[BL] I Didn't Sign Up For This-Chapter 54: In Which I Accidentally Create a God-Killing Weapon (Whoops)
Training at Mara’s safehouse was significantly less luxurious than I’d expected.
By which I mean: we were in a field behind the building, standing in mud, while Mara shouted instructions like a particularly aggressive gym teacher.
"Again!" she called from her position near the tree line. "You’re telegraphing your moves, Azryth can see you coming from a mile away."
"That’s because he’s had five hundred years of practice," I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead. "I’ve had like, two weeks."
"Two weeks is plenty of time to learn not to broadcast your intentions like a neon sign." She gestured impatiently. "Again. And this time, actually try to land a hit."
Azryth stood across from me, looking annoyingly composed despite the fact that we’d been at this for over an hour. Not even sweating, his hair still perfect. I kind of hated him.
"Whenever you’re ready," he said, and I could hear the amusement in his voice.
I lunged.
He sidestepped effortlessly, caught my arm, and used my own momentum to send me stumbling past him.
Right before I cleared his reach, his hand connected with my ass in a quick, decisive smack.
I yelped, spinning around. "Did you just.."
"Punish poor form?" He had the audacity to smile. "Yes. You left yourself completely open, in real combat, that would’ve been a blade, not my hand."
"You could’ve just said that!"
"Where’s the fun in that?"
From the sidelines, I heard Henrik snort.
My face was burning. "You’re the worst."
"I’m effective." He reset his stance. "Again. And this time, protect your flank."
I tried again, more careful this time, watching for openings while trying to create my own.
Azryth moved like water, flowing around my strikes, redirecting my energy, it was infuriating how easy he made it look.
"You’re still leading with your shoulder," he observed, catching my wrist mid-punch. "It tells me exactly where you’re going to strike."
"Maybe I want you to know where I’m striking."
"Then you’d be dead in actual combat." He pulled me closer, and suddenly we were face to face, close enough that I could see the ember-flicker in his eyes. "Though I appreciate the optimism."
Then he kissed me.
Quick, light, barely a brush of lips before he used my moment of shock to sweep my legs and send me stumbling backward.
I caught myself before I fell, but my brain was doing absolutely nothing useful.
"What...why...you can’t just..."
"Distraction is a valid combat technique," Azryth said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "You should learn to guard against it."
"Oh my god," Mara groaned from the sidelines. "Can you two not? We’re trying to train here, not watch whatever this is."
"This is training," Azryth said innocently. "I’m teaching him that enemies will use any advantage."
"You’re teaching him that you’re insufferable," Henrik corrected.
My face felt like it was on fire, the binding was humming with Azryth’s amusement and my flustered embarrassment, creating this feedback loop that made everything worse.
"Again," I said, trying to sound authoritative and probably failing. "And no more... that."
"No more effective combat techniques? Are you sure?"
"I hate you."
"You’ve mentioned that." But his smile suggested he knew exactly how rattled I was.
I came at him harder this time, fueled by embarrassment and determination to wipe that smug look off his face.
He dodged, blocked, and redirected, every movement efficient, economical, perfect.
"Stop thinking so much," he said as I missed another strike. "Stop trying to execute perfect form, just react."
"React how?"
"However feels right." He caught my arm, spun me, released. "Come at me. Don’t plan it, just move."
I took a breath.
Don’t plan, just react.
The binding hummed between us, and I felt it, that connection, that current of energy that flowed both ways. I pulled on it without thinking, let power flood through my channels like I’d been practicing.
Then I moved.
Not a lunge this time. Something faster and more fluid, my body seemed to know what to do even though my brain was playing catch-up. I feinted left, ducked under Azryth’s guard, and actually got a hand on his arm before he could counter.
"Better," he said, and there was genuine approval in his voice. "Again. Faster."
We went again. This time I didn’t just pull on the binding, I let it guide me, stopped trying to control every movement and just trusted the energy flowing through my veins.
The world sharpened, colors got brighter, sounds clearer, I could feel Azryth’s position like a second heartbeat, could anticipate his movements through the connection between us.
I struck, he blocked. I countered, he redirected.
We moved together like a dance, like we’d done this a thousand times before, the binding sang between us, synchronizing our movements until I couldn’t tell where my instincts ended and his began.
Then something changed.
The energy I was channeling shifted, it got hotter, brighter, more focused, it concentrated in my right hand, solidifying into something that felt both familiar and completely alien.
Weight appeared in my palm.
I looked down.
There was a blade in my hand.
Not a normal blade. This thing looked like it had been forged from concentrated moonlight and bad intentions, translucent, glowing with that same golden-white light as my seal, edges so sharp they seemed to cut through the air itself.
The weapon felt right in my grip, like it belonged there, like I’d been waiting my whole life to hold it.
"Riven." Azryth’s voice was very, very quiet. "Don’t move."
I looked up.
He’d gone completely still. Not the relaxed stillness of someone at ease, but the frozen stillness of prey that’s just realized there’s a predator nearby.
His eyes were locked on the blade, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something that looked like fear.
"What..." I started.
"Don’t. Move." He said it again, slower. "Don’t channel any more power, don’t shift your grip, just... stay exactly where you are."
Mara and Henrik had stopped whatever they were doing, both of them were staring at me, or more specifically, at the blade in my hand.
"Is that..." Henrik’s voice was barely audible. "That can’t be..."
"It is," Azryth said, still not moving. "A spectral blade."
"A what?" I asked.
"A weapon specifically designed to kill demon lords." His eyes finally left the blade, meeting mine. "One of the few things in existence that can permanently destroy infernal essence. Including mine."
Oh.
Oh shit.
"I didn’t mean to," I said quickly. "I was just channeling power and it just... appeared."
"I know." His voice was carefully controlled. "The seal must contain knowledge of its creation, your ancestors’ techniques for dealing with threats that conventional weapons couldn’t touch."
"Threats like you," I said quietly.
"Yes." He said it simply. "Like me."
The blade pulsed in my hand, responding to my spike of anxiety, the glow intensified slightly.
"Riven," Mara said carefully, "try to dismiss it the same way you summoned it, but in reverse."
"I don’t know how I summoned it!"
"Then figure it out quickly," Henrik added, "because right now you’re holding a weapon that’s literally designed to kill the person you’re bound to, and if it activates..."
"It won’t activate unless I will it to," I said, and somehow I knew that was true, the blade was part of me, an extension of my power. It would only strike if I wanted it to.
But knowing that didn’t make the situation less terrifying.
I looked at Azryth, he was still frozen, watching me with an expression I couldn’t read.
"I’m not going to hurt you," I said.
"I know."
"Then why do you look like you’re expecting me to stab you."
"I look like someone who’s just discovered his accidentally bound spouse can manifest legendary demon-killing weaponry." A hint of dark humor crept into his voice. "Forgive me for being cautious."
"How do I make it go away?"
"Stop channeling power to it," he said. "The blade is sustained by your intent, will it to disperse."
I closed my eyes, focusing on the energy flowing into the weapon, tried to pull it back, redirect it, make it stop.
The blade flickered.
"Good," Azryth murmured. "Keep going."
I pulled harder, the weapon grew more translucent, less solid.
Then it was gone, it just dissolved into motes of light that faded like dying embers.
I was left standing there, hand empty, breathing hard.
Azryth exhaled, and I realized he’d been holding his breath.
"Well," Mara said into the silence. "That was... educational."
"Educational," Henrik repeated. "The kid just manifested a god-slaying weapon during basic combat training and you’re calling it educational?"
"What would you call it?"
"Terrifying! Unprecedented, possibly the most dangerous thing a warden has created in the last two centuries."
"Those too," Mara agreed, then she looked at me. "Can you summon it again?"
"I don’t... I mean, maybe? I wasn’t trying to summon it the first time."
"Try."
I looked at Azryth, he’d stepped back, putting more distance between us, creating space.
"Are you sure that’s a good idea?" I asked.
"We need to understand what you’re capable of," Mara said. "Better to figure it out in controlled circumstances than during actual combat."
She had a point.
I took a breath and reached for that same energy from before. Pulled on the binding, channeled power into my right hand, focused on the sensation of weight, of sharpness, of a blade that could cut through anything.
The weapon materialized instantly, faster and more solid than before.
It felt natural, like picking up something I’d set down moments ago.
Azryth’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, didn’t retreat.
"Fascinating," Henrik murmured, moving closer but keeping a respectful distance. "The blade’s composition is pure warden energy, but it’s been amplified and refined by the infernal power from your binding. It’s hybrid magic."
"Is that normal?"
"Nothing about you is normal," Mara said. "But hybrid magic specifically designed for killing demon lords? That’s new."
I looked at the blade, at the way light seemed to bend around its edges. "My mother put this in the seal."
"Probably," Azryth said. "A weapon for dealing with threats, for protecting yourself if the binding ever went wrong."
For protecting myself from him.
The implication hung heavy in the air.
"She didn’t trust demons," I said quietly. "Even the ones I might bind to."
"Smart woman." Azryth’s voice was neutral. "She prepared you for every contingency, including the possibility that I might become a threat."
"You’re not a threat."
"Not yet." His eyes met mine. "But I could be. That blade exists because your mother understood that power corrupts, that even the most stable binding could fail."
"Or," Henrik interjected, "it exists because Kael wardens historically dealt with entities that normal weapons couldn’t touch. Demon lords, ancient spirits, things that required specialized tools."
"Either way," Mara said, "you now have a weapon that makes you extremely dangerous." She looked at me seriously. "That blade can kill Azryth. It can also kill any demon lord, including Veyrith."
Veyrith. His brother, the one who’d orchestrated his exile.
I saw the calculation in Azryth’s eyes, the realization that I’d just been handed the perfect weapon for revenge.
"Dismiss it," he said quietly. "Please."
I quickly let the blade dissolve, the energy scattered, leaving my hand empty.
"We need to discuss this," Mara said. "The implications, the applications, what it means for your confrontation with Veyrith."
"Later," Azryth said, his voice tight. "Right now, I think we’ve had enough training for today."
He walked away, heading back toward the safehouse without waiting for a response.
Through the binding, I felt his emotions, carefully controlled, but there, unease, wariness, and underneath it all, something that felt almost like hurt.
Because I could kill him now, any time I wanted, the blade proved it.
"That went well," Henrik said dryly.
"Give him time," Mara said. "It’s not every day you discover your spouse can summon a weapon specifically designed to end your existence."
"I wouldn’t use it on him," I said.
"We know that. He probably knows that too, rationally." She put a hand on my shoulder. "But five hundred years of survival instincts don’t care about being rational, right now, his hindbrain is screaming that you’re a threat."
"Great. So now he’s afraid of me."
"Not afraid, cautious, there’s a difference." She squeezed my shoulder once, then released. "Come on. Let’s get you inside, you’ve burned through enough energy for one day."
I followed them back to the safehouse, the weight of the absent blade still phantom-heavy in my hand.
My mother had given me the ultimate weapon.
I just wished it didn’t feel so much like a betrayal.
The seal on my wrist pulsed once, warm and approving.
Yeah. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦
Thanks, Mom.
Really helpful.
