“That was different,” Vincent interjected. “You’re different.” The ring on my right hand vibrated, calling the Oblivion blade forward. It hummed in my hand, and Vincent took a step back. The sword chimed, ready to eat, to taste death. The swirling black and purple smoke caressed it as I gripped the hilt. Everyone leaned away, trying to put distance between themselves and me, whether or not they realized it. “Tell me what it is, what it does,” I demanded, lifting the sword and shaking it. “Explain to me how I’m a savior when the very blade I created ends worlds. Tell me I’m worth it. Tell me I
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