“All right, pack it in!” Galparin called out over the valley as he stood in a short, makeshift outlook. Despite it only being mid-afternoon, the tall mountains on either side meant there was only a limited time his small group of historians had good workable light. Rohmel deep in her work lit up a lantern to continue a little longer waving Galparin off, while Merlan and the Ranger Chasianna began packing their tools, and loading a demon’s armour along with pair of blades into a push cart to return to be base camp.

The camp was small but well setup, a large cloth awning stretched out from the back of the supply cart, covering a kitchen and a small dining table. Nearby was a wide but currently low fire campfire, housing an iron pot amongst the embers as another two hung from an otherwise empty spit. There were three tents, largest belonged to the historians where Galparin the boss of the expedition, his son Merlan and the scholar Rohmel slept. Next was smaller but newer and more well kept, it housed beds for the Priest Curt Arturo and his Acolyte Talia along with a small shrine to Tyr. Third and final tent was more like a thick sleeping bag that belonged to Chasianna, Ranger of the Rise.

The historians returned to camp from the remnants of one of many skirmishes from the Ashlem war that ended 48 years ago, this expedition was one of many sent by both Covania and Oxtrad in a joint effort to document and recover artifacts from the war with the Nine Hells. Religious circles and the public opinion ensured all expeditions had to include at least a priest or priestess to ensure bodies are treated properly and are given blessings if a following could be determined.

Talia was busy chopping vegetables when Merlan dropped the blades onto the dining table. “Hey I just cleaned that!” she exclaimed at the clashing.

“Don’t fret, I’ll wipe it down before supper,” Merlan replied. Neither of them turning to each other, both involved in their work. “Think you’ll like these, unlike any other infernal blades we’ve recovered.”

She finished chopping a carrot and turned to Merlan to see his findings but couldn’t see past his brown tousled hair. He always seemed to come back in messier states over the last few days. Talia approached, patting his hair down a few times and tucking behind his slightly pointed ears before resting her hands on his shoulders. Peering over at the table, one might mistake the two swords as one if they were siting closer to each other. If not for the leather handle wrappings and sharpened edge, might even mistake it for an eight-pointed star. One point extended to make the blade, one in the opposite to form a handle, and three remaining short points on each forming an aggressive hand guard.

Merlan was entranced by his findings. With a small wood pick he scrapped hardened dirt out of the fine details, revealing infernal writing, transcribing the text into a notebook. “Rohmel should be able to translate it. Seems to be an older dialect I’m not familiar with.”

“Can you do a rough translation?” Talia asked, now off to Merlan’s side with hands leaning on the table.

“Eh, not really, this part is newer language.” Merlan pointed to the back edge of the blades. “This one says Vincere, and this says Punire, both are followed by something about an immortal song. I could be wrong.”

Both Merlan and Talia were startled by a cough. Looking up they met Galparin’s eyes. “Talia, Curt is looking for you when done preparing dinner.” As he breaks, focus with the two and toward the chopped bits on the kitchen bench.

“Of course.” Leaning away, she returned to the pieces on the bench, gathering them up.

Merlan watched her walk up to the two hanging pots, thinking to himself, ‘Be careful, it’ll be hot.’ As soon as the thought finished, he saw her shaking her hand away before properly wrapping the handle and succeeding on the second attempt. He shook his head in her direction. In return she gave a rude hand gesture to him before walking away. ‘By Tyr, she’s going to be the death of me.’ Now alone, his attention drew back to the blades. As he studied and cleaned initially, he thought it was a breeze through the valley, but listening closer sounded more like a whisper.

“Merlan, what you have there?” Rohmel had returned.

“By the gods! Will people stop sneaking up.”

“My apologies, didn’t realise I had.” Rohmel placed her lantern on the table.

Merlan leant back in his chair, “No you’re fine, just in my head trying to translate these older devil symbols.” he pushed his notebook away.

Rohmel spun Merlan’s notebook around, quickly reading and then studying the text on the blades, taking little note of the swords themselves. “Huh.”

“Something good?”

Rohmel brushed her hair away and adjusted her glasses. “The swords are brothers… no, twins. something song of death. My ancient infernal is rusty. To me, sounds like they were devils and someone admired them so much they made these instruments of demise?” Placing the one she picked up back down, she locked eyes with Merlan. “These are unique. Know what that means, either-”

“Not unique if there’s two of ‘em,” Merlan butted in and continued before Rohmel could contest. “Yeah, I know, package it up or get the Priest to check it over.”

“Good man, your girlfriend has been not-so secretly been attempting identification magic, could try her.”

“She’s not my-”

“Sure.” Rohmel was already walking away. “I’m gonna wash up and see mine.”

Galparin, Merlan, Curt gathered around the low flames as Talia served them stew and, much to everyone’s delight, revealed some bread she’d had baked earlier in the embers. The smell and silence filled their whole campsite as they all enjoyed the supper.

Breaking the quiet, Curt spoke up. “You’ve done it again Talia.”

“Agreed.” Merlan nodded

Galparin remained. Distracted by something in the dark. “Rohmel, Chasianna, thought you said wouldn’t be back for a few more hours.”

Heads turned to look where Galparin was looking. Out of the shadows emerged Chasianna. The elven ranger rose a finger to her lips then ushered everyone to get low and away from light. Everyone followed her signals, grouping between the two sleeping tents. She spoke in a hushed voice. “Bandits got Rohmel. If they haven’t bandaged her she’s bled out by now.”

“Shit, I’m sorry Chasie.” Galparin rested a hand on her shoulder. “They follow you?”

“No, but won’t take them long to find camp. I counted four, no range, all close combat.”

Galparin pointed to Merlan and Talia, “You two, find a weapon and hide, hide good.” Turning back to Curt and Chasianna “Know you’re not a fighter, but tonight you’ll have to be. Chasie, get an overlook.”

All nodded in agreement except for Merlan, “Dad, we all had combat training before setting out.”

“Training and real fighting is very different. This is survival, only fight if necessary.” Galparin spun Merlan around. “Now go, grab something and stay away.”

---

The fighting was over in moments. Priest Curt Arturo kneeled in a slump and headless. Ranger of the Rise, Chasianna had her legs broken before her neck snapped. One of the bandits lay prone, eyes wide and unblinking, with an arrow through his neck. Another sat by the kitchen, working to close his gut wound. He hoarsely shouted out to the campfire, “Can ya kill the halfies already?”

“Patience brother.” The burlier of the three remaining walked circles around Galparin who was nursing a similar wound without supplies, and Merlan who’d been tied up next to his father. While studying one of the unique swords, the bandit briefly turned to Merlan. “Decent sword work kid, got my friend there good.”

“He got lucky!” A sputtering called out.

“Six beds boss.” The third bandit emerged from the historian’s tent.

“Thanks.” Still pacing around, he turned back to Galparin and Merlan, “Now we ‘uncivilised’ folk might not be as educated as yourselves, but let’s do some math, we’ve got you two halfies, the ranger, and the holyman, makes four, and assuming the gal we got before was with ya camp, makes five. So if my math is right makes me wonder where number six is at?”

Merlan without looking up from the ground muttered “Dunno.”

“Dunno? That’s a shame. So heres the deal, for your generous donation we’ll leave one of you alive an seeings you ‘dunno’ where six is at makes it easy to choose who lives.” He stops pacing and takes a knee by Galparin. “Hells, we’re so nice if you remember where six is at we’ll leave your pops with some herbs and salves.”

“Dunno.”

“Hmm. You really sure?” The bandit stood up and began sticking the end of the infernal sword into Galparin’s wound, forcing him to wince and curl in pain.

“Stop!”

Holding the sword in place no deeper or moving out. “I see you know where six is in your eyes. Last chance.” He twisted the sword. A cry of pain echoes through the dark valley.

“I don’t know.” Lied Merlan.

“Choice made.” The sword plunged deep. Silence. “Rog, he’s yours.”

With those words and action, reality snapped in for Merlan. The wounded bandit, Rog, stood from his chair, while producing a pair of knuckle dusters and a wicked smile. Merlan leapt to his feet but only made a few steps before the rope around his hands pulled him back.

“Time for that is long gone.” Rog coughed out.

Two gut punches in and Merlan was back on the ground, Rog climbing onto Merlan’s smaller frame. He threw punches into the half-elf’s face. A scurry caught the attention of the other two bandits. Talia running toward Merlan’s aid but was too slow. The burly boss caught her shirt and bringing her into a headlock.

“Ah ah, he made his choice. You get to see tomorrow’s light.” The boss threw Talia to the ground. “Stay there and behave, we’ll watch the show together. After me and my friends will thank you for your gifts to us, take all your hard work and leave you alone.”

It took most of the short daylight but now Talia kneeled in front of five new graves, dug earlier in the week, intended for people for those who died during the Ashlem war. The haunting mountain range, which has claimed more lives than any other conflict on the continent, makes its presence felt through its short days, cold earth and wailing winds.

Another presence invaded Talia’s rites and prayers. She tried pushing them out of mind. The more she resisted, the closer it felt until it was right behind her. Gripping the shovel beside her. She spun around, shovel raised high. Nothing. No tents. No supplies. Just the mountains looming over her.

Talia thought back to home, Lily Vale Cemetary, and her father. She used to find a comforting inspiration in wondering about the graves. Generations of families buried together in peace, of daring adventurers and proud warriors who never returned home alive, of scholars and historians that had explored the worlds. The stories they could tell if they were alive filled her young mind. Now she wishes she never set out, wished she had listened to her father and his warnings of horrors beyond one’s imagination.

The graves of her friends almost mocking her for even daring to dream of such exploration and freedom. The presence called to her again. She looked around. Nothing remained save the shovel the bandits left her. The call turned to a yell. A plea for someone to find them. No words, just pain and loss. Talia’s mind, unable to take anymore in, she dropped to her hands and knees. Silence. She felt something under her hand, buried under a thin layer of dirt, wrapped in burlap. Leaning back, she placed it in her lap, unwrapping to find one of the two infernal blades. The other having disappeared into the night with the bandits.

A raspy voice spoke in infernal speech. Talia knew very little written infernal let alone speech. “I- I don’t understand you.” A heavy sigh echoed in her quieted mind.

The rasp returned in familiar speech, “Understand me now?”

“Yes, yes I do-” Talia replied tentatively, but cut off before she could get any further.

“I am Punire, forged in the Nine Hells. You shall return me to my brother.” The voice demanded.

“The hells I will!”

Punire chuckled, ringing in Talia’s ears. “Very well human, I shall reward you for this task.”

“I want my friends back.”

Punire laughed harder. “They’ve all gone to their gods, I can offer you vengeance.”

“Vengeance?”

“Yes, I will grant you my strength, my power for you to avenge your friends. In the process, reuniting me with my brother.”

“Your brother?”

“I didn’t know humans were so slow. You're the first one I’ve talked to.”

“Well, you’re the first sword that’s screamed at me. So we’re even. After I avenge my friends and return you to your brother, then what?”

“Then our deal is done. You can leave us and your new power behind, or take us with you, retain your new power, where-ever or what-ever that entails.”

“But your devils.” Talia looking back up to the war-torn range.

“Not anymore. My brother and I shed our mortal forms. We are the twin blades.”

“I can just walk away?”

“Anytime, but doubt you will once you taste what we can provide. What is your name, human?”

“Talia Knight the second.”

“Ms. Knight, do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

Talia stalked the darkness around a campsite. Punire had provided the direction. She didn’t question the blade’s knowledge. The once heavy sword to Talia now felt incredibly balanced, no matter how she held it. The once creeping darkness now became a retreat, easily traversed without light.

A loud laugh promptly turning into a cough stopped Talia in her tracks as it echoed between the mountains. The image of Merlan’s beaten and lifeless face flashed in her head. Punire’s thoughts became her own. This is more than justice, this is deeply personal. Talia shook Punire away, focusing in again on scouting efforts. Finding a ledge in the mountainside, Talia watched over the camp as her new friend grew impatient.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I can’t fight all three of them at once.”

“With me in hand, you can.”

“If I die to them, you’ll be reunited and my vengeance will have failed.”

“True I benefit either way, but whoever wins is worth of our power, which admittedly selfish but sounds like a more interesting future.”

“Have one of them been granted Vincere’s power?”

“I don’t know. We can only communicate within short distances, however, always know where the other is.”

Talia left the tension between the two hanging, watching for any changes and the best moment to move into the bandit’s camp. The moment didn’t take long to appear as the heavy drinking set in between the group. Their leader and Rog remained drinking as the third wandered into the dark behind the tents to releve himself. Talia moved swiftly, as if she were just another shadow in the night. In moments she was feet away from her target, surprising herself, she might have been able to do so without Punire but would have at least taken twice as long. She gripped Punire tight. Feeling his excitement within herself. A flash of red.

A devilish figure stood on the edge of a cliff, facing outward to a hellish landscape. Talia crept forward, her body out of her control, Punire still in hand. With her left, she withdrew a dagger from the devil’s side. Suddenly stabbing it into the devil’s neck and using it as a lever to pull them back onto Punire’s waiting blade. The same flash flooded Talia’s sight. Finding her self once again dwarfed by the Ashlem Rise, and a silently sputtering bandit gasping for air from a hole in his neck and blade firmly piercing through his body. The two stared at each other in silence until his final attempt for air and life. Talia’s heart and breath quickened. She’d seen plenty of death in her life from home at the cemetery and this expedition into the war-torn landscape, but never taken a life before.

“What was that?” Talia whispered so quietly, she wasn’t sure if she even spoke it, instead just mouthing the words.

Punire’s rasp replied, “That was a memory, one of a previous wielder.”

Talia took a deep and cool breath in, slowing her stress anyway she could. Rolling the bandit’s body away, she withdrew Punire from his back. Punire’s eagerness flooded Talia, just as her stress did to Punire, bringing the two back to a balance and focus. In the peace Talia rolled the bandit onto his back, closed his eyes and place his hands together on his chest, half hiding the wound.

“What are you doing?” Punire questioned Talia.

“Praying for him and safe passage to his god.”

“Now? You can do it when others a dealt with and less danger for your life.”

“Quiet.” Talia heard his words, waiting for a moment and upon hearing the remaining two were still talking and laughing, she returned to her prayers. Punire remained silent until Talia was done. “His fate is with the gods now.”

Talia could feel Punire’s feeling. He radiated a sense of confusion but of also respect. Despite only mere hours passing, the two quickly became in tune with each other’s thoughts and feeling. Punire felt Talia’s hesitancy about their relationship, but also a curiosity to what the future may hold. Moving around the edge of camp, Talia got sight of Rog just as the boss went into a tent on the opposite side from her. Moving in the camp she tripped a wire setting off a set of makeshift chimes from scrap metal.

“Fuckin hells Glen-” Rog called out as he turned to see Talia, “Who the fucks?” He tilted his head as he rose from his position, eyes locking with Talia and then the blade. “Ah good girl, real nice of you bringing us more gifts.”

Talia placed a foot behind herself instinctively ready to run, but felt a braveness, twisting the leg and foot to be a brace. Punire drawn into a close guard.

Rog seeing the change in form, placed a hand on his sheathed axe. “Don’t be a fool, girl. You still have time to lay that iron down and leave with your life.” He took a drunken half step before recomposing himself and taking firm steps toward Talia, slowly drawing his axe.

“You’ll die for what you did to Merlan.” Talia planted her foot further into the dirt.

“The half kid? You was sweet on him? Not even the worst thing I’ve done this week girl.” His steps slowed to a stop just out of the range if Talia tried swinging Punire. “Drop it and walk away.”

Talia lunged forward attempting to slash Rog who twisted away in time, returning the failure with his axe nicking Talia’s shoulder. Using the base of the axe knocking Talia’s back, she fell and rolled. Adding a twist to the roll, she returned to facing Rog. The two locked eyes again, Rog smiling at the cutely harmless girl in his eyes.

Punire’s voice filled Talia’s mind during the stand-off. “Let him hit you again.” Feeling Talia, he continued. “I know how it sounds, but trust me a little.” Punire felt a slight ease in their shared tension.

It didn’t matter who twitched first as they began rushing toward each other. Rog had the upper hand again. Talia began to rise a block, hesitating to form a full block, instead strafing slightly during Rog’s swing. Striking her left shoulder again. In a flash, an ethereal devil withdrew from Talia, immediately striking across Rog’s chest. The two paced apart, both unsure what happened. Rog let out a cough, clutching his chest in pain, quickly throwing off his undamaged armour revealing a deep gash spanning from his shoulder across to his hip. In his state, Rog didn’t notice Talia running until too late to react to Punire entering his gut, and up into his ribcage. Falling limp his lifeless body’s weight took Talia and Punire back with it to the ground.

A sharp slow clap echoed the surroundings as Talia pulled Punire from Rog. “You kill Glen too?” Talia looked toward the voice, the bandit’s leader emerging from his tent, and she nodded. “Looks like I need a new crew, plenty of open spots now for you to fill.”

“Where is Vincere?”

“Who is Vincere?” He asked spying Punire. “You didn’t steal?” Checking his side to see the identical blade attached to his belt.

“That’s Vincere.”

“You name your swords too? Vincere, I like that. I was going to name this one Black Iron.” He patted Vincere’s pommel. “Vincere, sounds more aggressive. Think I’ll go with it, thanks. How about yours?”

“Punire.” Talia rose from the ground, pointing her blade toward him.

“Vincere and Punire.” The boss drew Vincere. “I’ll keep the names in honour of you.”

The bandit lanced toward Talia, targeting her already wounded shoulder, but with little effort from Talia, she stepped to the side of his attack. Giving a similar counter Rog gave to her she slashed his side. He turned to face Talia to see her eyes having gone fully white. She rose Punire, again pointing at the bandit.

“What kind of vengeful spirit are you, freak?” The bandit shouted to an unflinching Talia.

He moved in again, faking the same attack, twisting at the last moment to gain advantage. His sword appeared to betray him as a force held his change back. Talia retaliating with another side step, this time slashing upward, cutting off the boss’s hand. Sending Vincere into the air and Talia’s waiting hand. In a blink, the boss found himself kneeled in front of Talia, trying to make eye contact with the white void in her eyes. She lowered Punire touching the tip to the soft skin at the base of the bandit’s neck, pressing ever so slightly on his jugular. Vincere held by Talia’s side at the ready.

The bandit struggled to halt his bleeding stump of a hand with his remaining good one without moving from blade point. “I let you live girl, spirit, whoever is in there. Return the favour?”

A deep voice, one wouldn’t expect from Talia’s form replied. “You took my brother from me.” A quick flick from Talia’s wrist left the bandit on the ground, trying to stop himself from bleeding out from two spots with one hand. As the pupil-less eyes stared at his struggle until there was no movement left.

Talia’s eyes returned. “Another memory?”

“An old one.” Punire replied.

“Thank you human.” Vincere’s voice was deeper but less raspy than Punire’s

Talia nodded silently, placing the two on a table near the slowing camp fire. None spoke, but a sense of melancholy was shared among the trio as Talia found a shovel and began digging three graves.

Talia finished her prayers to Rog and their leader, hoping the three bandits are judged fairly by whoever they encounter in the afterlife. Talia returned to the twin blades, warming herself by the fire. “Now what?”

“As promised, you can walk away. I gave you power, you reunited my brother and I.”

Talia looked over at the graves. “He didn’t recognise either of your names?”

Vincere spoke “I never revealed myself, none interested me.”

“What’ll you do if I leave?”

“Only thing we can do. Wait. We’ve waited centuries without having a wielder before.” Punire answered, but Talia felt Vincere’s agreement. “You’re not the first and far from the last to wield us, from archdevils to imps. However, you’ll be the first human and first one outside of the Nine Hells.”

Vincere followed on, “If you take us up, as our bonds grow stronger, so will you. Free to leave us anytime, as we have no contract.”

Talia relaxed by the fire, thinking back to the past hours and days. Day light began piercing the mountain tops. She stood walking away from Vincere and Punire. Returning minutes later with new leather strapping for the grips, along with cloth and oil to clean the blades.