"Are you calm now?"
The sword's voice carried an edge of mock boredom, its crimson glow dimming to a lazy pulse as it rested against a wooden crate in its full form.
(Damn! I'm getting tired of switching forms)
The sword was tied in Luther's cape, so as for those who were efficient in monster hunting to not recognise a demonic sword when they saw one.
Luther sat cross-legged on that very crate, arms folded and expression flat. Around him, the once-rowdy square had gone eerily silent. The crowd had long dispersed, leaving only the heap of unconscious thugs sprawled on the cobblestones like discarded sacks of potatoes. The faint smell of singed fabric hung in the air where the thug's s magic had struck moments earlier.
"I'm calm," he muttered. "Just… annoyed."
The sword gave a low hum that almost sounded like laughter.
"For once you wanted to do something good and it bit you back, huh?"
Luther threw it a deadpan look. "You sound way too happy about that."
