Chapter 2-The Realms of Chaos

Kirsten awoke again, and felt her naked skin touching freezing metal. She sat up, but the metal remained. She opened her eyes, and through a veil of translucent daemon-steel saw sights that no mortal should see. Kirsten, the sword, lay on cracked, black soil that heaved and shifted constantly, with hundreds upon thousands of other weapons lying around. The daemonic thoughts coming from each told her one terrifying fact. She lay in the Realms of Chaos. While true daemons swore for revenge on the fool who bound them, Kirsten curled up in a ball and sobbed.

She cried for what felt like days, and was probably longer. Throughout this time not a single daemon weapon was taken. She completely lost hope. There was no way she would be taken until the last one was gone. She would be here until she died. Yet, as a spirit, she would live for ever. She once again began to cry.

She laid there, the touch of metal that was the hellish life in a daemon weapon touching her skin everywhere on her naked spirit body. But approaching footsteps made her look up. Through the veil of cold metal that surrounded her she saw a daemon walking forwards to the great armoury that Kirsten's blade lay in. She looked down, acutely aware that she would lie here for thousands of years before it was her turn to suffer the agony of service. It had seemed like lying here would be preferable to serving. But could anything really be worse than the endless monotony she suffered now? Then she felt the daemon pick up her blade. She looked up again, not daring to hope it was true.

It was. The daemons terrible voice leapt straight to her thoughts.

"You have been chosen. You shall be gifted to the great champion Hans Deathbringer. You are the greatest honour he can have, a human daemonblade."

It walked out of the armoury on its twisted, clawed reptilian feet, carrying Kirsten with it. When it reached the huge gates, it opened them, walked through, and vanished with a crack. They reappeared in a desert, and Kirsten, disorientated, looked out upon a place that made sense. The daemon walked towards a great tent in the distance.

The daemon walked into the tent, carrying a great and ornate sword.

"You are Hans Deathbringer." It was not a question but the champion nodded anyway. Kirsten looked upon her new… she shuddered to think it… owner. He had a full suit of blood red armour, including a helmet. Two horns protruded from holes in the helmet. The daemon walked slowly forwards, kneeled, and held out the daemon sword that was now Kirsten's body.

"I am here to give you your reward. A Daemonblade" it said. The champion responded in ritual.

"I thank thee for my reward." Then he asked, curiously, "What daemon is bound within?" He removed one gauntlet and took the sword reverentially, and felt a thrill of power. The daemon spoke again.

"It is bound with a foolish human girl." Hans smiled.

"Wonderful. I thank thee again." The daemon vanished with a puff of smoke, and a great crack. Kirsten felt the touch of the warm flesh of the champion on her metal skin. "A human daemonblade. So it is true." He drew a sword from a scabbard in his belt and cast it to the floor, and carefully placed Kirsten within. She thought of the life she had lost, and felt tears spring to her eyes. She whispered aloud to herself.

"I must not cry." She sniffed, and drew up her courage. "This is my life now." And with that terrible thought, she slept and dreamt of happier times.

She awoke and opened her eyes. She was still encased in the leather of the scabbard. She could hear voices, and sense the thoughts of her… owner. There was savage glee.

"Master, there is a camp nearby. Nurgle followers."

"Excellent." Spoke Hans. "I can test my daemonblade. Do you hear that,

daemon-child?"

She screamed, certain that no-one could hear her.

"I am not a daemon!"

Hans gave a crooked smile, and thought straight at her.

"You are in the blade, so you are a daemon. My daemon."

Within minutes the tents were packed and Hans and his army were on the move. His hand was on Kirsten's hilt. The touch of his warm flesh was torture after so long. She spoke in his mind.

"Remove your hand!" His grip only tightened as he answered.

"Slaves do not order their masters, daemon." Then she realised. That was what she was now, a slave. She had no control over this terrible half-life. And she never would, not for all eternity. This crushed what remained of her self control, and once more she rocked back and forth, and cried. And so she did not know when they reached the camp. She did not hear the words that went back and forth like arrows. She did not notice the war cries of charging warriors. And finally, she ignored the touch of his hand as she was drawn, her edge so sharp it cut the air. She did not ignore the feeling of her edge cleaving armour, flesh and bone; She could not, as a human in a daemonblade suffers greater pain than can be described and far too much to ignore. She felt her energy slowly draining as the blade drew on it to augment Hans' strength. The pain was so great she screamed, sobbed until she could sob no more. But still the battle continued. It was like a thousand knives on every part of her skin, like being trapped in a room where the walls were slowly crushing you, like being in the heart of a sun as it exploded. And all the while she lost her energy to Hans, the enchantments of the blade taking it away. Soon she had no energy to cry, nor to scream, barely enough to think. The pain stopped, and the power of Kirsten the daemonblade waned. Her energy was gone, and her deadly powers left with it.

But as she dropped into a dreamless, exhausted sleep, Hans, Chaos Champion faced a great problem. In his pride at owning a human daemonblade, he had taken on what was less a champions retinue than an army. He screeched and shouted, both normally and mentally at the sleeping Kirsten, railing against his misfortune as the numberless beastmen, humans, elves and dwarves closed in. And slew him.

As Kirsten woke she realised there was no hand on her hilt. She looked about and saw Hans on the floor, his hand inches away. He was not dead, but close to it. Was she so lucky? Would someone free her accidentally? There was a flash of light and a crack, and another daemon appeared in front of her; picked her up. She sighed. Was she so powerful the chaos gods would not let her go? The daemon cackled, its touch meaning her thoughts were as loud as words.

"You are a human daemonblade. Nothing is too great a risk for you."

So that was it. She couldn't get out that way. She really was trapped forever. She lay down and tried to sleep as she was taken back to the armoury, knowing that her life was an endless flux between now incredible pain and endless boredom.