Cursed Sword [20160416]

Contents										line	comments
Corruption 										7		Torture
Salvation										87		Masochism

   ***   ***   ***

	Corruption

It hurts. Everything is a blur. Tears and horror mix to cloud my vision. I can't breathe. It tears into me. I try to scream, but the fingers around my throat muffle my voice. The world grows dimmer with every strike on my hips. Suddenly it stops, and I instinctively take a desperate gulp of air. Iron, salt, and something I have never tasted - a warm, throbbing thing invades my mouth. I almost vomit. Finally it pulls away.

I try to roll over as I spit the disgusting goo out of my mouth. Instead a slap rings through my cheek. A fist rams into my stomach, and I do vomit. It hurts in a new, horrible way. My throat and nasal cavity burn as a second bandit violates me. I hear one of them groan, and a wet glob strikes my eye. I wish I could die, but I do not. Again, the assault on my body comes to a shuddering stop. Then, as before, it begins again with a new, ugly face looming above me.

Finally it ends. My face is sticky with their seed and my own blood. Those leers burn into my barely-open eyes. Five robbers. They laugh and pat each other on the back. Their leader, the first man, stops for a moment. He spits in my hair and turns away. The world seems to turn, lock into a new position. My vision fades to black as they leave the door open behind them.



It had been a month, and I still lived through that day every night. The pantry was almost empty now, with my father and brothers dead, there was no-one to reap the harvest. The house was ruined. I had not entered the pigsty after the first day. I did not want to see their faces, locked in those grimaces of death and slowly rotting away. Soon I would cease to live, as I should have on that day. It would have been sweet - to die by the sword, instead of starvation and nightly torture.

I did not starve. Instead, I found something even more vile than the bandits themselves. On the day that the food ran out, I decided to die in the old house. It was where I was born, and it was only fitting to be where I would die. The house seemed unchanged. Why had we abandoned it? The roof had been about to collapse, I recalled, but that was not true. The beams seemed as strong as they had ever been. I was lost in nostalgia as I entered the house.

Above the oven, perhaps? I had enjoyed laying on the warm stones as a small child. No. I could not bear to see that dream in a place that dear to me. Instead, I decided to visit every room. Perhaps something would stand out. The hard benches along the walls, the smoke-black staining the timbers, everything was as I remembered. As if time had stood still. Finally the cellar was the only room left. I realised that I had never entered it. It was always forbidden to the children. I wondered why as I descended into the darkness.



There was a buzz, a ringing in my ears. It grew louder with every step, until it filled my soul on the earthen floor. It seemed to come from the back wall, even as it rang inside my head. I had felt this before, long ago. Then, my horror had driven me up the stairs, but now...? I had nothing to lose. Not my virtue, not my sanity, not even my life. A walking corpse like me should not feel anything, least of all fear of the unknown.

A long, wooden chest sat at the back wall. It was lacquered black, smooth as silk and perfectly cut. The buzzing subsided as I thrust my hand at it. "Touch it. Open it!" A silky whisper echoed in my skull. The lid turned without a sound. Inside was an old sword, long and thin. It looked like the one the officer of the fusiliers who patrolled our farm every year had. "Take it!" I felt a distict vertigo as I stared at the thing. "Hold it!"

The web of iron bars seemed to writhe like a nest of worms as my hand went inside it. The polished metal glimmered like rippling water in the faint light from upstairs. I saw my own fingers wrap around the metal-wire hilt on their own. All sound ceased as I grasped it. I did not know why, but I lifted it up from the case. The iron web shrunk to fit my small hand perfectly. Then, no more a whisper but a deep gong, I heard the voice again. "You can have what you wish."


   *   *   *


I stumbled through pouring rain. I instictively knew where the bandits were, and had an irresistible drive to meet them again. My mind was detached from this world - the only thing that filled my consciousness was the buzz that grew more dim with every tired step. Suddenly I stood at the entrance of a cave. The firelight inside swirled in my eyes, a beacon in an otherwise dull grey world. I took a step, and then another.

I heard disgustingly familiar voices, as if from under water. They talked about whichever poor girl had been their latest victim. I felt nothing as I continued to stumble closer. Finally they noticed me. "What the fuck!" The fourth man yelled out as a thunderstrike lit the forest behind me. He was on his feet in an instant, a pistol in his hand. The others spun to their feet to face the threat, but laughed as they saw my dripping wet form.

"Hey, isn't it that stupid farm girl?" The fifth man grinned as he lowered his axe. "What's wrong, little girl? Did you miss our cocks?" The others laughed along. The second man spoke: "Hey boys, that flat stump's got a sword!" The fifth: "Yeah! Holy fuck that thing's old! Did'ja get it from your granpa's grave, little girl?" The others laughed, but the fourth man brought his pistol to bear. "I'mma just shoot her. Don't you know what century it is, little miss braids?"

The first man pushed the pistol away with his cudgel. "No, brother! I don't want to fuck no dead girls!" The fourth klicked his tongue. "What the fuck? You want another go at that lanky thing?" The fifth: "She was so tight, though..." They all laughed. "Roy! Give her a gut punch and let's have us some fun!" The second man nodded to the first and stepped towards me. I had stood still through the banter, the sword slowly dripping water onto the floor.



Roy wound his arm for an exaggerated punch. His grin was disgusting. I wanted to wipe it away. My arm shot out by itself, and I watched the thin point enter under his chin. Another thunderstrike flashed as it penetrated his palate, and I could see the reflection on the blade between his teeth. Then, in an instant, the iron struck through the top of his skull. The other men froze in shock as their comrade gurgled his death rattle.

The first man was on me as soon as I had retracted the sword. His cudgel came down towards my skull, but the sword guided it to the side and my left arm scooped up his elbows under my armpit. He screamed in my ear as they were broken by an unnatural force. A lunge into the fourth man's chest - the clatter of iron on stone. A roar of thunder, and a burning sensation on my ear. The third man lunged at me with a dagger, but was run through in stomach. His momentum carried him onto me, but his legs failed to push me over with his spine skewered.

Finally the fifth man with his pistol. His eyes were filled with terror and he fumbled with his ramrod. I stepped closer to him. I slashed at his face and cut him across the nose. He tilted his pistol by instinct, and his powder fell on the floor. I giggled, mostly to myself, as he desperately fought to reload. I placed my point at his breast and pushed it into his heart. His legs gave way, and he fell onto the floor.

I finally turned my attention to the first man, unable to stand up, but desperately crawling away. He was not even halfway to the cave mouth. I slowly stumbled to him, kicked him in onto his back, and spoke for the first time in a month: "Why did you do something like that to me...?" My point teased his face. "Now I can never marry..." He yelped in desperation. "I'm sorry! Please! I'll give you anything! Money! Our loot, take all of it!" I dragged the stained steel onto his neck. "Marriage! I'll marry you! I'll serve you every day of my life, just please let me liv-!" I pushed the point into his throat, and the words were replaced with a wet gurgle.



All of them were dead. I felt a wave of pleasure wash over me as I looked around me. But there was something wrong. Even the second man, ran though his skull, was still groaning and crying. There was no blood. I stepped closer and bent down to look at him. His eyes were filled with pain and terror, but very much alive. I gave his chest a poke. He screamed like a stuck pig, but no blood would come out. I tried again, and then again. He was still not wounded.

Instead, I felt a wave of pleasure with every thrust, and noticed his groin darken slowly. I was curious, so I pulled down his clothes. His breeches were sticky white. Freshly so. I gave his abdomen another thrust, right about into his liver. He again failed to bleed, but something did come out. He leaked seed every time I thrust at him. His eyed had glazed over by now, his screams had turned into whimpers and died out by the time I had tried all of his organs.

I looked around, again. All of them were still alive. I walked around the fire and gave all of them a few good pokes. They still failed to die. I felt utter joy at every thrust. I felt my soul begin to twist, ripple to fit a new form like the hilt of this sword had conformed to my hand. I stepped back to the first man, tears of anticipation in his eyes, and thrust into his stomach just belowe the ribcage. His screams were like music to my ears as I sawed through him to the hip bone.


   *   *   *


"Please, let me die...!" The strung-up man begged for mercy as I was about to begin my work for the day. I gave him a serene smile. "Did you pity me when I was at your mercy?" He tried to say something, but I slowly thrust it into his mouth. I had tied him to a sawhorse, and could thrust deeper and deeper until his teeth struck my hilt. I wriggled it around as I pulled away. It felt too good to stop. It was like a delicious meal, nourishing me. Perhaps they had now suffered more than I had, but I didn't care.

The next one said nothing. He had alredy resigned himself to his fate. Luckily for me, he was not far enough gone to not scream. I spun the sword like a windmill, chopping through his testicles one thin cut at a time. His energy flooded into me as the white liquid dribbled out of him and onto the disgusting pool below his sawhorse. I shivered with pleasure. I could not resist it - the itch between my legs was too much to bear. I had to pause for a moment.

Then, the leader. I had a new punishment for him, today. I whispered into his ear as my blade teased his naked back. "Do you remember what you did to me? That hurt so much..." He was the most sane of them, and still pleaded for freedom, not death. I did not care. I licked my lips as I carefully positioned my point between his buttocks. "I hope this feels the same..." He groaned and gurgled as I pushed in inside him. Slowly deeper and deeper, until it began to emerge from the other side.

I giggled as I realized it was going into his thing. He loved making things come out of it, right? This was perfect! I subtly turned the sword, slowly inching forwards, and made sure to stay inside. Finally the point peeked out through the tip. It was too good. "Look down, mister bandit king!" He reflexively did, and fainted when he saw himself impaled by the sword. A new wave of pleasure washed over me. I shuddered, my muscles tensed, and a liquid fell from between my legs. I fell onto my back on the cold stones. I was in heaven.



After a couple of weeks the bandits had died on the inside. Tormenting their dead-eyed husks barely gave me a buzz anymore. It was time to move on. I sat at the cave's entrance, the beautiful sun in my eyes and sweet birdsong in my ears. I looked at the sword and realized it had not left my hand since the day I found it. The worm-like squirming bars had now entered my wrist. Somehow I failed to care. It was just something that had happened.

My eyes climbed up along my arm. A forge-black iron scale had formed around my hand and lower arm, and it disappeared under my ragged tunic. I pulled at my collar to see that this corruption had spread all the way to my collarbone. I was astounded and curious. How had I not noticed this before? I stood up, went back inside, and skewered the closest bandit. The black on my arm nudged up almost imperceptibly as I prodded in blade back and forth.

What would happen once the scale covered me completely? I was filled with curiosity. I had to know. And to know, I had to torment many more men. The thought made my groin water. I could hardly wait. I desired it, I needed it! New men! New, evil, men that no-one would miss! More bandits in their remote hideouts! I could play with them to my heart's content... I only had to find them. I set out into the beautiful early autumn day with a renewed sense of purpose.





   ***   ***   ***

	Salvation

I spied the creature almost absent-mindedly tormenting her victim. It was the first time I had seen her in person, and I was almost underwhelmed. It was short - as tall as a human woman, and not any wider. The survivors had described a horror of rust and iron, and I had, to be frank, imagined a hulking behemoth. Instead, the thing before me was strikingly human. She sat at a hidden lean-to, almost absent-mindedly chopping at a a man on his knees.

Apart from the iron skin, the slouched figure looked like a woman ten-fifteen years my senior. Tattered rags hung off her shoulders, obviously chafed and torn by the rough, rusty surface of her skin. I wondered, briefly, if the iron had grown above her skin, or perhaps replaced it? I was brought back by the scream of the man. "Please, in the name of God, let me go! I'll give it all back! I swear..." His pleas turned to whimpers as the blade continued to cut into his head and shoulders as it had before.

The sword. I could see the blade and the swept, old-fashioned hilt gleam in the sun. It was a sword, no doubt about it - not a blade-arm, as some had claimed. The quillons extended into her skin: smooth, polished steel disappeared into flaky, black-and-brown oxide. The Prior was correct. This was no monster, but a human being merged with a cursed object. Although... How much of the person inside would still exist?


   *   *   *


Sword spirit, Ash lady, Iron maiden... The creature had been known by many names in the twenty years since it had appeared. I was most likely not born when it began - the earliest attacks were connected to her only in retrospect, and had uncertain dates. Most of the early victims were not missed. They had been mountain bandits and riff-raff, men who lived and died in the remote corners of the world, and the early years were, as such, poorly documented.

The Church had only become aware of the case some ten years into her reign of terror, when she attacked a remote monastery. When the monks returned with a troop of guardsmen, the local Prior was found in his office, babbling and insane. Unfortunately for him, his rampant corruption and wicked crimes were proudly documented in a secret diary, left wide open on his desk. He was not able to stand trial, but it did not save him. I do not know if he was able to understand what was happening to him as he was immured. I imagine not.

The monks' descriptions were imprecise and varied, but it appears that the iron had not yet entirely consumed her - instead, only her right arm, chest, and part of her face were effected. This would change over the years as the corruption spread to cover her whole body. We could follow her path mostly by the wake of deceased villains, each with a connection to the last. Perhaps her victims sold out their partners in crime in a series of vain attempts to save themselves? I cannot say.



Official investigations were largely fruitless. Honest people had only seen glimpses of her - and some of the hillfolk seemed to approve of her actions. The more heretical even implied that she was an angel sent by God to cleanse the world of sinners. Well, the remote provinces have always had their stern lay preachers and doomsday cults. The local baron was equally reluctant to get involved: his rents had slowly ticked higher and higher as more peasants actually had something to pay with.

The breakthrough came only a few years ago, when she left the mountains and appeared on the lowlands. Both the nobles and the ecclesiastes were horrified. The more trusting would say that the civilised world was not used to monsters roaming the countryside. The more cynical might say that these really quite wealthy men were afraid for their own skins. Of course, someone like that would imply that our most illustrious elites were robbers and liars like the men who had died on the mountains.

Be it as it may, the sudden influx of new sightings and information helped us along quite a bit. The more learned of our priory were in the end able to identify her as a cursed individual, and even form a plan to stop her. Cursed items were rare and uncommon, but their weaknesses were known to a library as illustrious as ours. It was only a matter of time to find the books in question. After that, it was a question of finding someone to carry out the plan. Someone young and fit to do battle, a reknowned ascetic who would not the paralysed by the pain of her attack. In other words, me.


   *   *   *


And there I was - after a year spent tracking her down, I had finally caught up to her. I signed myself several times over before I stepped into the open. She turned her head silently, like an owl. Her blade continued to torment the bound man as I cautiously stepped closer. "Hello!" I called out to her, to no effect. The silence was cut only by her strikes and the man's whimpers. "Can you understand my language, Miss?" There was no answer.

I edged closer and closer. When I was only a few paces from her, she thrust her sword into the poor man's eye. He fell silent and toppled over as she withdrew her blade and squared herself to me. I was close enough to see her face clearly. It was undoubtedly human, yet clearly not. The shapes were those of a mildly attractive woman, but the texture was something inhuman. Even her lips were covered in flaking iron.

I met her unblinking gaze as I took another step. There was no malice, or any other emotion. I called out to her again: "I want to help you! Will you listen to me?" No answer. As I took the next step, she sprung to action. I was prepared for this and lunged at her. Gleaming steel flashed in the air and fire struck my armpit. She had ran my shoulder through, but I had closed the gap. I fought to ignore the pain and an unexpected itch at the back of my head as I wrapped my arms around her.



She stood still. My left arm was pinned high by her sword, and I had awkwardly wrapped it around her head. My right arm was wrapped behind her back and pressed to her shoulderblades. I pulled her softly to my body and stroked her hair. The rough flakes of iron cut into my skin as we were pressed together. Inhuman gurgles rose from her throat, as if she had forgotten how to speak, until a barely intellegible voice came out. "It feel nice..." she croaked, in the patois of the mountain men.

I winced as she pulled her sword out of me. The plan was working - I'd only have to convince her to follow me back to the priory. Then, suddenly, I felt her arms wrap around me like a pair of barrel hoops. This was not supposed to happen. My mind raced, searching for a solution, as her embrace tightened around me. Every moment her skin dug deeper into mine, pinching, drawing blood. The itch at the back of my head grew closer until I saw white.

My body twitched. I felt a pleasure unlike anything before - my breath froze in my chest and I felt myself drain into my robes. I groaned into her ear as my arms reflexively tightened around her. She responded in kind, and soon I could barely breathe as I was crushed between her arms and her chest. Then, suddenly, the pressure eased. I gasped for air, only for her to press her forge-black lips onto mine. The coarse surface cut my delicate skin, but the inside was soft and warm.



It was my first kiss. The creature had kissed me. My knees wobbled at the realisation. My vision swam, and I leant onto her. Why did her touch feel that way? Why did she kiss me instead of attacking me? The questions raced through my head, and I found myself sat onto the bench next to her. The tortured man twitched on the ground in front of us, but she paid it no heed. Instead, she guided my hand below the rags that covered her chest.

It was soft. Her skin pricked my hand, but the flesh underneath gave way as I touched her. I knew I should not, but I could not help myself. She leant to me, left hand still on my wrist, right arm and sword wrapped around my back. Her lips pressed into the side of my neck - the contrast of her soft tongue and raspy lips drove me wild. It was as if she had cursed me as well: my years of ascesis were like dust in the wind compared to my desire to feel her touch.

I felt the sinful urge rise within my loins. Shame burned my mind as I allowed my hand to wander down along her rough abdomen. Soon I found her mound, and behind that, something wet. I groped at it with my fingers, almost excited by the prickly pain, and found my way in. She creaked like a falling tree and pushed her face into my neck. The wet softness that replaced the iron of her skin excited me to no end. I pawed at it like an animal, pushed and pulled at it with my fingers.

Her free hand shot to my robes and pulled them away. Her black fingers wrapped around my penis, and I gasped in pain and pleasure. Tears welled in my eyes as I felt scaly iron ravage my sensitive skin. I could no longer tell the pain and pleasure apart, and they mingled to fill my world with darkness and light. Then, suddenly, her hand jerked to a halt. She pulled away, looked me in the eye, and groaned: "I want it..."

I fought to place myself at her entrance. The rough skin scratched at me at every turn, conspiring to wound me where I was the most sensitive. Finally she laid down on the bench, her legs spread wide, and I had a clear view of her body. The ragger tunic was pulled up to her navel. I thought her breasts, pulled flat by gravity as they were, were on the larger side. Of course, I had barely any knowledge of breasts. Her hips, I was sure, were very wide.

Everything was ready. I could feel the wetness at my tip. I held her by the thighs and plunged myself forward. I immediately realised it had gone wrong. The wetness left me and was replaced by that familiar rough scale. I screamed out as I felt an iron knob rasp along my entire shaft, from tip to base. It, and the furrowed ridge that followed, made me release again. My mind swam with the mixture of pain and pleasure as I fell onto her chest.



I felt myself shrivel on top of her. Her abdomen was almost slick with my seed as I fought to catch my breath. Suddenly, I died. Her sword slit my throat from below. Only - there was no blood. She croaked to me: "Not yet," and pushed me down. I felt myself harden once more as she wormed her left hand between us. She spread herself and guided me to her opening. "Slowly...!" She held my chest high with her palm.

My body slowly descended onto and into hers. I gasped, writhed, and almost fainted with pain as her sharp skin enveloped me. Finally it cleared my ridge, and I was in. I fell onto her in bliss. The horrifying sin I had just committed did not even enter my consciousness. Instead, I sought to kiss her. She allowed my eager tongue to enter her wet, warm mouth as I began to make shallow thrusts into her lower mouth.

I was driven entirely by perverted instinct. The will to breed was twisted by her curse. I wanted nothing more than to feel her sharpness all over my body. I kissed her, I humped her, I ran my hands all over her upper body. Through the rags she almost felt human, but human was no longer what I lusted for. I dug my hands under her tunic and ran them along her sides, her shoulders, her breasts. I wanted to feel everything.

Completion approached me with terrible certainty. I felt it, wave after wave, drawing ever closer. I wrapped my arms around her and dug myself into her. The pain was exquisite. I moaned in ecstacy as she wrapped hers around mine and dug her sharp scale into my back. I slammed myself as deep into her as I possibly could as I began to release. It flowed forth and into her depths. The last feeling as I drifted away was a firm squeeze from her arms.


   *   *   *


I awoke to find myself being pulled through a forest on a sled. She noticed that I had stirred: "Going home..." Her voice was closer to human, now, as if practised by the few words she had said at the lean-to. "Bury bones. Marriage." She muttered, half to herself. I reflected upon my sins. I could certainly not face my brothers, not with this monumental stain upon my soul. If she was going home, wasn't I successful, in a way? She would not bother the lowlanders any more. "Is it far?" I asked her. "Yes. I will pull you." And so she did.