Author's Note: This was an idea that I've kept stashed away for the longest time, and was finally able to write it out. Not long after the events of Slayers TRY, Zelgadis traverses through the Desert of Destruction in search of a cure for his chimerism. While we know this proves to be a futile effort, nobody ever elaborates as to what his adventures were during the time he was on his own. Hence my own little joke of an idea as to what might have happened if he were to have encountered a rather, hehe, annoying ancient artifact.

Let me know what you think! Please remember: all questions, comments, constructive criticism, and/or suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from either Slayers or Soul Eater. I just like to write. ^_^

Zelgadis and the Holy Sword
By Kuroneko

*~Part 1~*

Months of searching in the Desert of Destruction had turned up nothing. Barren wasteland, scorching hot sands, and the unrelenting, blazing sun were all thrown at him without resistance. Even given his constitution, the ivory-cloaked wanderer soon felt the effects of lonely desert travel.

And yet onward he trudged, for Zelgadis Greywers was a man hell-bent and determined to do so. Once an ordinary young man, now condemned by his renowned great-grandfather Rezo the Red Priest to wander as a three-part chimera consisting of his original human self combined with a golem and a brau demon, his sole purpose in life was to find a cure to his "affliction".

But the times and trials of being a lone wolf took their toll, and it wasn't long after splitting from the companions he felt inwardly grateful to have that he'd begun to think he oughtn't have left so abruptly and secretively. Sneaking out in the dead of night without so much as a spoken goodbye had been cold, true, but that was his nature. Only now his nature seemed to have been the precursor to his own downfall, as fatigue and dehydration began to make themselves known. He might have cast Aqua Create to quench his thirst as he'd continuously done over the past few months, but with minimal food rations left at his disposal, evident lack of sleep, and trying to maintain a minute Gray Buster to keep himself cool in the sun's harsh rays… needless to say, further spell casting would be far more difficult than usual.

The days and nights began to blur, and all his destinations faded in the background. Twice in his travels he'd chanced upon a caravan of nomads, all heading for a city farther on in the southern part of the continent. He vaguely remembered the faces of those who felt courageous enough to speak to him – to be honest, Zelgadis thought they all looked to be the same, what with the dark hair, tanned skin, and linen clothes they all wrapped themselves in.

But one thing did stand out, and it was that one thing that Zelgadis clung to as he marched onward into the increasingly chilly desert night. One night two months ago, sitting far from the campfires of one of the nomad groups that had taken him in shortly before he could officially collapse from exhaustion, one of the tribe leaders sat with him and talked. It was a pleasant chat, made all the more tolerable by the surprising amount of wines kept in their provisions. At some point of the duration of their encounter, the tribal leader, a deep-voiced man who called himself Azarel, told him of an ancient desert legend, handed down in the tradition of oral narration.

The legend spoke of a sword. Not just any sword, mind, but a holy sword; one that could pierce the heavens and grant unto its wielder any power he may desire. Azarel called the sword "Excalibur", and claimed that it lay somewhere deep in the Desert of Destruction, near to where the feared (and now thankfully dead) Hellmaster Phibrizzo resided in his dark and twisted lair.

It was with a slightly subdued tone, however, that Azarel warned Zelgadis of further things mentioned in the legend: from all their ancient stories, the Holy Sword Excalibur had been taken by Hellmaster and sealed away until the Dark Lord's demise. With the dissolution of the Mazoku Barrier and Phibrizzo's death, it was said that the cavern holding the mighty sword would be condemned to disappearing after a visitation and reappearing in an entirely different location until it was at long last back in its original resting place. As far as anyone knew, no one had seen the Holy Sword since Hellmaster's death.

It was that tale that Zelgadis clung to in his newfound journey. From the drunken ramblings of Azarel later on in the night, the chimera had concluded that Excalibur was a sentient being, and therefore capable not only of independent will and thought, but also possibly magic, and holy magic at that. For what other reason would it be called a holy sword?

…

He gave a low whistle as he looked upward. This was most assuredly the strangest location he'd encountered thus far in this wretched desert, but he couldn't deny it was a welcome change of scenery. The oasis at the base was a relief to his weary and parched body, and the trees provided a decent bit of shade from the blazing orb overhead.

But that wasn't what Zelgadis was primarily focused on. It was the cavern carved into the side of the cliff the oasis was settled at the base of. In all his travels, he'd never seen this kind of a cavern in the side of a desert cliff. It looked as though it belonged in a mountain range, surrounded by trees.

Not only that, but there was an odd sort of aura permeating from within that he couldn't quite describe.

Was this it? Was this the cavern of Exaclibur the Holy Sword?

Zelgadis looked around warily, sapphire eyes narrowed with sudden misgiving. He'd long ago learned that it was foolish to simply waltz into a situation with unfounded optimism. Granted, searching in the Desert of Destruction was likely a fool's errand in its own right, but his stubborn nature would not allow him a single avenue unexplored. Should this truly be the cavern of the Holy Sword, that would only mean Hellmaster's lair would be close by.

But all around him there was nothing but the continuous waves of golden sand and a skyline that would grow faint as the afternoon faded (for it was indeed afternoon, given the wretched sun's position. Dimensional pockets were truly a gift from the sages). Nowhere in his line of sight was there any indication of a building or even strange outcropping. Based on his experiences with the Controller of Death, Zelgadis was inclined to believe that Phibrizzo would have created his base with a warped sense of grandeur and self-superiority. The temple he'd erected for himself in Sairaag was enough evidence of the crazed Dark Lord's flair for presence and effects.

But his heightened uncertainty would not be assuaged. For all he knew, Phibrizzo may indeed have erected a wonderfully elaborate and complex labyrinth of a base – underground. Insane though he assuredly was, Hellmaster has still been a genius.

He backtracked and took a drink from the oasis, and leaned up against a nearby tree to rest himself. Before long, Zelgadis fell asleep, though the demonic aspect of himself remained alert to his surroundings.

It was definitely a good trait to be in ownership of when traveling alone. At the very least, it kept him alive.