[ IP ] Unsheathed

Kat caught her breath, staring down at the thing in her hands. A simple sword, still sheathed, and the most dangerous thing in the world. Well, the second. She looked through the trees, the leaves swirling about, at the black shape that was slowly plodding closer. 
 
 Kat straightened and began jogging away again. She was in the world's most terrifying slow speed chase ever. Her pursuer plodded along slowly, with a calm determination. He was not tired, he could have easily caught, but he was toying with her and she knew it. She only hoped he was overconfident and that she might escape. She hoped. 
 
 … 
 
 Ver-dun watched as the girl began jogging again. He continued to shamble along. He could n't run. He could n't have her panic, have her draw the blade. 
 
 … 
 
 Kat, short for Katerina, was a nickname her grandfather had given her, like he had given her the blade. She smiled at the thought of him and a tear rolled down her cheek as she trotted forward. He had never been anything but kind. To her and everyone else he knew. Which is why she hated them so much. 
 
 Kat did n't know who they were, what their purpose was, but what she did know was that the last thing her grandpa had said to her before he died was that she could never let the sword fall into the wrong hands. She did not intend to. 
 
 Glancing back at the man far away, Kat decided to take a short rest, leaning against a tree. She looked up through the canopy of leaves into the starry sky. 
 
 “ I wo n't let them have it, Grandpa, ” Kat whispered. “ I promise. ” 
 
 … 
 
 Ver-dun saw the girl staring up into the sky. She was not watching him. He ducked to the side, out of her line of sight. He had to be careful. Braz-dur had been specific. The girl was not evil, she simply did not understand the power, the capability to destroy, that she held in her hands. However, it is better that there only be a single casualty rather than a million. 
 
 … 
 
 Kat checked for the man but saw nothing. She stood, scanning wildly. He had not given up, she knew that much. He had changed tactics, which meant she needed to as well. Kat sprinted away, crashing through the forest. 
 
 … 
 
 The girl was running now. That was bad. Ver-dun ran as well, far more quietly than her, drifting like a ghost through the night. Her small figure began to grow larger and she turned back, looking at him. Her pace accelerated. So did his. 
 
 … 
 
 Kat ran as fast as she could, refusing to acknowledge her legs as they screamed in protest. Her lungs ached but she did not slow. Kat would not stop. 
 
 The man was behind her, running now as well. She had glimpsed him through the trees. He was either done playing with her or she had made him concerned. Neither was good news for her. 
 
 Time seemed to stretch on, each heartbeat a year, each second a lifetime. Kat would not let them have the sword. She turned as she ran; the man had gained on her slightly. She sped up right into a tree. 
 
 Kat opened her eyes; her head ached. She got to her knees and looked back. The man was almost upon her, so close. She saw the blade a few feet away. She was not going down without a fight. 
 
 … 
 
 The girl lunged for the blade. Ver-dun sprinted as fast as he could but he was not fast enough. In horror he watched as she grasped the blade handle and began to pull. 
 
 … 
 
 The man was so close. Kat could see him clearly now. Time inched by. He was tall and muscular, but he was not all human. His left arm and legs were a bit too big for him, slightly green, with large veins running around them. 
 
 His face was full of anger, frustration, and horror as she drew the blade, a smile on her lips. That was when the voices began. 
 
 Kat screamed, as thousands of voices invaded her mind, whispering secrets, sharing stories, lying lies. Anger, happiness, joy, guilt, sadness, and betrayal pulsed through her simultaneously. She looked at the man who held out his deformed hand towards her. The voices quieted for a moment, but then attacked more viciously than before. Her body was racked and she fell to her knees, her vision growing dark. 
 
 … 
 
 Ver-dun stared in horror as the poor girl screamed in agony. He knew what the blade could do. He had used it before. He had survived. This girl would not. He stretched his hand out, reaching, attempting to subdue her thoughts, her emotions. For a moment it worked. Then the screaming resumed and she fell to her knees. Ver-dun ran forward, his spear clutched in his other hand. 
 
 The girl stopped screaming and looked at Ver-dun. No, the girl was gone. Only the blade remained. The Blade stood its body up, taking a defensive stance. Ver-dun looked on in dismay. He stared at the Blade in hatred, the evil sword she clutched in her hands. 
 
 Ver-dun took a stance as well. Better one. 
 
 The Blade came at him, silent. He parried the blow and struck out with his own. 
 
 The Blade did not flinch as the head of the spear dug into its thigh. Instead it stepped back, blood dripping from its wound. It struck again and Ver-dun blocked. The dance had begun. 
 
 The two attacked and counterattacked, blocked and parried. The Blade deflected his attempts now that it had proved its point. The Blade was sure it would win. Ver-dun was not so sure. He struck again and the Blade swept down to intercept, but Ver-dun noticed something. The sword seemed to slice about, the arms following. 
 
 An idea struck Ver-dun, and a plan immediately began to formulate. 
 
 Ver-dun lunged forward, leaving his left side exposed. The Blade smiled and spun, digging it's blade deep into Ver-dun's gut. Ver-dun reached with his deformed hand and grabbed the Blade ’ s arm. It looked at him in surprise. 
 
 Ver-dun held fast, leaving the sword in his side. He carefully raised his spear, his eyes locked. The Blade followed his gaze and understood. It began to thrash about, panicked. 
 
 Ver-dun held fast, calculated, and struck. 
 
 … 
 
 Kat stared at her hand longingly, or rather, stared at where her hand used to be. It always reminded her of that night so long ago, with that strange man. It always reminded her that some things were better left alone. Some things were not meant to be unsheathed. 

