OoC: Sorry for the wait...I didn't know it was my turn until a week ago...sorry ;_;

BiC:

Finally. How long had he been searching? How long had he been fighting? Alas, the time had passed in the winds breath, each moment only leading closer to the last. It was a long time that he was sure of, for years he had fought and bled, he had sacrificed everything, his family, his social Status, his love, his friends, and his morals for this. It was his, and it was splendid.

For the first time he took it in his hands, his fingers carefully caressing the fine material. Though unnoticeable by sight, his fingers followed the grooves in the hilt. He slid his right hand up and down the surface of the blade, a perfect smoothness the likes of which had never felt before. Mistakenly his finger grazed the blade, wincing in pain a drop of blood fell towards the perfect face of the weapon. Yet, instead of leaving specks of red, the color simply disappeared, blending into the perfect whiteness of the blade.

The black eyes where fixated. He had seen it before, in countless dreams and visions, but to see it in person, that was another thing entirely. The clear surface reflected images of great conquest, and bloody victory. The words that where perfectly etched into it's side stood out clear as day, yet blended in like a shadow at night. The man who had fought could not help but smile as he watched the blade, shimmering, shinning.

Tsuukai could not help to think, however, of what the cost of this blade truly was. What he had to give up. So many years of his life fighting, he had caused the deaths of so many innocent people he had lost count, he had so many scars on his body from battle that they out numbered gains of sand on a beach. What was it all for, this hunk of metal?

What of those he cared about. He had a family once; so long ago that he could not remember their faces even when he tried. He had friends too, though few and far between they did exist, and they cared for him...an almost amusing thought. What of Maria, the one whom he had loved, he let her go for this. Was it worth it, when he looked upon the shimmering blade he could not help but question it's value.

More importantly where had his morals gone? Or rather have they ever existed at all? He looked at Zorlo's life, he fought for people, for friends, for allies, and for people he didn't even know, using his sword to cut through the darkness like an arrow through paper. Then he looked at himself, selfish, greedy, prideful, did he ever have morals. He could never have had morals...

NO! What are morals but the rules of people, who and by what right was allowed to say that someone else’s morals where better then Tsuukai’s! What of friends, what did they do, they ask for help but run when you needed it, they where evil. They sucked the life out of the powerful under the guise of friendship, and this was something worth keeping? Hardly. Who cared about lives, those people gave their lives willing when they took the road of the sword, just as he knew that at any time the end could come. Who gives a damn about wounds, they are to be respected, and they are the price he paid. Tsuukai lost an arm to get this far, and he wasn't damn well about to let it go for such flimsy reasoning, it belonged to him! Damn it he had earned the right to wield that blade! Him and no one else could claim that right. He bled for it, which was the payment.

Gripping the blade tightly, almost as if he was afraid it was going to run off on him, Tsuukai reluctantly took his eyes off of it. The angel had long since fled, Tsuukai couldn't care less about it's reasoning, all he knew is that he had the only thing he wanted. He knew he had power in his hand, he could feel it flowing, resonating deep inside his soul, and he was going to show everyone what it meant to have power. He was in charge now.

Now, only inches from his goal Tsuukai turned to the castle. He had made a deal and he was an honorable man. Taking one step Tsuukai could feel for the first time the weight the sword bore, the souls of the dead, the tears of parents, and the frustration of men. All he took ceaselessly onto his shoulders, for they where the currency in which he paid for his goals. After so many years he was one step closer to the power he sought. Finally.

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