Making Enemies

Tycondrius met Rena's ghostly gaze.

She looked back. She looked to her hand. Her eye widened. 

Despite the lack of blood flowing coursing through her veins, she managed to blush. 

Panic began to set in. 

"O... oy," She tried to squirm away, "Wh-what are you doing?"

Tycon pursed his lips... "Something foolish, I suppose."

He kept a firm grip on Rena's wrist as he lifted the sword in his opposite hand. 

She should have recognized it. 

It was an old blade once belonging to a Holy Swordsman named Justus... passed down from his father and perhaps his father before him. 

Rena had used the last of her mana-- her life force to enchant it, a foolhardy action that vastly expedited her death. 

The girl stared at it... but whether her wide-eyed expression was out of familiarity or fear of her possible destruction, Tycon did not care to ask. 

"Maybe this will help you remember."