already felt like they had become to coil tighter inside of himself. \"Y-you... what!?\"\n\n\"Last warning!\" The guard stepped closer, his gun aimed directly at Petran's chest. Now that he was closer, Petran could see the man was a terrier of some kind.\n\n[i]NOW![/i]\n\nHe was not in control of his own body in that moment. His hand gripped tighter around the sword's handle, then swung down and outwards in a smooth, powerful strike. The blade flashed through the air, striking out at the man the moment he was within range. The edge sliced cleanly through the dog's wrists, severing both hands off in one blow as easily as cutting jelly. The hands fell away, the gun falling with them, no longer a threat. The blood that started to spray from the severed ends of the arm... did not splash out as they should. Instead, the blood seemed drawn to the blade itself, the metal drinking of the man's essence. Petran could feel the satisfaction from the weapon, like a man dying of thirst finally getting a cool drink of water.\n\nIt was not done. As the dog started to scream in panic and pain, the sword moved on its own once more. A quick shift, a jab forward, and the tip pierced through the uniform and into his chest. Directly into the man's heart. The blade sought to gorge itself upon the dog's vital fluid direct at the source. Petran felt all of it, as if it was in slow motion. He felt how the blade cut so easily through flesh, sliced open meat and almost ignore the resistance of bone. He met the dog's eyes, saw the panic and fear within the guard's gaze. The man opened his mouth, but only a weak whimper fell from his lips. Then his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor. The blade slipped free from the wound, letting the guard fall. It felt much better, but the thirst was renewed, impossible to ever truly sate.\n\nPetran stared at the weapon in his hand. It had moved on its own, like it was wielding him. Then something clicked. He remembered his youth, an old tutor trying and failing to teach him Latin. Sanquinarius. Bloodthirst. Or in this case, closer to what could be described as an ancient Roman version of a vampire. A Blood Drinker. This blade was vampiric. It was alive, and it thirsted for death.\n\nAnd it called him its chosen wielder. \"Why... did you make me do that!?\"\n\n[i]Many reasons. I needed his blood. He would have taken you from me. You are my chosen. I will not wait another millennia for the next. But we have no time. More come. Cut them all down.[/i]\n\nHe shook his head, staring down at the dead guard at his feet. Had had never killed before. \"I-I can't...\"\n\n[i]You can. With my help, you will. You resist. Stop, or you will die. Give in to the nature deep down. Embrace it. You are chosen for a reason.[/i]\n\n\"What reason!?\"\n\n[i]Later. We have no time. They come. Quickly, strike before they can react![/i]\n\nHe heard them. More guards were out there. He gripped the handle of the blade, feeling as if a power was washing over him. \"Fine.\" He pulled his goggles down, turning the nightvision back on so he could see. With only some hesitation, he slid into a low stance that somehow felt completely natural. As he heard one of the voices getting closer, he moved, rushing out of the display room and dashing right past the guard. He barely had the chance to register that she was a sheep of some kind before his hand was moving. She had even less time to register he was there before he sliced deep into her stomach. A wet, gurgling scream came from her, but she quickly crumpled to the floor as the blade rapidly drained her blood away.\n\nHe did not have time to feel anything about killing someone. There were more guards. With one dispatched, he moved around a tall display of jewelry, seeing another three. One of them saw him. \"There he is! Get hi-AHH!\" The cat's words were cut off as he sliced upwards, carving a line from hip to shoulder. Before the man could do more than stumble, Petran was onto the next, the sword continuing its momentum from the first slice into a horizontal slash that was barely hindered by the equine's neck. As the head tumbled away, he spun to the side, the blade moving fluidly with him to stab forward, piercing deep into the last man's chest, right through his heart. He saw a terrified look in the dog's eyes before they rolled back and he fell, as dead as the rest.\n\nPetran panted, though not from fatigue. He had never felt this exhilarated before. The blade was right. This... this was his nature. He did not know how or why, but he knew somewhere in his soul that killing was his purpose. His calling. He would end every life. Cut down anyone that would dare to stand before him. He will kill and kill. He needed to spill more blood. More lives needed to be ended by his hand. He would-\n\nHe grunted, snapping himself out of his bloodlust trance. He staggered back a step, as if he had been struck. \"Fuck...\" He grunted again, putting a hand to his head. Looking around, he saw four dead bodies. Four new ones. Two cats with their bellies split open, a rat missing his head, and a fox cut nearly in half at the waist. There was blood... but not as much as he would expect. The sword. It was drinking so much of the stuff. He felt it almost pulsing with power in his hand. \"Th-this is...\"\n\n[i]You do well, Chosen. But we must flee. A danger comes.[/i]\n\nHe blinked, confused. \"What danger?\"\n\n\"That would probably be me.\" He flinched as he heard a woman's voice behind him. He spun around, sword at the ready as he looked around. A figure stepped out of the shadows... sort of. Even with the nightvision goggles, it seemed more like they were letting the shadows fall away and become visible as they stepped forward. And she was giving him a smile. \"Hello again, Petran.\"\n\nIt took a moment, but her name finally came to him. \"Clarissa?\" He very slightly dropped his guard, only for the sword in his hand to rise again, guarding more than before. He felt... fear from the thing.\n\n[i]Stay on guard! Danger![/i]\n\nHe blinked several times. \"Danger? She's just a historian.\"\n\n[i]Falsehoods! Do not trust your eyes. They are not as they seem![/i]\n\nClarissa smirked, tilting her head a little. \"What a clever cleaver.\"\n\nPetran tensed up. \"Wait... you can hear it, too!?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Oh yes. I hear that vicious soul in your hands.\" She stepped forward, Petran stepping back a pace. She held her hand out. \"If you give the blade to me now, I will let you walk out of here. I've even taken the courtesy of disabling the security cameras. So there is no record of you being here and murdering all these people. You can walk away. Just give me the sword, Mr. Shinkael.\"\n\n[i]LIES![/i]\n\nHe narrowed his eyes. \"How do you know my name? I only told you my first name when we met.\"\n\nThe dragon let out a soft chuckle. \"Oh dear. I seem to have overplayed my hand there. I must be slipping.\" She took a breath and let it out. \"Oh well. I suppose a few mistakes in two centuries isn't a bad record.\"\n\n[i]Drop your disguise, assassin! Show him![/i]\n\n\"Show me?\" Petran was suddenly very confused. \"What is going on here!?\"\n\nClarissa shrugged. \"Oh, very well. I might as well drop the act.\" She held up her hand and snapped her fingers. The moment she did, it seemed like her entire form was covered in a million tiny cracks of light. Everything about her suddenly fell away like a billion shards of glass made out of light. Petran had to take the goggles off to see properly, thinking he had been hit with some kind of flash or something to disrupt the nightvision, but his eyes saw the same thing, the sand of light falling away from the woman. It revealed the being's true form. Still a dragon, their scales a lighter form of blue. Their horns were shorter, still swept back over a smooth scalp. But they were thinner, their clothing somewhat looser on the lithe frame. It was not too different from his own physique. With the exception of the tail. Long, whip-like, and tipped in a hard shell of scales that looked viciously sharp.\n\nPetran stepped back again, more confused than ever. \"W-what... the hell was that!?\"\n\n[i]Magic.[/i]\n\n\"MAGIC!? There is no such thing!\"\n\nThe dragon chuckled, the voice deeper than it had been... but only just. \"You are having a conversation with a talking sword that drinks blood, and you doubt the existence of magic?\" The dragon looked up at him, crimson eyes flashing in the darkness. Despite the still very feminine form, he could tell that the person before him was male.\n\n\"Who are you? ...[i]WHAT[/i] are you!?\" Petran could feel a murderous intent almost radiating from the dragon now.\n\n\"As your sword said. I am an assassin. Though specifically, I am a steeltail dragon. As for who I am, I should properly introduce myself.\" The man gave a slight bow. \"My name is Mandraxiran Caudafer, but you may call me Meng.\" Even as they bowed, their tail snapped back and forth behind them, the tip slicing the air. \"Now that the introductions are out of the way...\" With no further warning, the whip-like tail suddenly shot forward at blinding speed. Yet somehow, Petran was able to react to it, bringing the sword around in time to parry the bladed tail tip away, making a metallic clang off of the blade.\n\nThe dragon got a wicked smile, and suddenly Petran could feel the murderous aura around the man like a pressure pushing against his chest. Meng became a blur of motion, twisting his body like a ballet dancer, his tail spinning around with him, only to slash outwards. Petran parried again, moving away and around the displays. His arms moved almost on their own, twisting to block down, then around to block a strike at his side. His body also moved fluidly, ducking under a swipe that would have taken his head. From the crouch, he lunged forward, thrusting the sword out. Meng danced away, the lethal edge missing him by less than an inch.\n\nThe tail came after Petran again, faster this time. The skink had to hop backwards as the sword flowed in front of him to parry and deflect quick swipes and stabs. When Meng twirled on one foot, Petran instinctively ducked a second before the bladed appendage lashed out, swiping over his head. The tip struck a mannequin with a set of ancient Egyptian armor, cutting clean through both armor and stand without slowing. The dragon grunted at the antique he just carved through. \"Cheap knockoff.\" He then spun again, taking a large step forward as he did.\n\nPetran brought the sword up, anticipating blocking another swipe of the tail, only for a foot to suddenly connect with his ribs. The blow was so hard he felt all the wind knocked out of his lungs, and something in his chest make a popping sound it probably shouldn't. He only realized that he had been sent flying when his back crashed into a display of ancient plates and bowls. His body moved on its own again, lurching backwards to use the momentum and roll over the hip-height display. A good thing, as if he had simply bounced off, the foot that struck him would have stomped onto his head.\n\nThe skink panted heavily, putting a hand to his chest. \"Why... why are you trying to kill me!?\"\n\nMeng shrugged, pointing a long finger at him. \"Because I was sent here for that sword.\"\n\n\"Sent by who?\"\n\nThe dragon chuckled. \"Whom. And I cannot tell you that. They like their secrecy.\" He grinned wide. \"Though I also quite enjoy my job. And I'm very good at it.\" He suddenly launched himself into the air, somersaulting forward, his tail coiled around him as he spun. Petran cursed, knowing what was coming, and that he could not block it. He dove to the side as the tail lashed out again, missing his leg so narrowly he feared for a moment it hadn't missed at all. The bladed tip carved a deep groove in the concrete floor, sending a few sparks into the air.\n\nPetran saw a chance and took it, bringing the sword around in an attempt to cut the tail just above the tip while it was cutting through the floor. He was a moment too slow, only managing to cut a nick in the tail, not cut through it. But it still made the dragon cry out in pain as he landed from his spin. Meng leapt back to avoid the follow-through, but Petran pressed his sudden advantage and went on the offense. He stabbed and slashed, each one narrowly missing its mark, but forcing the dragon to keep moving back, Petran giving chase.\n\nEventually, Meng found himself suddenly backed against a wall. The dragon grunted, bringing his tail around to deflect several swipes. Then it was his turn to see an opening, and took it. As the sword came around in a chop aimed for his neck, he stepped in just under Petran's guard and slammed his elbow into the skink's gut to force him away. As the man staggered back a step, he brought his tail around again, the edge slicing into him... but not a fatal slash. Petran had managed to turn so it only cut at his shoulder. It still made him cry out.\n\nMeng continued forward, turning to whip his tail about in the air. It moved to curl around Petran's neck, the blade right at his throat... and then he paused. The sword was suddenly at his own throat. Both reptiles stared at each other, panting slightly. The dragon had a huge grin on his face, Petran's expression more serious, though still covered by the cloth mask over his muzzle. Neither made a move, yet the slightest from either would end the fight then and there.\n\n[i]Do it! Kill him![/i]\n\n\"Shut up!\" Petran yelled at his sword.\n\nMeng chuckled. \"You should listen to your sword. Do it. Cut me. Even if you slice through my neck, I'll still have enough time to slice your throat open, too. My tail will curl and carve your arteries open. We'll both die in a pool of our blood!\"\n\n\"Or... we could stop. I don't kill you, you don't kill me.\"\n\nThe dragon quirked an eyebrow. \"An interesting alternative.\" He stared at the man for a moment, crimson eyes almost staring through him. Then he slowly and carefully pulled his tail away, moving it around back behind him. He even put his hands up.\n\nPetran also moved away, taking a step back, but keeping his guard up, ready for some trick. \"Good.\"\n\n[i]No! He must die![/i]\n\n\"I said shut up! I wield you!\" He felt an almost petulant acceptance of this. He spoke then to the dragon. \"Now. Tell me. If I killed you, whoever sent you would just send another assassin after me, wouldn't they?\"\n\nMeng grinned even wider. \"Very good. Yes, they definitely would. And whoever they send next would probably just put a bullet through your skull from distance. You'd have your brains splattered on the floor before you even knew you were being hunted.\"\n\nPetran frowned. \"Who are they? These people. Why do they want this sword?\"\n\nThe dragon chuckled, moving away a little, only so he could lean against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest. \"They call themselves The Cadegua Collective.\" He tilted his head a little. \"Even your sword doesn't know who they are. As for why the want it... that sword is a magical artifact. They collect those sorts of things.\"\n\n[i]I have only just found the chosen wielder again. I will not be parted from them so quickly![/i]\n\n\"No, I don't suppose you would, blade.\" Meng tilted his head another way. \"There is another alternative, though...\"\n\n\"It's not letting me walk away, is it?\"\n\nThe dragon shook his head. \"No. You would be hunted by The Collective for the rest of your very short life.\" He pushed off from the wall, smirking as he saw Petran's guard raise again. \"I could take both the sword AND you to them instead.\"\n\nPetran narrowed his eyes. \"So they can kill me themselves?\"\n\nMeng shook his head again. \"No, I don't think they would. They'll certainly scold me for it, but I'm too valuable for them to do much more.\" He held a hand out. \"But they might be very interested in having both the sword and it's chosen wielder. You might just be of more value to them alive... if you're willing to play ball with them. Working for The Collective can be... very rewarding if you stay on their good side.\"\n\n\"Working for a secret shadowy cult of murderers and thieves?\"\n\nThe dragon laughed. \"Says the man who came to steal an ancient sword and killed a half dozen guards in the process?\"\n\nPetran paused. \"Fair point...\" He very slightly lowered his guard. \"What would working for this Collective entail?\"\n\n\"That is for them to decide.\" He stepped forward again, his hand still held out. \"So how about it? Shall I take you to meet them? Or would you prefer we continue our duel until one or both of us have our guts spilled on the floor?\"\n\n[i]Do not trust this monster! Kill him! He will betray you![/i]\n\nMeng frowned. \"Now, that is harsh coming from you, bloody blade. I give you my word that I will not kill you. At least before delivering you to The Collective. And I [i]always[/i] keep my word.\"\n\nPetran thought about it for a moment. \"Fine... take me to them.\" He lowered his guard fully. He even slid the sword back into its scabbard, which seemed to silence it for the moment. \"What about all of the bodies here?\"\n\nThe dragon shrugged. \"The Collective has connections. They'll find some way of playing this all off. I'm sure some poor sucker will take the fall. Robbery gone wrong, terrorist act protesting the perceived theft of cultural artifacts, or something like that. Whatever it is, it should not be your concern.\" He took a deep breath. \"Now give me just a moment to get changed.\"\n\n\"Changed? Wh-\" Petran's words died as he saw the magic happen again, only this time in reverse. Millions of tiny shards of light seemed to rise up and surround the dragon's form, solidifying a moment later into a new body entirely. He once again took the shape of Clarissa Jones. \"Oh.\"\n\nShe gave him a smile. \"There. Now.\" She motioned for him to follow. \"Follow me. We have a little ways to go to get to the portal.\"\n\n\"Portal?\" He shook his head. \"Right. Magic...\" He let out a sigh and followed the now female dragon as she led him away.\n\n\"Do you have a change of clothes stashed somewhere? You might stick out a little dressed up like a ninja.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Yeah. I left a bag hidden a few blocks away.\"\n\n\"Good. We'll swing by that, and then you can meet my employers.\" She smiled. \"And do be sure to be on your best behavior. I'm sure they'll be interested in someone who was able to go toe-to-toe with the likes of me.\"\n\n\"Yeah... sure.\" He took several deep breaths, wincing a little as his chest and shoulder ached now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He was not looking forward to walking for a while with what he suspected was a broken rib or two. But, considering his head was still attached to his shoulders, he would deal with the pain. And, hopefully, his head would stay right where it was.\n\nThe two reptilians walked out of the back door and into the night, leaving the carnage behind them.\n\n[center]* * *[/center]", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "
Whispers in the Steal

By XP Author


Petran Shinkael tilted his head. The massive painting before him was a blur of color on canvas, sweeping reds and flowing yellows, mixed with dark shadowy blues, set on charred greens and burnt browns. The figures within the battlefield were little more than shadows. A commander pointing, his mouth open in some shouted command, while the soldiers around him aimed long rifles at the charging cloud of enemy troops far in the distance, a cannon mid-fire half-obscured by the cloud of gunpowder smoke. A scene from a battle more than five centuries ago. Or so the story went. The painting itself was only a few decades old, long after this battle supposedly happened. Though the creator was also long dead, and left little documentation of his creation, so no one could ask where he got the idea. The only thing that was left was the painting's name: The Retaking of Vesta.

Not that the reptilian had any care to ask. The tale of the Vesta Kingdom and its struggles against the Republic of Jyn were things of myth and legend. Stories of warrior princesses and evil usurpers, witches and mages, angels and demons. Fanciful tales with only the barest hint of real history within them, not to dissimilar to Arthurian legends. What he was more interested in was the art itself, the use of color to depict the battle, the fear in the shadows, the way it tricked the eye to make the fire look as if it moved upon the static image.

But he did not linger too long on this single painting. The museum had many such works for him to see. The skink always enjoyed going to these exhibits. It helped to cure his boredom... somewhat. For a short time. This one in particular he had visited many times over the last week. Though he was doing what he could to avoid the real reason... for now. He saw it, the room it was held within. The object. But for now, he turned his attention to another, moving instead to a wing for relics from old Egyptian and Greek eras. Pieces of wall with carved images, jewelry supposedly worn by kings and generals, and rusted tools dug out of the earth from thousands of years ago.

He was aware he was getting almost as many glances as the impressive pieces of history. It didn't surprise him. Not only were reptilians somewhat rare, especially ones that weren't dragons, but he stood out even among them. His scales had an iridescent quality to them, giving them an almost metallic look. The effect made him seem to be covered in copper, with long, thin lines of gold running down the back of his bare head and neck, continuing along his long, thin tail. He did little to hide it, and even leaned into the look a little. His clothing, a simple casual suit with a long coat, was well tailored, but in just basic black. Not only did it accentuate his already thin frame, but the plain color made his more vibrant scales stand out that much more, making him seem almost regal. Not too far from the truth.

Eventually, he could resist no longer, and turned his attention to the western room. He strode in, looking anywhere but where he knew he must. Laid out were artifacts from the far east, from the old dynasties that predated China, to Mongolia, to parts of India, Japan, Korea, and eastern Russia. An eclectic collection of weapons, armor, tools, pottery, plates, clothing and jewelry. He fixed his attention onto the jewels from some Indian ruler of old. Made of gold and silver, polished to shine in the lights overhead.

...see me...

He did not hear the words as much as feel them. As if someone was whispering within his own chest. He had no other way to describe the sensation. He tried to ignore it.

look... at... me...

He could resist no longer. The call too great. The pull too hard. As casually as he could, he moved over to the display. Set within was a blade. A simple, ordinary sword of steel. With a long blade, a simple guard, and a handle made of ivory. The age of the weapon was both clear upon it, and yet time seemed to have barely touched it. For something supposedly dating back thousands of years, it looked less than a century old. Possibly even newer than that. Part of him wanted to say it was more likely a recreation, but somewhere in his bones he knew this was the real thing.

...free...

He stared, transfixed. It was, in that moment, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The most desirable thing. He needed it. It had to be his. It was his. He had to-

"Please don't touch the glass." He flinched as he heard the woman's voice behind him. He looked down to see his hand had reached out, an inch from touching the display case. He hadn't even realized.

He pulled his hand back and turned to the source of the voice. "Sorry." His voice was almost sheepish. He was glad his scales could not blush, or he would be showing his embarrassment even more.

The woman nodded, giving him a smile. "It is alright." She was a reptilian like him, and about his age, late 20's, maybe slightly older. Though more clearly a dragon, with scales of a blue so light they looked almost powdered. She was almost as tall as he was, the swept-back horns atop her head making her that much closer to his height. Though unlike him, she had a full head of reddish hair that hung neatly down her back. She wore a simple dress and blazer, with the logo of the museum upon it. She turned her slim face to his, her eyes an iridescent yellow that caught and somewhat reflected the light, not unlike his own scales. "It is a fascinating sword, isn't it?"

He blinked a few times. For a moment, he had been as transfixed by her as he had been to the sword. He cleared his throat. "Yes. It's... quite an interesting thing." He turned to look at the sword again, once more happy he could not blush. "It's hard to believe the thing is almost two thousand years old. I didn't think that restorations like that were done on artifacts like this."

She smiled. "They don't. That is the truly fascinating thing about this. It has never had anything more than the most basic cleaning done upon it, and yet it remains in this near perfect condition. It's a real mystery." She grinned, glancing over at him again, then holding a hand out. "I'm Clarissa Jones, by the way."

He took the hand, finding her grip surprisingly strong. "Petran. You work for the museum?"

She nodded. "Yes... in a way. More of a consultant. I'm what you might call a freelance historian." She turned her attention back to the sword, his own also returning to the thing. "Have you heard the history of this particular piece?" He shook his head. "Well, it was found in the ruins of a city in modern day Turkey. The name of the city is, unfortunately, lost to history. However, it is clear that the city was the cite of a battle between Romans and another force, likely Persians. Likely fought during one of the roman's many incursions into what then was known as Anatolia." She pointed to another display, showing very old armor, decayed with age and exposure to the elements. "Many roman legionary armor sets such as this were also found nearby."

Petran nodded. "That actually looks like it's from back then." He motioned to the sword. "How come this doesn't look that old? Was it under something?"

She shook her head. "No. Well... yes, but nothing that the rest of the artifacts weren't also under. Rubble and dirt, mostly. Among many other weapons that were decayed from age. And then this blade sat among them. No one knows why it is in such pristine condition."

"Maybe it was left there later. It doesn't seem like it's the same design as the rest of the weapons..."

She glanced to the side at him, a smirk on her lips. "Good eye. That is one theory, but there is no evidence of it. In fact, most evidence shows that it is very much from that time. It was found amid what can only be described as a mass grave for soldiers, found under other clothing and armor and weapons that were more decayed." She leaned a little closer to the display. "There is another theory. Well, more of a conspiracy theory... That it is a cursed weapon."

He scoffed. "Cursed? By who?"

She chuckled softly. "No one knows. The gods, possibly. There are many legends of deified champions wielding blessed and cursed weapons of their godly benefactors. And there are a few tales being told about this blade now. That it drives people made in an attempt to satiate its lust for battle, seeking its true chosen wielder."

The skink shook his head slowly. "Odd to hear a historian talk about magic like it was real."

She shrugged. "Well, magic or no, there has been a lot of bloodshed involving this particular artifact. The crew that found it are said to have gone mad one night, killing each other over what they found. And the archaeologist who had been leading the dig was found murdered in his home a few months after the dig was completed, his throat cut. The rumors are that whoever did the deed was looking for this blade... though most likely it was just some thief that didn't expect to find him home. A good many of his possessions were stolen. Archaeologists tend to be collectors, after all." She glanced at him again. "But you have to admit, the legend of a blade seeking a chosen wielder and driving those who are not its chosen mad is a fascinating tale."

He nodded slowly, keeping quiet for a moment. He didn't want to tell her that he had heard it calling to him. No, not heard... felt. Was the legend real? Was it really calling to him? Was he its chosen wielder? Or was he being driven mad by it? Perhaps he was already crazy... the urge to reach out and smash the glass, grab the sword and cut his way out of the museum with it... it was almost overwhelming. But he knew better than to listen to an urge like that. It was insanity to think he could get away with it. At least in broad daylight...

He cleared his throat, turning to her. "Yes... it is a fascinating legend." He forced a smile onto his face. "Well, it was very nice meeting you Miss Jones. But I should probably be heading out." He reached out to shake her hand again. "Thank you for the history lesson, though."

She returned his handshake, and his smile. "Very welcome. I hope you have a lovely day." He nodded to her, then turned and walked away, though it took a lot of effort to do it. Not just because of the sword's calling. There was something about that woman that he found... magnetic. Though at the same time, there was something about the way she looked at him that set his scales crawling. Like she was somehow looking through him. It was probably just his nerves. After all, there was no way she knew what he was planning on doing tonight.

*     *     *


Petran grunted as he scaled over the ledge and onto the roof. He let out a long sigh now that he was up here. Though this was only the first major hurtle done. He turned and pulled the rope up so it wasn't left dangling over the edge of the building for anyone to see. He left it coiled on the ground at his feet, then turned and started to look around. He had found drone footage of the museum's roof, ironically posted by the museum owners. It was supposed to be used in some promotional material for the museum, but the deal had apparently fallen through. Not wanting it to go to waste, they just posted the whole thing online to show off the building. Using that he had learned where things were up here. Namely, the roof access to get inside. Even better, there were no cameras up here. At least, he was pretty sure.

The skink still made his way slowly, looking around. He had changed into an all black, scale-tight bodysuit. With the tight hood up and the mask over his muzzle, it covered almost all of his coppery scales. The feet were also padded, keeping his footsteps light and quiet. Incidentally, it also showed off his lithe and lanky frame. Though he moved with a grace that surprised even himself. He had never trained to do anything even remotely like this, living a much more pampered life. Eventually, he got to the door access. Taking a deep breath, he reached to open the door. To his surprise, it wasn't locked, opening inwards easily. He let out a slightly satisfied grunt at his good fortune and stepped inside.

The stairs led him down into the employee section of the building, near the warehouse in the back. Of course, everything was dark with most of the lights off. Instead of fumbling around in the dark, he pulled a pair of goggles out of the bag at his hip. Putting them on and hitting a button on the side, they made a high pitched whine for half a second, and his vision was filled with green as the nightvision kicked in and adjusted to the low light. Only then did he risk opening the door into the facility itself. Exiting the roof access room, he found himself in a long, wide hallway. One way led to the warehouse dock in the back, where artifacts were brought in and out, or stored when not in use. Nearby was a break room for the employees, and an office for the curator.

He went the other way, slowly creeping down the hall until he got to the main section of the museum itself. It was quite different in the dark, but he did recognize where he was instantly. He had cased the joint enough in the last few days to have mostly memorized where he needed to go. Even so, he took it slow, keeping on the look out for any sort of security. To his surprise, he didn't see any. Movies and TV shows had primed him to expect to see patrols wandering the halls, flashlights sweeping side to side. He saw none of that. None of the doors were even locked.

come... to... me~

He heard it. The call. Still not hearing the traditional way. He heard it deep inside of himself, more feeling than anything else. There was a pull that came with it, something tugging at his very soul. He knew where to go, even if he hadn't memorized the layout of the place over the last few days.

free... me~

"Yeah, I'm trying." He hissed under his breath as he passed by several displays. He kept himself low, moving both swiftly but cautiously. He had seen where most of the cameras were during his previous visits, and was pretty sure he knew where to avoid stepping.

HURRY!

This was the loudest the call had ever gotten. He almost did hear it this time. But the insistence was not something he could ignore. He turned familiar corners, and was finally in the room with the sword. The thing that called to him. He stood in front of the display, lifting his nightvision goggles to look directly at the object inside. He could swear, it was almost vibrating, as if quivering with anticipation for him to take it. Or maybe that was his own anticipation. He reached out and set his hand against the glass. "Now how do we get you out...?"

Take me! Hurry! Wield me, chosen!

Petran blinked. This was the most coherent the calling had ever been. It was not just a ghostly feeling, he could almost hear a voice in his head now. "Give me a minute. I need to find out how to open this without smashing it. I'm sure it's got alarms or-" he stopped himself, realizing he was talking aloud to an inanimate object.

Break it! They know you are here already! They come! You must wield me now!

He felt his jaw tighten. It was ordering him now. But it... responded to him. "This is crazy..." Before he could overthink things even more, he balled his fist and brought it down upon the glass... only for it to thunk off of the display. "Shit... ow, that hurt!" He shook his hand, looking at the glass. It wasn't even cracked. "Right. Not like the movies." He looked around, the nodded. He picked up one of the poles for the rope barrier that surrounded a nearby display. The thing was heavy, especially the base. Hefting it up, he swung it down. It connected with the glass, and this time, the glass shattered. The pole also fell out of his hands and to the floor with a clatter so loud he thought it might deafen him. "Shit..."

WIELD ME, CHOSEN!

"Yeah, yeah. Keep your scabbard on." He took a deep breath, then reached out, brushing broken glass away. Then his fingers touched the handle of the blade, and he felt a tingle run through him. Something told him to remove his glove first, so he did, using it to brush more glass away. Finally, he slid his fingers around the handle and gripped the sword. It felt... right. Like it belonged in his hand. He felt almost a sense of bliss from the object. He also made sure to take the scabbard that was laying with it, tying it to his waist.

He turned, holding the blade up and turning it this way and that. The handle was long, and he could hold it with one or two hands. The blade itself was also quite long, and while he felt the weight of it, it also felt weightless. He moved it around in front of him, and found himself doing a masterful flourish, twirling the blade about as if he had trained for decades. This was the first time he had held any blade bigger than a kitchen knife. He was sure he felt exhilaration from the thing, too. It was not just his own. It was definitely the sword.

At last! Your hands hold me, chosen!

"Petran. My name is Petran." He tested, seeing what reply he might get.

Very well, chosen Petran.

There was no denying it now. It responded! Either it really was somehow alive, or he had completely and utterly lost his mind. "Um... what do I call you?"

I have no name. I am what my wielder chooses to call me. My last owner named me Sanguinarius. You may name me whatever you wish.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, I'll come up with that later. For now, we should get out of here before-"

No! They come now! Ready yourself. They would stop you leaving with me!

Sure enough, almost at that exact moment, a dog in a security uniform rounded the corner, gun in hand. He pointed the pistol at Petran. "Drop the sword!" Petran raised his hands up slowly.

Cut him down!

He flinched. "W-what!? I-I can't!"

"Yes you can, sir. Just put it down." The guard couldn't hear the sword talking. "Do it, or I will be forced to open fire."

DO IT! I need his blood!

Petran tensed up even more, though his muscles already felt like they had become to coil tighter inside of himself. "Y-you... what!?"

"Last warning!" The guard stepped closer, his gun aimed directly at Petran's chest. Now that he was closer, Petran could see the man was a terrier of some kind.

NOW!

He was not in control of his own body in that moment. His hand gripped tighter around the sword's handle, then swung down and outwards in a smooth, powerful strike. The blade flashed through the air, striking out at the man the moment he was within range. The edge sliced cleanly through the dog's wrists, severing both hands off in one blow as easily as cutting jelly. The hands fell away, the gun falling with them, no longer a threat. The blood that started to spray from the severed ends of the arm... did not splash out as they should. Instead, the blood seemed drawn to the blade itself, the metal drinking of the man's essence. Petran could feel the satisfaction from the weapon, like a man dying of thirst finally getting a cool drink of water.

It was not done. As the dog started to scream in panic and pain, the sword moved on its own once more. A quick shift, a jab forward, and the tip pierced through the uniform and into his chest. Directly into the man's heart. The blade sought to gorge itself upon the dog's vital fluid direct at the source. Petran felt all of it, as if it was in slow motion. He felt how the blade cut so easily through flesh, sliced open meat and almost ignore the resistance of bone. He met the dog's eyes, saw the panic and fear within the guard's gaze. The man opened his mouth, but only a weak whimper fell from his lips. Then his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor. The blade slipped free from the wound, letting the guard fall. It felt much better, but the thirst was renewed, impossible to ever truly sate.

Petran stared at the weapon in his hand. It had moved on its own, like it was wielding him. Then something clicked. He remembered his youth, an old tutor trying and failing to teach him Latin. Sanquinarius. Bloodthirst. Or in this case, closer to what could be described as an ancient Roman version of a vampire. A Blood Drinker. This blade was vampiric. It was alive, and it thirsted for death.

And it called him its chosen wielder. "Why... did you make me do that!?"

Many reasons. I needed his blood. He would have taken you from me. You are my chosen. I will not wait another millennia for the next. But we have no time. More come. Cut them all down.

He shook his head, staring down at the dead guard at his feet. Had had never killed before. "I-I can't..."

You can. With my help, you will. You resist. Stop, or you will die. Give in to the nature deep down. Embrace it. You are chosen for a reason.

"What reason!?"

Later. We have no time. They come. Quickly, strike before they can react!

He heard them. More guards were out there. He gripped the handle of the blade, feeling as if a power was washing over him. "Fine." He pulled his goggles down, turning the nightvision back on so he could see. With only some hesitation, he slid into a low stance that somehow felt completely natural. As he heard one of the voices getting closer, he moved, rushing out of the display room and dashing right past the guard. He barely had the chance to register that she was a sheep of some kind before his hand was moving. She had even less time to register he was there before he sliced deep into her stomach. A wet, gurgling scream came from her, but she quickly crumpled to the floor as the blade rapidly drained her blood away.

He did not have time to feel anything about killing someone. There were more guards. With one dispatched, he moved around a tall display of jewelry, seeing another three. One of them saw him. "There he is! Get hi-AHH!" The cat's words were cut off as he sliced upwards, carving a line from hip to shoulder. Before the man could do more than stumble, Petran was onto the next, the sword continuing its momentum from the first slice into a horizontal slash that was barely hindered by the equine's neck. As the head tumbled away, he spun to the side, the blade moving fluidly with him to stab forward, piercing deep into the last man's chest, right through his heart. He saw a terrified look in the dog's eyes before they rolled back and he fell, as dead as the rest.

Petran panted, though not from fatigue. He had never felt this exhilarated before. The blade was right. This... this was his nature. He did not know how or why, but he knew somewhere in his soul that killing was his purpose. His calling. He would end every life. Cut down anyone that would dare to stand before him. He will kill and kill. He needed to spill more blood. More lives needed to be ended by his hand. He would-

He grunted, snapping himself out of his bloodlust trance. He staggered back a step, as if he had been struck. "Fuck..." He grunted again, putting a hand to his head. Looking around, he saw four dead bodies. Four new ones. Two cats with their bellies split open, a rat missing his head, and a fox cut nearly in half at the waist. There was blood... but not as much as he would expect. The sword. It was drinking so much of the stuff. He felt it almost pulsing with power in his hand. "Th-this is..."

You do well, Chosen. But we must flee. A danger comes.

He blinked, confused. "What danger?"

"That would probably be me." He flinched as he heard a woman's voice behind him. He spun around, sword at the ready as he looked around. A figure stepped out of the shadows... sort of. Even with the nightvision goggles, it seemed more like they were letting the shadows fall away and become visible as they stepped forward. And she was giving him a smile. "Hello again, Petran."

It took a moment, but her name finally came to him. "Clarissa?" He very slightly dropped his guard, only for the sword in his hand to rise again, guarding more than before. He felt... fear from the thing.

Stay on guard! Danger!

He blinked several times. "Danger? She's just a historian."

Falsehoods! Do not trust your eyes. They are not as they seem!

Clarissa smirked, tilting her head a little. "What a clever cleaver."

Petran tensed up. "Wait... you can hear it, too!?"

She nodded. "Oh yes. I hear that vicious soul in your hands." She stepped forward, Petran stepping back a pace. She held her hand out. "If you give the blade to me now, I will let you walk out of here. I've even taken the courtesy of disabling the security cameras. So there is no record of you being here and murdering all these people. You can walk away. Just give me the sword, Mr. Shinkael."

LIES!

He narrowed his eyes. "How do you know my name? I only told you my first name when we met."

The dragon let out a soft chuckle. "Oh dear. I seem to have overplayed my hand there. I must be slipping." She took a breath and let it out. "Oh well. I suppose a few mistakes in two centuries isn't a bad record."

Drop your disguise, assassin! Show him!

"Show me?" Petran was suddenly very confused. "What is going on here!?"

Clarissa shrugged. "Oh, very well. I might as well drop the act." She held up her hand and snapped her fingers. The moment she did, it seemed like her entire form was covered in a million tiny cracks of light. Everything about her suddenly fell away like a billion shards of glass made out of light. Petran had to take the goggles off to see properly, thinking he had been hit with some kind of flash or something to disrupt the nightvision, but his eyes saw the same thing, the sand of light falling away from the woman. It revealed the being's true form. Still a dragon, their scales a lighter form of blue. Their horns were shorter, still swept back over a smooth scalp. But they were thinner, their clothing somewhat looser on the lithe frame. It was not too different from his own physique. With the exception of the tail. Long, whip-like, and tipped in a hard shell of scales that looked viciously sharp.

Petran stepped back again, more confused than ever. "W-what... the hell was that!?"

Magic.

"MAGIC!? There is no such thing!"

The dragon chuckled, the voice deeper than it had been... but only just. "You are having a conversation with a talking sword that drinks blood, and you doubt the existence of magic?" The dragon looked up at him, crimson eyes flashing in the darkness. Despite the still very feminine form, he could tell that the person before him was male.

"Who are you? ...WHAT are you!?" Petran could feel a murderous intent almost radiating from the dragon now.

"As your sword said. I am an assassin. Though specifically, I am a steeltail dragon. As for who I am, I should properly introduce myself." The man gave a slight bow. "My name is Mandraxiran Caudafer, but you may call me Meng." Even as they bowed, their tail snapped back and forth behind them, the tip slicing the air. "Now that the introductions are out of the way..." With no further warning, the whip-like tail suddenly shot forward at blinding speed. Yet somehow, Petran was able to react to it, bringing the sword around in time to parry the bladed tail tip away, making a metallic clang off of the blade.

The dragon got a wicked smile, and suddenly Petran could feel the murderous aura around the man like a pressure pushing against his chest. Meng became a blur of motion, twisting his body like a ballet dancer, his tail spinning around with him, only to slash outwards. Petran parried again, moving away and around the displays. His arms moved almost on their own, twisting to block down, then around to block a strike at his side. His body also moved fluidly, ducking under a swipe that would have taken his head. From the crouch, he lunged forward, thrusting the sword out. Meng danced away, the lethal edge missing him by less than an inch.

The tail came after Petran again, faster this time. The skink had to hop backwards as the sword flowed in front of him to parry and deflect quick swipes and stabs. When Meng twirled on one foot, Petran instinctively ducked a second before the bladed appendage lashed out, swiping over his head. The tip struck a mannequin with a set of ancient Egyptian armor, cutting clean through both armor and stand without slowing. The dragon grunted at the antique he just carved through. "Cheap knockoff." He then spun again, taking a large step forward as he did.

Petran brought the sword up, anticipating blocking another swipe of the tail, only for a foot to suddenly connect with his ribs. The blow was so hard he felt all the wind knocked out of his lungs, and something in his chest make a popping sound it probably shouldn't. He only realized that he had been sent flying when his back crashed into a display of ancient plates and bowls. His body moved on its own again, lurching backwards to use the momentum and roll over the hip-height display. A good thing, as if he had simply bounced off, the foot that struck him would have stomped onto his head.

The skink panted heavily, putting a hand to his chest. "Why... why are you trying to kill me!?"

Meng shrugged, pointing a long finger at him. "Because I was sent here for that sword."

"Sent by who?"

The dragon chuckled. "Whom. And I cannot tell you that. They like their secrecy." He grinned wide. "Though I also quite enjoy my job. And I'm very good at it." He suddenly launched himself into the air, somersaulting forward, his tail coiled around him as he spun. Petran cursed, knowing what was coming, and that he could not block it. He dove to the side as the tail lashed out again, missing his leg so narrowly he feared for a moment it hadn't missed at all. The bladed tip carved a deep groove in the concrete floor, sending a few sparks into the air.

Petran saw a chance and took it, bringing the sword around in an attempt to cut the tail just above the tip while it was cutting through the floor. He was a moment too slow, only managing to cut a nick in the tail, not cut through it. But it still made the dragon cry out in pain as he landed from his spin. Meng leapt back to avoid the follow-through, but Petran pressed his sudden advantage and went on the offense. He stabbed and slashed, each one narrowly missing its mark, but forcing the dragon to keep moving back, Petran giving chase.

Eventually, Meng found himself suddenly backed against a wall. The dragon grunted, bringing his tail around to deflect several swipes. Then it was his turn to see an opening, and took it. As the sword came around in a chop aimed for his neck, he stepped in just under Petran's guard and slammed his elbow into the skink's gut to force him away. As the man staggered back a step, he brought his tail around again, the edge slicing into him... but not a fatal slash. Petran had managed to turn so it only cut at his shoulder. It still made him cry out.

Meng continued forward, turning to whip his tail about in the air. It moved to curl around Petran's neck, the blade right at his throat... and then he paused. The sword was suddenly at his own throat. Both reptiles stared at each other, panting slightly. The dragon had a huge grin on his face, Petran's expression more serious, though still covered by the cloth mask over his muzzle. Neither made a move, yet the slightest from either would end the fight then and there.

Do it! Kill him!

"Shut up!" Petran yelled at his sword.

Meng chuckled. "You should listen to your sword. Do it. Cut me. Even if you slice through my neck, I'll still have enough time to slice your throat open, too. My tail will curl and carve your arteries open. We'll both die in a pool of our blood!"

"Or... we could stop. I don't kill you, you don't kill me."

The dragon quirked an eyebrow. "An interesting alternative." He stared at the man for a moment, crimson eyes almost staring through him. Then he slowly and carefully pulled his tail away, moving it around back behind him. He even put his hands up.

Petran also moved away, taking a step back, but keeping his guard up, ready for some trick. "Good."

No! He must die!

"I said shut up! I wield you!" He felt an almost petulant acceptance of this. He spoke then to the dragon. "Now. Tell me. If I killed you, whoever sent you would just send another assassin after me, wouldn't they?"

Meng grinned even wider. "Very good. Yes, they definitely would. And whoever they send next would probably just put a bullet through your skull from distance. You'd have your brains splattered on the floor before you even knew you were being hunted."

Petran frowned. "Who are they? These people. Why do they want this sword?"

The dragon chuckled, moving away a little, only so he could lean against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest. "They call themselves The Cadegua Collective." He tilted his head a little. "Even your sword doesn't know who they are. As for why the want it... that sword is a magical artifact. They collect those sorts of things."

I have only just found the chosen wielder again. I will not be parted from them so quickly!

"No, I don't suppose you would, blade." Meng tilted his head another way. "There is another alternative, though..."

"It's not letting me walk away, is it?"

The dragon shook his head. "No. You would be hunted by The Collective for the rest of your very short life." He pushed off from the wall, smirking as he saw Petran's guard raise again. "I could take both the sword AND you to them instead."

Petran narrowed his eyes. "So they can kill me themselves?"

Meng shook his head again. "No, I don't think they would. They'll certainly scold me for it, but I'm too valuable for them to do much more." He held a hand out. "But they might be very interested in having both the sword and it's chosen wielder. You might just be of more value to them alive... if you're willing to play ball with them. Working for The Collective can be... very rewarding if you stay on their good side."

"Working for a secret shadowy cult of murderers and thieves?"

The dragon laughed. "Says the man who came to steal an ancient sword and killed a half dozen guards in the process?"

Petran paused. "Fair point..." He very slightly lowered his guard. "What would working for this Collective entail?"

"That is for them to decide." He stepped forward again, his hand still held out. "So how about it? Shall I take you to meet them? Or would you prefer we continue our duel until one or both of us have our guts spilled on the floor?"

Do not trust this monster! Kill him! He will betray you!

Meng frowned. "Now, that is harsh coming from you, bloody blade. I give you my word that I will not kill you. At least before delivering you to The Collective. And I always keep my word."

Petran thought about it for a moment. "Fine... take me to them." He lowered his guard fully. He even slid the sword back into its scabbard, which seemed to silence it for the moment. "What about all of the bodies here?"

The dragon shrugged. "The Collective has connections. They'll find some way of playing this all off. I'm sure some poor sucker will take the fall. Robbery gone wrong, terrorist act protesting the perceived theft of cultural artifacts, or something like that. Whatever it is, it should not be your concern." He took a deep breath. "Now give me just a moment to get changed."

"Changed? Wh-" Petran's words died as he saw the magic happen again, only this time in reverse. Millions of tiny shards of light seemed to rise up and surround the dragon's form, solidifying a moment later into a new body entirely. He once again took the shape of Clarissa Jones. "Oh."

She gave him a smile. "There. Now." She motioned for him to follow. "Follow me. We have a little ways to go to get to the portal."

"Portal?" He shook his head. "Right. Magic..." He let out a sigh and followed the now female dragon as she led him away.

"Do you have a change of clothes stashed somewhere? You might stick out a little dressed up like a ninja."

He nodded. "Yeah. I left a bag hidden a few blocks away."

"Good. We'll swing by that, and then you can meet my employers." She smiled. "And do be sure to be on your best behavior. I'm sure they'll be interested in someone who was able to go toe-to-toe with the likes of me."

"Yeah... sure." He took several deep breaths, wincing a little as his chest and shoulder ached now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He was not looking forward to walking for a while with what he suspected was a broken rib or two. But, considering his head was still attached to his shoulders, he would deal with the pain. And, hopefully, his head would stay right where it was.

The two reptilians walked out of the back door and into the night, leaving the carnage behind them.

*     *     *
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