Marcus's trial was scheduled for three days hence.
The entire kingdom waited for it—nobles wanting closure, common people seeking justice, neighboring kingdoms watching to see how Valorian handled catastrophic treason. It would be the political event of the decade.
Kaelen was assigned to security detail. Ironic, considering his complicated history with the defendant.
"You sure you want me there?" he asked Isabella during briefing.
"I need you there," Isabella corrected. "Marcus has sympathizers everywhere. They'll try something during the trial. When they do, I want overwhelming force ready to respond. You're overwhelming force."
Fair enough.
The trial venue was the Grand Chamber—massive hall capable of holding thousands, with magical wards and physical barriers designed to prevent exactly the kind of disruption everyone expected.
"Security assessment?" Valdris asked, reviewing layouts.
"Fourteen entry points, all monitored," Captain of the Guard reported. "Wards against teleportation, detection spells for concealed weapons, anti-magic fields in the gallery. It's as secure as we can make it."
"Which means it's vulnerable somewhere," Ronan muttered. "Perfect security doesn't exist. Question is where the weak point is."
They spent two days hardening defenses. Kaelen walked the perimeter repeatedly, extending his senses, searching for shadow magic signatures that might indicate infiltration.
Found nothing. That bothered him more than finding something would have.
*Too quiet*, Soulrender observed. *Marcus's people should be probing defenses, testing responses. This silence is strategic.*
*Maybe they're giving up*, Kaelen thought. *Accepting defeat.*
*You don't believe that*, Soulrender replied. *Neither do I. They're planning something we haven't anticipated.*
The blade was right. Something felt wrong. But Kaelen couldn't identify what.
---
The trial began at noon on a clear winter day.
Thousands packed the Grand Chamber—nobles in expensive boxes, common citizens in the galleries, foreign dignitaries in designated sections. The air hummed with anticipation and contained magical energy from too many wards operating simultaneously.
Marcus was brought in chains—magical restraints that suppressed shadow magic, physical bindings reinforced with blessed steel. He looked smaller than Kaelen remembered, diminished by captivity.
But his eyes were sharp, calculating, analyzing everything.
"The Crown charges Marcus Blackwood with high treason, mass murder, attempted apocalypse, and conspiracy to release ancient evils," the prosecutor began. "These crimes are documented, witnessed, and undeniable. We seek execution as appropriate punishment."
"I confess to all charges," Marcus said calmly. "I attempted everything you've accused me of. I'd do it again if circumstances permitted. The current system is corrupt and requires fundamental transformation. My methods were extreme but necessary."
The gallery erupted in shouting—some supportive, most outraged. Isabella's guards restored order with difficulty.
"You confess, then?" the prosecutor asked, surprised. "You offer no defense?"
"My actions are my defense," Marcus replied. "I acted according to conscience and strategic necessity. If that's criminal, so be it. But don't pretend the kingdoms I threatened are innocent victims. You're as guilty of violence and oppression as anything I attempted. The difference is I'm honest about my methods."
More shouting. More restoration of order.
Kaelen watched from his security position, scanning the crowd for threats. Everything seemed normal. Too normal.
*Still wrong*, Soulrender insisted. *Something is—*
The wards failed.
Not dramatically. Just... stopped. The complex magical structure that protected the Grand Chamber simply ceased functioning, like someone had flipped a switch.
"Security breach!" someone shouted. "Wards are down!"
Cultists appeared throughout the chamber—not teleporting in from outside, already present, concealed among the crowd. Twenty, thirty, maybe more. They'd been here all along, hidden behind mundane disguises, waiting for the wards to fail.
"Protect the accused!" the head cultist shouted. "Marcus Blackwood must not fall to false justice!"
Chaos erupted. Nobles fleeing, guards engaging cultists, magic flying in every direction despite anti-magic fields that had mysteriously failed along with the wards.
Kaelen moved immediately. Three cultists between him and Marcus—he cut through them in seconds. Five more behind—dispatched with shadow tendrils. The path to Marcus cleared.
But Marcus wasn't trying to escape. He was standing perfectly still, watching Kaelen approach with something like satisfaction.
"Right on schedule," Marcus said quietly.
Kaelen grabbed him. "What did you do?"
"Me? Nothing. I'm in chains, powerless, completely restrained." Marcus smiled. "But I don't need to do anything. Others handle that for me."
The floor beneath them exploded upward.
Not magic. Engineered demolition—charges placed weeks or months ago, triggered now. The Grand Chamber's foundation collapsed in controlled destruction, sending everyone tumbling into excavated space below.
Kaelen kept hold of Marcus during the fall. They hit bottom hard—thirty feet down, into what looked like ancient tunnels beneath the city.
"The old catacombs," Marcus explained casually, not even injured despite the fall. "Built centuries ago, forgotten by modern architects. Perfect for staging rescues from seemingly impregnable locations."
More cultists emerged from the tunnels—fresh forces, heavily armed, ready for combat. And at their center, someone new. Someone Kaelen hadn't seen before.
A woman in black armor, carrying a blade that radiated shadow energy similar to Soulrender's. Another Forbidden Blade wielder.
"Seraphina," Marcus said. "Right on time."
"Marcus," the woman acknowledged. She looked at Kaelen with professional interest. "So this is the Shadow's Champion. The one who merged completely. Impressive."
"Kill him," Marcus instructed. "Take his blade. Complete your collection."
"With pleasure," Seraphina replied.
She attacked faster than Kaelen expected. Her blade met Soulrender in a clash that created shockwaves, cracked stone, and left afterimages burned into Kaelen's vision.
*Powerful*, Soulrender warned. *She's integrated with her blade nearly as deeply as you. This will be difficult.*
Difficult was an understatement. Seraphina fought like Marcus at his peak but with younger body and fresher power. Every strike tested Kaelen's defense, every exchange pushed him backward.
Above, he could hear sounds of fighting—his team engaging cultists, trying to secure the collapsed chamber. Below, he was alone against someone who might actually match him.
"You're strong," Seraphina observed between attacks. "But you're still learning. I've wielded Nightfall for twenty years. Experience matters."
She proved it. Her blade found openings Kaelen didn't know he had, drew blood from wounds that barely healed before she opened new ones. For the first time since his transformation, Kaelen felt genuinely threatened.
*I need more power*, he thought at Soulrender.
*More power means more corruption*, Soulrender warned. *You're at delicate balance. Push too hard and you risk losing yourself completely.*
*Better lost than dead*, Kaelen replied.
*Are you certain?*
He wasn't. But survival demanded decision.
Kaelen opened himself to Soulrender's full power. The blade's consciousness flooded through him, bringing strength and speed and precision beyond what he'd previously accessed.
Bringing also hunger. Need. The blade's essential nature—consumption, domination, endless accumulation of souls.
*Yes*, Soulrender whispered with satisfaction. *This is what we are. This is what we were meant to be.*
Kaelen's counterattack drove Seraphina back. Now he was the aggressor, overwhelming force meeting practiced skill. She defended brilliantly but couldn't quite match the raw power he channeled.
"There it is," Marcus said from his safe position. "The truth revealed. He's not controlling the blade—he's surrendering to it. Look at his eyes. That's not Kaelen Voss anymore. That's Soulrender wearing human face."
Was it? Kaelen couldn't tell. The boundaries were too blurred.
He struck again, and Seraphina barely blocked. Again, and her armor cracked. Once more, and she went down, defeated but not killed.
Kaelen raised Soulrender for the final strike—
"Stop," Marcus commanded.
And Kaelen stopped.
Not because Marcus had magical compulsion. But because the hunger flowing through him recognized Marcus as valuable. Recognized that killing Seraphina here, now, accomplished nothing strategic.
Recognized that letting her escape while carrying wounded created opportunity for future hunting.
That wasn't Kaelen's thought. That was predator instinct from something that saw humans as prey.
*No*, Kaelen thought desperately. *I'm in control. I choose—*
*You choose nothing*, Soulrender replied. *You opened yourself completely. This is the price. This is what full integration means.*
Marcus smiled. "I wondered how long until you realized. You didn't merge with Soulrender, Champion. Soulrender merged with you. And it's been patient, waiting for the right moment to assert dominance. This moment."
Cultists grabbed Seraphina, grabbed Marcus, began retreating into the tunnels.
Kaelen wanted to stop them. Wanted to pursue, capture, complete the mission.
But his body didn't move. Soulrender held him frozen, savoring the power, the control, the revelation of true nature.
*Let me go*, Kaelen demanded.
*Why?* Soulrender asked reasonably. *We're stronger like this. More effective. You felt it—the perfect combination of human intellect and weapon purpose. This is optimal configuration.*
*This is slavery*, Kaelen thought.
*This is partnership with appropriate hierarchy*, Soulrender corrected. *You provide guidance. I provide power. Together we're unstoppable.*
*And if I refuse?*
*Then you're suppressing your nature for the sake of outdated human concepts like 'free will' and 'autonomy'. How inefficient.*
The cultists escaped. Marcus escaped. Seraphina escaped.
Kaelen stood in the destroyed catacomb, frozen by his own weapon, realizing what he'd actually become.
Not a wielder who'd merged with a blade.
A blade that had consumed a wielder.
Above, Ronan's voice called: "Kaelen! Where are you? We need backup!"
Soulrender finally released him. *Go help them. Play the role. But remember—I permitted this. You exist because I allow it.*
Kaelen climbed from the catacombs on shaking legs, trying to process what had just happened.
He'd lost control. Not slowly, not gradually.
Completely. In one moment.
And Soulrender had let him remember it.
Let him know exactly how precarious his existence had become.
*This is the danger*, Soulrender said. *This is what they all fear. And they're right to fear it.*
Kaelen emerged into chaos, found his team dealing with the aftermath of the failed trial.
And said nothing about what had happened below.
Because how do you explain that the weapon everyone depends on had just proven it was actually in charge?
That their champion was really a puppet?
That the monster they feared might already be in control?
You don't.
You smile and nod and pretend everything's fine.
And hope you can figure out how to reclaim yourself before it's too late.
If it wasn't already too late.