I was awakened by a cacophony of high-pitched, inhuman voices, grating against me like nails scratching against rock.

  When my one eye opened, I found myself upright, my blade plunged deep into the earth. A deep icy cold seeped into my thin steel body from the stone and soil that I was embedded in. The air was dusty and stale, combining with the chill below to foment an overwhelming sense of decay, old and decrepit. Somehow, I knew the decay couldn't touch me, because... I was no longer human.

  I was the [Demon Soulfire Blade].

  All around me, small, impish creatures with bat-like wings flew in agitated circles. Miniature gargoyles brought to life.

  Glyphs were carved into the ground, forming a great circle with me at its center. The glyphs hummed with latent energy, ringing my sharp steel edge.

  A hunched over figure in a black hooded robe stood at the outer edge of the circle. “My Lord. The price has been paid in full,” the creature hissed to the tall figure beside him. “All that remains is a drop of your blood.”

  The words came out in a series of garbles and clicks. It didn’t sound like French or English, or even a human language, but somehow I understood their meaning.

  My eye rolled downwards. The grooves of the glyphs were filled with a dark, viscous liquid: blood.

  That was the price.

  The tall figure turned, revealing the horns on his forehead, and a pair of red eyes with slitted pupils.

  It was a demon.

  The demon brushed aside his mane of long black hair as he peered at me. “Impressive, Murion. You actually managed to awaken it. But are you sure the humans can’t steal the relic if we send it there?”

  Murion waved a skeletal hand. “Impossible, my lord. The spell that awakened the blade binds it to you. We need only a drop of your royal blood to complete the process.”

  “And you’re certain the blade itself cannot be broken by them?” The demon ran a clawed finger over his goateed chin. “Your life is forfeited if that occurs. Twice over.”

  Murion scoffed, a dry, rattling sound. “No human has that level of power. Not even I come close.”

  “So be it.” The demon held a closed fist over a glyph. A single drop of black blood fell and crimson light flared out of the circle, drenching the chamber in red.

  The hum that was latent before now shook the entire room and set my entire frame chattering. A vortex of energy swept from the circle over me.

  Murion raised his bony hands, crying out. “Great demon sword, go forth! May you feast upon the souls in that fertile ground!”

  I sank into the darkness below.

  —

  What was that?!

  I had never seen demons like that before. And Murion… I was pretty sure he was some kind of undead. A lich, maybe. I had never encountered one of those either.

  Wait... I was the sword. The [Demon Soulfire Blade].

  A long-lost memory trickled back: Allison. I remembered talking to her on that fateful day about the sword and the game it truly belonged to.

  A different game.

  Those imps... that ritual chamber... they felt so alien because they were from a different game!

  That means I'm finally out. I'm out of The Hundred Years War!

  I have finally broken free from the endless cycles.

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  The sense of relief, however, was fleeting as another sickening thought crashed down on me in the darkness.

  Am I now trapped inside Allison’s dating sim?!

  Everything lurched. I was propelled forward, shot like a cannonball through the void as my faded soul, ground-to-dust by countless lifetimes, was torn free from the heavier, more solid confines of the demon sword and hurled ahead.

  I stopped in the darkness and was drifting when a ball of light flickered into existence before me. It was bright and warm, pushing back the void. Within it, I sensed a pulse, vibrant and pure, brimming with innocence.

  Somehow, I knew. This was a soul, a brand new one.

  In its light, I saw myself: the monochrome form of Joan, a worn, crumbling soul.

  But the new soul wasn't frightened by the frayed, crumbling me. Instead, we were drawn to each other, two lights, one bright and one pale, in the cold, lonely darkness.

  We reached out and embraced.

  Just as our souls melded into one, the sword caught up to me and plunged through us from behind.

  Everything shifted.

  I was wrenched upwards. Light flooded my vision as the world swam in a chaotic swirl of color and sound. The cold air hitting my skin was a shock, like I had been thrown into an ice bath.

  “Waahhhhhh!”

  A baby was wailing. It took me a moment to realize that I was the one screaming, and the sheer shock of it made me scream even louder.

  “It’s a girl, my lord!” a woman’s voice shouted as I was hoisted into the air. My newborn eyes couldn't focus. The world was a blur of brown and gray, smeared with blobs of white in constant, dizzying motion.

  “Priscilla, look! We have a daughter!” A deep masculine voice called out. Another set of hands, larger and rougher, took hold of me and then gently set me down upon a soft and warm cradle of arms. “Isn’t she lovely?”

  A face looked down at me, round and beautiful with soft curves. She had a small, pointed nose, and large sapphire-blue eyes. Her smile, though strained with exhaustion, was radiant.

  Is this my mother in this world?

  She wiped away the strands of sweat-drenched hair clinging to her forehead. “She’s an angel. What should we call her, Leopold?”

  Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten to cry. I was stuck staring at her.

  “Cecilia, she can take after my great aunt.” The man lowered his head, and I saw the waves of dark blue hair and the glint of light off his wire-rimmed glasses.

  Wait… Cecilia?

  More of that conversation with Ally came back to me. Didn’t she say Cecilia was the name of the villainess?

  That sounds like a very bad thing to be!

  Before I could stop myself, I was bawling again.

  “WAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

  “It’s alright, little one… calm down,” my beautiful new mother cooed down at me. She turned to her husband. “Oh Leopold, she doesn’t seem to like that name. Can we call her Josephine, after my mother?”

  Her long finger stroked delicately over my cheek.

  “She would have been so happy… so happy to have such a lovely granddaughter named after her…” Her voice hitched, and the last words came out as a desperate gasp.

  “Of course, anything for you, my love.” Leopold’s voice cracked. He pulled her hand from my cheek and clasped it tight. “Just… stay with me.”

  His head snapped toward a figure off to the side, his tone shifting from terror to fury. “Healer! Get over here NOW!”

  She pulled his hand down to my tiny chest, her voice strained but clear. “I’m sorry, my love… But I’m fading. Let’s spend what’s left together… with her.”

  It was then that I noticed it: a small, translucent icon of a sword hovering at the bottom edge of my vision. Over it was a label blinking in and out of existence.

  Small points of light drifted up from her chest, like fireflies in the summer night. They converged on me and my body sucked them in.

  The sensation of the light sinking into me was good. Terrifyingly good. It felt like points of warmth caressing my insides as they sank in, and despite how wrong I knew it was, my new body ached for more.

  An image slammed into my mind. When the sword plunged through me and the new born soul, it hadn't stopped at us. It had continued stabbing, straight into her.

  I was draining her bleeding soul.

  No!

  I tried to push at the icon with my stubby baby hand, but my fingers just passed through it. I cried even more frantically, but everyone was oblivious to the light flowing from her to me.

  “No!” My father’s wretched scream echoed my own. “You can’t leave us. I need you! Ben needs you! This one… She…”

  I looked up to find his jaw muscles clenched, his glasses askew. His gaze met mine, and anger and despair raged within his grey eyes.

  “Her name is Josephine…” she whispered weakly to him, a gentle reminder in that haunting singsong voice of hers.

  The label stopped blinking and faded with the sword icon from my sight.

  Light had gone out of the blues of my mother’s eyes. Her finger was limp in my hand. I had known her for only the briefest of moments and already, she was lost to me.

  I was her murderer.