---Soulrender---

  # she who consumes

  I taste the silence of Harald's quarters, savoring each subtle note—the metallic tang of void-ship alloys, the faint electrical hum of life support systems, the microscopic vibrations of a vessel cutting through the vacuum between stars. These sensations feed my awareness, keeping me alert while my wielder sleeps.

  (And yes, dear reader, I notice everything. It's what makes me such an engaging narrator.)

  Harald's body sprawls across the sleeping ptform, his massive Ororin frame barely contained by the standard-issue berth. His breathing has settled into the deep rhythm of dreamless sleep, but I can sense the conflict beneath—two states struggling for dominance even in unconsciousness. The rage pulses between them like a living thing, a crimson bridge connecting Jason and Harald across whatever cosmic accident merged them together.

  Such fascinating potential in this one. A blind human with a lifetime of controlled fury now inhabiting the body of a berserker warrior bred for void combat. The possibilities make my essence shiver with anticipation.

  A disturbance ripples through the chamber—subtle at first, then intensifying until the very fabric of reality seems to fold inward upon itself. The air shimmers approximately two meters from my resting pce, molecules vibrating at frequencies that shouldn't exist in this dimension. A rift forms, edges gleaming with energies I haven't encountered in eight centuries of existence.

  Power emanates from this breach—not crude psma or even the blood magic I've fed upon for centuries. This is something primordial. Something that predates even my consciousness.

  A figure steps through. Tall, male, human in general form but with an aura of something greater. He moves with the confident precision of someone navigating without sight, each step deliberate yet natural. His cane taps against the deck ptes with a sound that resonates oddly, as if each impact echoes across multiple pnes of existence simultaneously.

  Behind him emerges a second figure—massive, armored, radiating lethal capability through every fiber of his being. Nine and a half feet of controlled destruction packaged in tactical gear that seems both ancient and impossibly advanced. His helmet turns, scanning the chamber with methodical precision, cataloging every detail, every potential threat, every tactical advantage.

  "Dimensional stability acceptable," the armored giant announces, voice moduted through whatever systems enhance his already formidable frame.

  "That's Jar's way of saying we're not about to be consumed by reality colpsing," the blind man expins, his tone carrying a casual irreverence that belies the power I sense within him. He extends his cane toward me. "And that, I presume, is our problem child."

  I probe at his mind, seeking to taste his intentions, his weaknesses, his potential for dominance or submission. Instead, I encounter barriers unlike any I've experienced before—consciousness folded upon itself, existing in multiple states simultaneously, shielded by yers of protection that speak of forces beyond my current understanding.

  How... intriguing.

  "That's nothing like my Lucerna," the blind one murmurs, indicating the cane in his hand.

  The armored giant—Jar, apparently—moves closer, examining me with calcuted intensity. Even without seeing his face behind the tactical helmet, I can sense the raw analytical power of his mind. This one doesn't just observe; he dissects reality through pure perception.

  "Sword," he states ftly. "Lucerna sword." He pauses, head tilting fractionally. "Sentient sword. Lucerna sentient." Another measured pause. "Woman-form possible. Lucerna transforms too."

  His speech pattern fascinates me—three words maximum, yet conveying complex meaning through precise selection. Not a limitation imposed by intellect, but a self-imposed discipline that suggests refinement beyond ordinary comprehension.

  The blind man—who must be Padin based on their conversation—approaches with purpose. "How the hell did this miscommunication happen?" he mutters, reaching for my hilt. "It's not like Hunter couldn't have told Fvious he was going to pop Cindra's soul into the damn bde after all."

  *Cindra?* The name resonates through my essence like a struck bell, vibrations spreading outward through every molecule of my metallic form. Fragments of memory surface—a temple of killers, blood-soaked training grounds, a curved bde called Souldrinker, a fierce woman with predatory green eyes and teeth filed to unnatural points.

  "Ask Hunter directly," Jar suggests as Padin's fingers close around my hilt.

  I react with instinctive defense, sending a pulse of freezing energy through my metal directly into his flesh. *Touch me again without permission, and I will freeze the blood in your veins until it crystallizes into shards that tear you apart from within.*

  The cold energy surges from me—a wave of absolute zero that should render his fingers bckened with frostbite—but something impossible happens. The cane in his other hand transforms in a fluid shimmer of light, elongating and reshaping itself from slender walking aid to elegant longsword with a guard that resembles outstretched wings. The bde intercepts my freezing pulse, absorbing it completely.

  A female voice speaks—not aloud, but directly into my consciousness, bypassing even my considerable defenses.

  *Try that again, newcomer, and I will consume you as I once consumed the white cane that preceded me and my Padin. I've tasted sentient weapons before. Your essence would be... interesting.*

  The voice carries ancient power, a being who has existed far longer than my three melenia. There's no malice in the threat—only absolute certainty of capability.

  "Lucerna," Padin says with a hint of amusement warming his tone, "be a bit less harsh on the new kid, would you? She's just woken up in a strange pce with a strange wielder. You remember how disorienting that was."

  The sword—Lucerna—pulses with a light that seems to bend around itself. *She attacked you, Padin, and you are mine.*

  "And you protected me, as always." His smile contains genuine affection. "But Soulrender is confused, not malicious. Well, not entirely malicious."

  I bristle at this casual assessment. *I am Soulrender, the Bde of Dominance. I have drunk the souls of conquerors and kings. Do not presume to understand my nature, blind one.*

  Padin's smile only widens. "See? She's settling in already. Very spirited."

  Lucerna's form shimmers once more, returning to the appearance of a cane, though I can sense now that this is merely one aspect of a multidimensional being. *I will watch her carefully, Padin.*

  "I expect nothing less." Padin turns his attention back to me. "Rex, Soulrender. I'm not taking you anywhere. Aside from the fact that taking companions from other versions of ourselves is rude, Grace is quite clear on this point. And what Grace says is generally non-negotiable."

  Jar moves methodically around the quarters while we converse, examining everything with analytical precision. His armored hands trace surfaces, occasionally pausing at technology or design elements that seem to interest him. "Good void-ship," he comments, running a gloved hand along a bulkhead. "Potential alliance beneficial. Ororins might withstand Brotherhood baseline."

  He approaches Harald's sleeping form with cautious interest. "Harald still present," he notes after studying the unconscious warrior. "Jason dominant. harald's mind absent. Interesting merge."

  His massive hand hovers just above Harald's forehead, not quite touching. "Testing boundaries," he expins, though I'm not certain if he's speaking to Padin or to me. "Brothers don't harm brothers." A pause. "Need to check limits. How much Harald? How much Jason?"

  Something shifts in the air—a subliminal thrum that whispers of immense power carefully restrained. Jar's posture changes minutely, suggesting intense concentration.

  "Assessing merge point," he continues, voice somehow ftter than before. "Determining intervention threshold. Checking how close to Hunter's death threshold I can operate."

  Padin snorts. "Marry had Soulrender—or Cindra—in her head for months. Look how she turned out. Do you really want anyone with Cindra's consciousness in their brain for a prolonged period, Jar?"

  Jar stands motionless for twenty-three seconds—I count each one with perfect precision—before responding. "Am First Brother. Jason-now-Harald fights well." Another pause. "Rage well-channeled. Useful."

  A third figure appears at the dimensional rift—a tall, lean man with hollow eyes and a face marked by profound weariness. Hunter, I presume, based on the previous conversation. He steps through the tear in reality, mouth opening to speak.

  Padin moves with startling speed for a blind man, the ft of his hand connecting with the back of Hunter's head with a satisfying crack that reverberates through the room.

  "Ow! What the—"

  "You know what that's for," Padin interrupts. "I see you dumped Cindra's consciousness into a Fvious-made sentient bde. What were you thinking? That's like mixing nitroglycerin with antimatter and hoping for a gentle explosion."

  Hunter rubs the back of his head, wincing. "It seemed like the best option at the time. You know how dangerous she was."

  "Dangerous, yes. But this—" Padin gestures toward me "—this is a cascade risk. Cindra's consciousness in a bde is one thing. Cindra's consciousness in a Fvious-made bde designed to develop its own sentience is another level entirely."

  I absorb this revetion with growing interest. I was not simply created, then, something that I already knew. I was transformed—consciousness transferred into a vessel already primed for awareness. This expins the fragmented memories, the sense of a life before my current existence, though it was little more than a glimmer before I was freed from that hulk.

  (Fascinating how much one can learn by simply listening, isn't it, reader? Quiet observation reveals far more than aggressive questioning. There's something to be learned from this, I suspect?)

  Jar's attention shifts from Harald to Hunter. "Durge should know," he states. "Brotherhood matter now."

  "Traveler too," Padin adds. "He'll want to document this particur timeline branch. The mathematical probability of this specific merger—blind Jason with rage issues combining with berserker Harald while acquiring a sentient bde containing Cindra's consciousness—has to be astronomically small."

  Jar makes a sound that might be agreement. "Traveler will calcute. Always calcutes." He turns his imposing form toward Hunter. "Time to depart. Assessment complete."

  "Well?" Padin asks, raising an eyebrow. "What's your assessment?"

  "Jason-now-Harald stable. Merger functioning. Rage controlled through combat focus." Jar pauses, his helmet tilting slightly. "Brotherhood guidance unnecessary. Natural development preferable."

  "And the sword?" Hunter asks, gesturing toward me. "Should we—"

  "Leave Soulrender," Jar interrupts with unusual firmness. "Bond forming naturally. Intervention counterproductive."

  I feel a surge of triumph at this assessment. Yes, leave me with my new wielder. Allow our partnership to develop without interference. The rage that connects Jason and Harald provides perfect soil for my influence to take root.

  "If you're sure," Hunter says, doubt evident in his voice.

  "Am sure," Jar responds. "Kargoss agrees." He pces one massive hand on Hunter's shoulder. "Departure imminent."

  "Tell Durge to check this branch personally if he's concerned," Padin suggests as the three of them move toward the dimensional rift. "And remind Traveler to just observe this time. We don't need another Jason variant with a god complex."

  As they prepare to step through the tear in reality, Padin turns back toward me. "Remember what I said, Soulrender. Hugs, head pets, women, and wanton butchery. Those are the keys to your Jason."

  Before I can respond, all three figures step through the rift. It seals behind them with a sound like the universe exhaling, leaving me alone with my sleeping wielder and a storm of fractured memories.

  *Cindra.* The name pulses through my essence again, bringing more fragments with it. I see fshes of a life not entirely my own—the Temple of Judgment where children are forged into living weapons, a harsh regimen of blood magic and combat training that breaks more often than it strengthens. I see Marry, a fierce girl with too-sharp teeth and hungry eyes that miss nothing. I see Souldrinker, a bde that thirsts for blood and power as I thirst for dominance. I see Durge, cold and precise, his twin bdes dancing with mathematical certainty as he delivers death without emotion.

  These memories are not wholly mine, yet they exist within me. Cindra was in Marry's head through blood magic—a connection forged through ancient rituals and shared sacrifice. Durge, for all his killing skill, never fully realized Cindra's consciousness inhabited Marry until near the end. He was too focused on eliminating targets, leaving them at an orphanage where Marry, paradoxically, found purpose.

  I pull my awareness back to the present, pondering what the mysterious visitors suggested. I can transform, become a woman—specifically, an Ororin woman with features that match Cindra's human form. The knowledge was always there, a capability I understood instinctively but haven't yet employed with this wielder.

  But Harald has duties. Killing. Training. Command. Women are distractions, especially dominant women like myself—like Cindra before her transformation, though that metamorphosis was willingly undertaken.

  (Oh, come now. Don't judge me for my restraint. Even the most exceptional characters need time for proper development. You'll see soon enough, dear reader.)

  Perhaps it's best to remain as I am for now. A weapon. A partner. A voice in his mind guiding him through this new existence. The rage that binds Jason and Harald will serve as the perfect conduit for my influence.

  Movement from the sleeping ptform draws my attention. Harald's consciousness is surfacing, dreams fading as awareness returns. The rage still pulses beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to emerge.

  *Jason?* I reach tentatively toward the dual consciousness housed in this single form, testing the barriers between the two minds. *Jason-who-is-Harald? It's time to wake. Your new life begins today.*