*BOOM* *Crack*
*BOOM* *Crack*
*BOOM* *Crack*
Each time Lucas placed his hand on the blade of the halberd, the same weight as before descended, followed by the ground cracking at his feet. The cracks widened, deepening into the lightless darkness below, and going into the distance. But beyond that, cracks, fine and small, appeared on the handle of the halberd, the sound of their appearance masked by the greater commotion and swept away by the wind up there.
Despite that, and despite the dark red blade looking dull, the weapon of war seemed capable of springing up suddenly, bloodthirsty and ready to drink blood. It was an odd cohesion between two opposite states of calm and restlessness.
Lucas didn't think about all of that too deeply. He focused on himself, on his body. He made his heart follow the rhythm of his hand touching and separating from the blade, making it push and pull the blood in his veins to the same deadly beat.
