The dark-blue beam—what Daniel called Ice Soul Cold Light—clashed against the evil, blood-red radiance, and for the first time, the crimson light shuddered under its touch.
Though the blood-red glow had shed its liquid form to become something almost ethereal, Daniel knew better. At its core, it was still blood — still vulnerable to the eternal stillness of ice.
Ice freezes. Ice binds. Ice kills.
The Ice Soul Cold Light, honed by Daniel's will, devoured the blood-red light, freezing it from within before crushing it into nonexistence.
Daniel had foreseen this outcome. The moment the blood light faltered, he surged forward like a predator breaking through its prey's defenses.
From his palm, a torrent of cold light burst forth, cascading like a frozen waterfall. Shadows of blood, crimson tendrils of corruption, all of it froze mid-motion, shattered, and were drowned under the brilliance of ice.
His Sunlight Domain expanded at his side, burning through what remained. Blood mist dissolved like snow under the rising sun.
Within moments, nothing stood between Daniel and the silver sword.
With his left hand, he grasped the hilt of the blade; with his right, he held the Mjolnir.
The blood orb trembled, spraying violent waves of crimson mist, but Daniel's Sunlight Domain pressed it down like a divine hand, forcing it to retreat, to shrink, to coil helplessly around itself.
"Let's see what secrets you're hiding," Daniel murmured as his golden eyes narrowed.
He didn't strike the orb directly. No, not yet.
This silver long sword had been suppressing the evil for centuries. Daniel would use it — its memories, its hatred, its spiritual will — to finish the job.
Thunder poured into the sword, filling the hall with blinding light. The blood mist recoiled like a living thing, hissing in pain.
But Daniel's mind was elsewhere.
His consciousness slipped along the sword's spine, probing its depths. A blade capable of sealing this evil for countless years could only be alive — or at least, hold remnants of an ancient soul.
He sought that soul.
Everything remembers.
Metal remembers the hands that forged it.
Blades remember the blood they have spilled.
And weapons, if they survive enough battles, awaken something akin to a will of their own.
Daniel's will dove deeper into the sword. Within the hilt lay a green gemstone — dull, lifeless, but faintly resonating. That was where its sleeping spirit resided.
A whisper escaped Daniel's lips, the spell of Prayer to the Forgotten Gods.
Long ago, this incantation was meant to commune with divine beings, but with the gods vanished from this world, mages like Daniel had adapted it to reach anything with spirit.
In reality, it wasn't prayer at all — it was quantum resonance. Daniel's studies of quantum magic allowed him to see the blade's existence as particles woven with centuries of history. By tracing those imprints, he could pull forth its memories.
The world blurred.
Suddenly, Daniel wasn't in the hall anymore.
He saw a massive, calloused hand — rough and scarred — hammering the molten steel of the blade, sparks flying like stars. The sword hissed as it plunged into cold water, its essence tempered in pain and fire.
The vision shifted.
A young man in white robes stood in a sunlit courtyard, wielding the sword with fierce dedication. His energy — pure, resolute — poured into the weapon, awakening its first flickers of spirituality.
Then the scene darkened.
Blood. Betrayal.
The young man's closest companions, his brothers-in-arms, turned their blades on him.
Daniel felt the agony, the shock, as one sword pierced his back. He was living the memories.
There was no time for regret. The young man burned his own life away, blood and spirit pouring into the blade. With one final act of defiance, he reactivated the seal, locking the demon within the cauldron even as he died.
Daniel's heart clenched.
'So that's the truth… betrayal, sacrifice…'
The sword's spirit wasn't truly wise; it was a flickering echo, a shadow of the man who had wielded it last. But it was enough.
The spirit stirred, a faint hum running down Daniel's arm.
The silver sword came alive in his grip, resonating with the Mjolnir.
"Let's end this."
Daniel slammed the blade into the blood orb. Lightning and sword energy erupted together, tearing through the crimson mist like a storm ripping apart a dying sky.
The blood orb screamed.
Its color thinned, fading from deep scarlet to pale pink. The evil consciousness within writhed, shattered, fragmented.
Minutes passed, each second stretching like an eternity, until finally Daniel pulled back, chest heaving.
The orb was weak, its energy nearly drained. One more strike and it would be gone forever.
But Daniel's own power was waning. Sweat trickled down his brow.
The sword, too, had gone silent, as though the fury that had driven it for centuries had burned out with that last strike.
He rested the blade against the ground, eyes narrowing.
Somewhere outside this sealed space, the Hand was watching. Their betrayal was obvious now. They hadn't wanted Daniel to destroy the evil.
No, they had lured him here to weaken it, so they could reclaim control over a creature they feared but could never fully command.
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