Gareth lay there, his eyes focused on Arondight the sword that Lancelot carried. His body was broken, his will was fading, and the cold embrace of death was pulling him into its depths. But the blade held his attention, something about it creeping up his spine, something he could not understand.
This feeling was nothing like intent. It was far greater than any intent he had ever sensed. It was a presence so vast, so deep, so absolute that it seemed to swallow everything around it. It was not a feeling that came from the outside it was a feeling that came from within.
Gareth wondered and said to himself, his inner voice quiet, almost confused.
This... why haven't I felt it all this time?
He thought about his abilities his mastery of killing intent, his ability to sense the individual emotion and power of everything that existed. He was good enough to feel the subtle shifts in the air, the hidden intentions of his enemies, the depths of their souls.
So why didn't I feel anything before?
He looked at the blade at the blood-red steel that gleamed in the storm-light, at the edge that seemed to pulse with something ancient and terrible.
That's a weapon that belongs to Lancelot.
His face shrieked a silent scream of recognition that tore through his mind, through his soul, through everything he had ever known.
This emotion... this emotion is...
MALICE.
He felt it then a bottomless malice that arose from the blade Arondight. Malice such as he had never felt before. A deep and evil emotion, cursed to swallow everything and transcend everything. It had no limits. It had no end. It was infinite.
Why could I not have felt it before?
He searched his mind for the answer. His thoughts raced through centuries of battle, centuries of survival, centuries of darkness.
And then he understood.
It was because he had something that could sustain him. His demon-like nature of evil, hate, and anguish had been a shield. A buffer. A source of energy that had kept the malice at bay.
But he had burned everything.
Every ounce of darkness he had ever possessed, every shred of evil that had sustained him he had poured it all into his fight, into his rage, into his will to kill. And now there was nothing left.
In that empty hole created, it searched for something to fill its spot. Something to replace what had been lost. Something to fill the void that had opened in his soul.
And then, in that vastness, the malice from the sword responded.
The energy of the sword poured out into him, filling him up not just with malice, but with something else. Something he had not expected. Something he had not known was possible.
The healing power of Arondight.
It surged through his body mending his wounds, knitting his flesh, restoring his strength. The darkness that had consumed him was now being replaced by a power that was both terrible and wonderful.
His body began to turn black.
Not the darkness of shadow, not the darkness of night a darkness that was absolute, that devoured light, that swallowed everything in its path. It spread across his skin, flowed through his veins, filled every cell of his being.
Pitch black.
He was no longer Gareth.
He was something else entirely.
in the space between the malice and the healing, between the sword's power and the devil's transformation.
Gareth's body turned black.
The blade pulsed.
And the sea roared.