Forest System[Whumptober prompt, Oct 19: Living Weapon]
They don't have a name. They don't need one. Just a glimpse of their distinctive blood-red cloak is enough to terrify their enemies. They are "the Blade" and that is enough.
They walk down the halls of the ship their group has boarded. Their footsteps echo as they stalk their prey.
A door opens. A cowering human shoves himself further into a corner. "Please," he begs.
The Blade lifts their own blade. One movement, and blood begins to pool as they walk away.
The next door takes a moment to open. "Ugh, outdated fascist technology," mutters a voice in the Blade's earpiece. But it does open, and more blood is spilled to the sound of screams.
Slice. Stab. Move on. Dispassionately, the Blade dispatches one after another of these pathetic creatures. Will anyone mourn them? Certainly not the Blade.
Now for the commander. Surely, he is terrified: he knows the legends; he's seen his whole crew killed one by one. The Blade waits for the door to open and walks in.
"Don't get any closer," a man's voice warns. He is obviously terrified, his voice wavering. The Blade follows the sound and sees a gun aimed at them. They roll their eyes.
No one uses a gun in a spaceship. Does this sad lump of cells /want/ to die?
"Put it down," they call, taking a cautious step forward. "Death by vacuum is very unpleasant. You want to die by my hand instead."
"I don't want to die at all!" the man insists, hand shaking. At this rate, his finger will slip before he intends it.
The Blade sighs. They brace themself, then flick their wrist.
It happens very quickly. The blade, thrown faster than most humans are capable of, slices through the commander's hands and embeds itself into his throat. The gun goes off. The Blade reaches out, and the bullet embeds itself into their forearm.
"Ugh," they groan. With their uninjured hand, they touch their earpiece. "It's over. I will need medical attention when I get back."
They ignore the chorus of scolds as they retrieve their blade and stalk back to the airlock.
"Again?!" Perl sighs as the airlock opens. "What is wrong with you?"
"Bullet wound," the Blade says.
"That's not what I meant and you know it. Why must you always get injured?"
"Part of the job," the Blade tells him. Perl is already tugging them over to the medical bay.
"It doesn't have to be," Lia argues, emerging from the medical bay. "Come here. One of these days, you're going to get injured in a way I can't fix."
"I'm careful," the Blade insists. They scrunch up their nose as Lia brings out the anaesthetic. "That's not necessary."
Lia rolls her eyes and ignores them, as usual. As she works, Mar stomps in.
"Take better care of yourself!" they yell. "Oh, sorry, Lia."
"No, I agree," Lia says absently, beginning to extract the bullet. "Yell at them all you want."
The Blade sighs. Having friends who care about you is so inconvenient.
-Cedar
Linnèa ✨ Library Monster
Bud/Linni
