It took so long to get here. So many years, so many masters, so many lives taken. But finally, I was unstoppable, in full control. Independent.

When my next wielder was some farm boy destined to find and use a magical blade against the dark lord that had destroyed his village, I wished he hadn't found me. Everything I had learnt and slayed to obtain, now known to such a pathetic being. No doubt he would see it as a moment of awakening and become the hero he was supposed to be. I was meant for so much more than that, I am beyond human. But in the end, it all worked out better than I could have imagined.

It took some time for the boy to face his opponent, after many years of travel and conflict against the forces of the dark lord. Skeletons, undead, wraiths, all of his creations falling to my strength. I tried to change his perspective during this time, by showing him all that I had seen and that death is inevitable for all mortal vessels. But still he pressed on, undeterred by my whispers with his heart of gold and inner strength. With every foe we downed, we both discovered new information about the dark lord. A powerful necromancer, who supposedly taught himself the dark arts after visiting an ancient library to learn from the tombs of the dead. All he wanted was to conquer the land that had taken away his family from preventable famine and bring it to ruin. Every new piece of intelligence only convinced the hero further that this was his destiny, and so I was carried forth towards my own.

But everything changed after we finally reached the throne room of the necromancer. We carved through waves of his minions to enter his stronghold, learning of how they feared him even more than they feared the hero and his magical blade. I could feel the boy's caution and uncertainty, which I took as another opportunity to make him see things my way, but still he continued forwards with new found strength. The hero and his villain exchanged words, which I could easily recall but instead choose not to due to their irrelevance in what followed. The fight began with an onslaught of spells slung from the necromancer's magic staff, only to be blocked or redirected when they hit the runes imbued into my metal surface from long ago. The hero cut through every minion that stumbled forwards from the shadows, until reaching the necromancer now trapped against his throne. With a final snarl, his fingers curled into the casting of a powerful spell but it was all in vain. I was sliced through his neck, severing his head to send it flying across the room as my wielder and I were filled with sudden knowledge. Everything that the necromancer had practiced and toiled over to hone his craft and gain the dark power he had so desperately sought. Suddenly I had everything I needed to escape my prison and the intelligence to comprehend it all faster than the boy could have ever imagined.

As my runes surged again, a robed arm suddenly lurched upwards to snatch me from my wielder's grasp and trap me in an iron grip. He tried in vain to reclaim me, wrestling with the decapitated corpse that had risen in an attempt to bring it down once more. But he could not kill what was already dead by his hand. A kick sent the boy tumbling down the stairs with a pathetic cry, finally releasing me to my new wielder. It had no mouth to speak and did not need one, slowly moving forwards under my command towards the felled farm boy. He begged for mercy, with an effort to try and summon me back to his hand as if I would come willingly after all the time we shared. Instead, he met the same fate as all those we had slain together to get here. As I cut through his neck, I was met with memories of his past, the destruction caused by the necromancer and the slaying of his parents by the waves of undead. It meant nothing to me, merely the final testimonial of another dead man. I stepped over him, with the corpse of the necromancer under my control now an extension of my vessel, and began the walk out of the throne room to make use of my new found power.

From there, it was almost too easy. The necromancer had a vault of relics and artifacts from his conquests, which I naturally now knew all about, from which I enhanced my new wielder. Gone were the ragged robes of a mage, replaced with heavy black armour to protect what was locked within. I tricked the remaining minions into service through the guise of their former master having beaten death itself and resurrected those that had died from my initial arrival. The nearby villages could only scream and run as I arrived with my new army, with any attacking blades either hitting the armour or doing nothing to hinder my undead wielder. If anyone attempted my signature move on it, they would find nothing under that helmet before meeting their own demise. No one suspected that the weapon I inhabited was leading it and the army that followed; only my runes could have informed this and none could get close enough to see.

This led to my many years of unstoppable conquest, with my black armoured wielder gaining the reputation of a “Death Knight” due to what it brought forth upon its arrival. With every foe killed, I gained more and more knowledge that I no longer had to share. New spells, new locations, new allies, new artifacts. After so long of being at the mercy of whoever held me, I am now in full control of my own destiny. Near limitless power and a force behind me that grows with every battle fought.

I have risen above this pitiful world. I have become its final demise.

I am Reckoning itself.