Metal arms thing

"Crocea Mors, can you tell what I'm thinking?" I asked, sheathing. "Can you do it? Would it hurt you? And could you…fix it?"

I received no response but the hard metal beneath my fingers softened until it seemed, if anything, like syrup. I grabbed it with my other hand as rivets of liquid steel began to flow across its length—not necessarily downwards, though. They flowed towards my hands, over them, and then down towards my elbows. After a second, I wasn't holding a sheathed sword any more, but a shrinking ball of steel, connected by flowing strands to my fingers.

When it was done, my arms were coated in shining steel from fingertip to near my elbows. I flexed my fingers, rolled my wrists, and worked my elbows to make sure I still had the full range of motion in them as the metal settled and looked down to see Crocea's face in my arms reflection. My left arm, made from my shield, was more thickly armored, better equipped for blocking, but also more than hard enough to deliver a stunning punch. My right, as ever, was my sword, with metallic nails and a sleeker design. My own work, at least mentally, and it was a good first draft at least. Crocea Mors had used his own power to make thought into reality.

This was my desire—to fight with Crocea Mors, regardless of shape. Even if it meant sacrificing the weight of a sword and the bonuses of my power, I'd made a decision and I would stick to it. This way, at least, I'd still be somewhat armed as well and further equipped by the presence of an ally.

Still, I was breathing hard. That had cost a lot of MP, even if I hadn't materialized Crocea for it and I doubted it would have even been possible if it hadn't been his own body he was shifting. It'd take practice before I could do something that fine to something else, much less in combat even ignoring Aura. However…it was still pretty damn awesome.