"S-stop it, sword baby—oh no!" Zane yelled.
But he was too late. The soul-sword opened a monstrous maw and swallowed the prototype weapon in one greedy gulp.
He lunged forward, grabbed the blade, and shook it furiously. "Spit it out!"
The sword-baby gave a soft burp and replied in a clear, childish voice, "No-no. Too tasty. Already digested. What's so good about it? I'm much better than it anyway."
Zane froze. "Oh… you can speak properly now. Great! But quit joking with me. I need that sword. Spit it out." His tone softened, coaxing.
"No," the sword said simply.
Zane's eyebrow twitched. "Hey, spit it out. I haven't even tried it yet."
"No," the sword-baby repeated, more defiant, and wiggled free of his grip.
"Come back here or I'll abandon you right here! I don't need a brat who won't listen to me," Zane barked, voice sharp as steel.
