You could see in the way that the sweat poured from every gland on their bodies that they were at the very end of their endurance. A pair of swords clashed in the middle of the field, golden sparks causing a slight wince from both of the men. A leap back and it was over. "Good fight bro. You're getting good. You nearly had me a few times there. But you can never beat my Gunblade with that crappy piece of army surplus shite." Sean, looking a tad dejected, could only agree. The years they had spent together showed. They knew what each other was thinking at any time, had trained as warriors since before they could remember, knew true pain together. They were the commanders of the mighty army opposing the evil Han rule. Sean may have been 2 years Muzza's junior, but he had risen through the ranks of warriors as meteriocally as his closest companion and fellow outcast. It had only taken a single word spoken against the Han in the hallowed halls of the precincts to have a reward placed on their heads. Sean had never forgiven himself, but Muzza had. Sean was all he had, and he'd be damned if he'd lose him too. They now had no family to return to, they had been killed as soon as that word had been uttered. They lived only for revenge. To collect their blood debt from the Han himself. The crowd that had gathered to watch the two training on their off-duty hours were slowly wandering away. All but one. He came running up to the both of them. "Hey, hey sirs. When can I join your personal squads?" This one was Rad. A hopeless waste of space who only made his way into this army at all because he had links in the city in positions of power. "Uh, soon as we have an opening we think is right for you" Sean replied. Rad ran off, happy with his answer. He didn't hear the extra murmur added by the pair. "Too bad there ain't anything right for you." This was a game they played between them. It was called 'Who will accidentally let slip that Rad is an irritating turd who's life is truly pointless'. So far it was a draw and no slip-ups each. They both bit their tongues fit to bite them off. The loser bought the other's ale for a moon. It was time now for ale in fact, and plenty of it. Next turn was the new campaign. That could wait. Tonight was Deccem Night. The one night where there was rest for all, and partying until the sun reached the zenith the next day. Muzza STILL hadn't bought Sean a Deccem gift. Now he knew exactly what it was to be, but he would be working until the eve if he started now, but he really didn't want to leave his friend's company. "Hey bro. I've got some hefty paperwork to deal with. Boring stuff. You grab a drink with Heltar, and I'll catch you tonight." Muzza decided he could tempt Sean with a drink, it failed. "Dude, it's Deccem, man. Deccem. How can you do paperwork today of all days? Come have a few and we'll do it the day after tomorrow. Half each, it'll take no time." Muzza sighed, it was so hard getting away from the 1 person who knew him best, and knew when he was lying, badly. "You and I know I have no work. But you should know when to keep your mouth shut. Just trust me with this one mate. I'll see you later." With a nod, he left. Heading towards the sound of metal striking metal, a smile split Muzza's face. Yes, Sean will have a happy Deccem. With a wave for the smith, Muzza sat down at the long wooden bench, long, worn and scarred from the many pieces of weaponry that came from here. Starting to mark the thick bar of mithral, Muzza's experienced, calloused hands began a work of love and intimate care. The lines flowed seamlessly down the blade, onto a hilt, finishing wrapped around the crossguards. This was a heavy weight blade, yet balanced two fingers above the hilt, just as he knew Sean's old rusty sword was. Glowing white with the heat of the forge, he struck the blade until there was a jagged barb at the end of the sword. This would symbolise the pain of their previous life. A phoenix etched into the body of the blade itself, to represent the rebirth of both of their lives. Muzza hunted inside the vaults under the army base until he found what he was looking for. An almost identical pair of stones, one aquamarine, one amythest. These were both his and Sean's birthstones. These were placed at the end of either crossguard then bound with silver strands until only a small patch of each was visible. The stones seemed to glow with an unnatural light even after he had taken them away from the flames of the forge. Once the sword had cooled, he walked off to his own room which he shared with Sean. Sitting there on his pallet in silence, alone, he infused the sword with the mark of the Greestan. This was his very own life-energy. This way, he would have a link with his only family, even if it was only in his heart, that he had if any gap was forced between them. Now Sean could reach him at any time by merely touching the sword hilt and thinking of his brother, even if he was only his sworn brother. Now he drew all of his Talent into the blade. He wrought every element into it so they may be used at the merest thought of one or another, while also deflecting their damaging effects from him. Flames leapt along the blade, frozen by ice, crushed by vine, washed away by water, electrified by lightning, blown away by wind, lost in darkness and finally blazing with the purest white. All of his own emotions poured into this blade that was made, not to destroy, but to protect the one that he cared about so dearly. This blade was indestructable and had an instinct inbuilt to protect it's owner. This sword would almost automatically leap up to block slashes, parry stabs and seek those openings that shouldn't be left by warriors of commendable skill. Still it wasn't complete, it needed something more. Picking up his own blade, he drew it once across his own wrist, he let a small stream of blood drip onto the blade, and the mithral took on a red tinge by the blood that it absorbed. Suddenly, the sword flashed brightly and became transparent, with a reddish hue. It took on the look of something crafted from glass and of great fragileness. Muzza knew otherwise. This weapon was now stronger than it had been before. Now, feeling satisified that his work was completed, he fell back on his bed, exhausted. He couldn't even raise his arm to stem the blood that still flowed. He had put his heart and soul into making that sword and it had taken all of his energy out of him to do so. Now he felt complete, now he felt that he had made something worth giving as a Deccem present. Nothing was too good for his brother, and this was the best blade he had ever crafted. He closed his eyes, and welcomed oblivion. Sean, a slight smile on his face, watched on from the doorway with a tear in his eye. He had seen Muzza work on swords before, but never with this much care and attention. Heltar had drunk on his own today and he had watched Muzza sweat over this blade, before enthusing it with every piece of energy he had left. On silent feet, Sean walked over the Muzza, passing a hand over his wound, knitting tissue as well as replenishing his energy. This being done, Sean lay down on his own bed and slept, happy for once. Waking within seconds of each other as usual, Sean and Muzza looked over at each other and smiled. It was the eve of Deccem and flickering torch-light could be seen through the window. Music floated in through the door that was barely open. The voices of a hundred men singing off-key and drunkenly stumbling about was enough to drag the pair of them out of bed and made them pull their finest clothes on. This would be the best Deccem yet. Muzza reached under his bed for the blade. Lifting it in the air, he forced some energy along it to make it shine. "Show off" muttered Sean. Muzza shrugged, "Does it matter? Now you have a new blade that might actually be of some use. You might beat me some day now." Passing over the blade, he felt part of himself leave with it and smiled. The link was strong, his lifeblood was eluctant to leave him. He forced himself to give up the blade, a hard battle to fight, and win. Sean's eyes ran along the length of the blade, this was a strong piece of workmanship. Hell, he had never seen anything so powerful and beautiful at the same time. Even Muzza's Gunblade didn't compare to this. A single tear fell from his eye. Although he knew Muzza cared for him, this was one of those times where it reminded him, and it hit his heart. He had cost Muzza everything, yet he stuck by his side, always. He knew that from now on, Sean couldn't leave Muzza's side. "Happy Deccem bro. I kinda guess you like it. It suits you. Hey, let's give a Deccem gift to the troops and perform for them. You reckon you can duel with that?" The grin on Sean's face grew wider. "Can I duel with this? It would duel on it's own!" Arm in arm, they went to pull on their fighting gear over their holiday finery. This would be one duel they wouldn't forget in a long while. They were on even terms, and closer than ever. By simply walking out onto the practice grounds, a crowd began to gather with shouts going out to call more people over. A wave and a salute to the troops and they took their places. Facing opposite each other on the field, deathly silence descended over the grounds. The smile slowly faded from their faces as they concentrated on each other, becoming one with the sword. Muzza waited, allowing Sean to let himself be known to his new sword. Sean's eyes were glazed over. He was meeting the spirit of the sword, taking sacred vows that only himself and the spirit would ever know. A bargain was usually struck. His own Gunblade had demanded that he fought for what he believed in and kept true to the ones he cared about. He had agreed to this without qualm. Sean nodded from the other side of the field, he was ready. Breaking into a run, they leapt at each other. Blades whistling through the air, singing a song of death. The resounding clash of mithral on mithral echoed round the precinct. Unknown to the 2 competitors, quiet bets were being made on the sidelines. This time, Sean had a fair few more bets than usual. He was a different man, changed by the new power he wielded. The blades were now a blur. A hint of red here, a flash of silver there. Diving for an unprotected arm here, regaining footing there. It was almost too fast for the eye to follow. Spots of blood marked the muddy floor where a miriad of small cuts had been made on both men. There was a new grim determination to Sean that night. He had to beat Muzza, nothing else mattered. They both then accessed their powers. Slowly they rose into the skies and the stars became their arena. They now had 3 dimensions from which to attack and defend from. They flew round and round each other, constantly seeking the openings that weren't there. Now that magic was in play, their swords changed hue constantly, replacing one element with another constantly. Fire melted ice, quenched with water, blown away by wind, halted by earth, disappearing in darkness, pierced by light. Their clothes were blackened and smoking, blood seeping through any gap in their armour. Muzza may have been stronger, but Sean had moved by the time the great double-handed sweeps had crashed down. Spiralling up and up into the night sky they came closer and closer with each passing. A brand of flame hit both of them at the same time on their cheek. Blood flew from the tip of each blade and both men backed down. Floating back down to ground, they signalled a stop. The cheers of the men watching were deafening. A servent ran forward with 2 glasses of light wine before setting them down and scurrying away. Sean and Muzza, united in their pain and exhaustion, reached for the glasses. They spoke in unison, "Born apart on different days, let this blood bond seal our lives. May the day that we die be the same. The same hour, the same moment. Let us be together always, in spirit if not in body." With that, they let the blood from the cuts on their cheek drop into the other's glass. Drinking this down, they were bound by blood. This was the most intimate bond outside of the bedroom. This was the pinnacle moment in their relationship. They had sworn the same vow half-heartedly as kids, but now they meant it and knew it's meaning. This would last, and would be true no matter what.
