In a Mind of Steel

Consciousness swirled, eddied, and finally stabilized. Hethir could not see his surroundings, but he knew where his mind was.
Nezys...
"What? How are you in here?!"

Shapes, sights and sensations suddenly whirled in a frenzy, and Hethir found himself looking across and endless ghostly landscape. He looked down and was startled to see that he actually had a body. Of sorts, it was more akin to an astral projection than a solid form, but it was still not something he was used to.
"How have you entered like this? No one has ever managed it!"



Turning around, he saw a figure 'standing' about twenty feet away from him, though in the desolate place it was hard to judge precise distance. The terrain shifted slowly, seemingly always displaying a battlefield but never exactly the same one. If he concentrated, Hethir could see ghostly images of men in armor seething across the fields. His attention focused back on the figure. It was taller than he was, and while it shared his rather ghostly form it was definitely more solid than he was. It wore rich robes draped and layered, but looking closer he could see that every hem was a blade edge. He realized quickly that it was Nezys herself, the mind of a sword. Her features looked mostly human, but the cheekbones were higher and sharper. Her ears were long--far longer even than the elves he had met--and seemed to be pierced with dangling charms. It took only a glance for him to realize that the charms were inscribed with runes much like the ones that had been on her blade.
"Entering a mind is something I can do, though I will be honest I have never attempted it on a sword before. It is also possible that your 'injuries' have distorted your mind enough to permit my entry, Nezys."
Nezys drifted closer to him; her robes waving in a nonexistent wind, rasping against each other like steel on steel. "Injuries... it is more akin to being maimed and disfigured!" she almost snarled. Closer now, he could see that her features were in fact scarred, and her right hand was little more than a melted wreck.
"I am sorry for that. Truly I am, but surely you can see that you offered us little choice."
"What choice have I ever had!" Nezys nearly wailed, "You say I must tell you of my master's plans, that I cannot attempt to harm or confront you! But how can I?! It is my very nature, my existence! I cannot disobey!!"
Hethir watched her robes begin to swirl around her viciously, the razor edges hissing through the 'air'. He knew that in a few moments, she would be attacking him, trying to kill him as she must. As she was bound to do. His gaze flicked back to her face, and saw the conflict there. She did not want to kill him--not truly--he had shown mercy to her and she did not wish to repay that ill, but there was something else forcing her to act, compelling her to viciousness. The charms dangling from her ears danced, the runes on them glowing brightly.
The runes...
Hethir looked closer. The runes were changing, shifting, their charms oddly still compared to the rest of Nezys' trembling avatar. He did not recognize them, but he could sense their intent. They were bindings, controlling enchantments that subdued Nezys' will. The sword was bloodthirsty yes, a killer most certainly, but she was not insane and she was not unreasonable--the binding on her however, was. Slowly he realized why her personality changed so drastically when Trace had begun to erase the enchantments that made her; he had been unraveling her bindings as well.
But it had been by accident, a side effect to the brute force destruction he had applied. But here, inside her very mind, Hethir thought that perhaps he could be more precise.
"Nezys... let me help you, I can see the bindings on you, the geas that he laid on you. I can remove it, I can set you free of it! But you must let me, you must fight it!"
"I... I cannot!"
"Fight, Nezys, you have the stronger will!"
Her face twisted in agony, and the runes hanging from her ears pulsed brighter and faster. Knowing he didn't have long, Hethir forced himself forward, standing directly before Nezys, and reached out to seize the runes. They burned like fire and hellish ice, and it was all he could do not to recoil in shock and horror. The enchantments were not laid to work on other minds, but they tried anyway. It was a mental battle alike to the one he had lost to the Archbishop earlier. But this time, he was at his full strength, in the battlefield of the mind itself. Here, in this place, he was freed of the limitations of flesh. He slammed into the enchantments like a juggernaut, feeling them weaken almost imperceptibly. He hammered at them repeatedly, feeling them slowly releasing their hold. He switched tactics then, changing from brute force to precision. His mind danced like a blade itself, cutting the enchantment away, incising it like a tumor away from the mind it struggled to keep in thrall.

It seemed at the same time like an age and a moment had passed. Hethir threw the last of his strength at the enchantment, and at the same time, tore the charms free of Nezys' ears. She screamed then, loud and long, and collapsed to writhe on the shifting ground. Hethir flung the enchanted things away even as they attempted to find purchase in his own mind. He watched as they seemed to collapse in on themselves, disappearing in moments. Nezys stopped screaming, but still lay curled on the ground. Kneeling over her, Hethir reached out again and touched her directly. The sensations were alien, and forceful, too forceful. The thrill of cutting through an enemy, the joy of being unsheathed, the strange emotions and impulses of steel. With considerable effort of will, he pushed through them, into the deeper thoughts beyond. The mind that lay within was battered, damaged, and steadily weakening. He had freed her from the binding enchantments, but they had done their best to kill her anyway. Tapping the last dregs of his mental power, he began the laborious process of repairing the damage that had been done. The holes that had been torn in her by the enchantments were first to be filled. In their place he left barriers that would prevent such enchantments from being easily laid again. The damage that had been dealt by Trace's magic-devouring touch was harder.
"Nezys... I need your help, I cannot repair this all myself."
She barely reacted, seemingly too deep in mental trauma to reply. Hethir mentally gritted his teeth and continued, filling the holes left as best he could. Where the damage was simply too extensive, he overlaid as best he could with the only mind he knew almost as well as his own. In the end, Nezys would think and act a bit more like Val--which was a slightly disturbing proposition--but at least it would probably render her a bit less bloodthirsty. As he worked, he noticed it becoming easier. With a sense of tremendous relief, he realized that Nezys herself was beginning to recover and aid him. Where before he was forced to dig his way through her mind to reassemble the damaged pieces, now she was beginning to show him where they lay. And as he he assembled her mind from the scraps he could find and parts of Val's, Nezys did her best to accept the implanted assembly.

Hethir had no idea how long he labored there, but at last, Nezys stood unaided.
"I... I am whole again..."
"Finally..." was all Hethir could manage. He was exhausted, his mind on the ragged edge of his ability.
"You saved me again, Hethir..."
"You're welcome."
Her avatar had changed now. Before, her entire form had been a bloody red. Now her skin was closer to violet, and the robes  that draped over her varied between pale blue and deep purple. Hethir slowly realized that the colors closely matched his and Val's manifestations, apparently he had put a bit more of himself into Nezys than he realized.
"Actually... you put a lot more of yourself in... and I am sorry for taking so much."
"What?"
Nezys raised a hand and placed it on her chest. "You are not familiar with items such as I, that became obvious as you worked to repair me. My mind is an enchantment Hethir, not a soul, not linked to a physical body. You poured some of your own power and spirit into me, that is the only way I could have been repaired."
Hethir looked at himself again and started. His form was notably drained of color, and seemed even less distinct than before.
"Don't worry, I know you will recover!" Nezys suddenly assured him anxiously. "You'll just be a bit tired for a while..."
"Of course... naturally." Hethir groused.
"I guess that just means Val and I will have to take care of you for the moment..."
And at that Nezys gave him a wink, and look that was straight out of Val's seductive repertoire.
"Hells... what have I made you into."
Nezys laughed at that, and the sound was like ringing steel.
"Something quite wonderful, if I do say so myself, let me help you out of here Hethir..."
The ghostly realm around him faded into darkness, and he suddenly felt his body slump to the ground.

----------

Trace and the Archbishop had stood anxiously for several long minutes, watching Hethir and the sword he held carefully. Trace's expression still bore hints of anger, but he was suppressing it well. The Archbishop on the other hand was frowning at Hethir's body, "his mind has left, gone entirely into the sword..."
"What does that mean? Has she broken trust already!" Trace asked, the anger already crowding back into his voice. The Archbishop shook his head briefly, "I don't think so, not yet anyway, there was no conflict. I think Hethir meant to do so--though he was utterly foolish to."
Slowly, the markings on the blade began to shift. The bloodred runes began to be replaced by softer violet etchings. The section of the blade marred by Trace's touch began to clear, and the same violet etchings spread further up, moving from handle to tip. The Archbishop looked closely at the violet lines that ran over the blade curiously. "They aren't runes, in fact I don't think these are a language at all..."
Trace nodded, "it looks closer to lightning, but a bit too patterned."
They watched as the marking glowed brighter, and more of the strange lines poured from the hilt where Nezys' eye was now shut. "I think... I think Hethir is repairing the enchantments of the sword from within..."
"What? Why would he do that!"
The Archbishop didn't respond, instead watching the marks closely as they ran. "They are thoughts... Hethir is not just repairing the enchantment... he is recreating it entirely!"
Trace just stared wordlessly, "How?"
"I wonder if he even knows what he is doing... He is re-purposing the original spells, instead of channeling magic as most such items, I think the sword will be channeling its own and its wielder's mental power, much as Hethir and I do..."
The Archbishop had barely finished speaking when Hethir suddenly slumped to the floor. He barely managed a grunt as he hit the floor. Trace nearly snarled at the blade still clutched in his hand, but Hethir raised a hand weakly. "It's alright... she's... safe... now..." he panted out each word, feeling like every breath was agony.
The Archbishop shook his head, then knelt and put a hand on Hethir's forehead. The golden light of divine magic swirled, and Hethir began to breath easier. "That was foolish, dangerous, and very likely to fail outright you know..."
"Apparently I didn't..." coughed Hethir, "Though somehow I seemed to have made it through anyway.
"Indeed!" Nezys' voice called into their minds, it was brighter than last time, almost more cheerful.
"Foolish, dangerous, absurd even, but somehow you managed to pull it off anyway! In fact I think its safe to say I never felt better!"
The sword glowed intensely, and from the wide-open eye a solid form began to emerge. Starting slowly, but accelerating as it grew, a figure of crystallized ether began to form. The Archbishop and Trace both leaped back away from it, but Hethir simply watched with raised eyebrow. A few moments after it began, Nezys' avatar stood before them in perfect physical recreation. She held herself easily in one hand, but the other was reaching down towards Hethir, helping him to his feet.
"That's quite a trick Nezys... when did you learn that?"
"Somewhere in your rather strange process of repairing me, you gave me knowledge of tapping the astral plane for creating solid objects, it was a short leap from there to manifesting my avatar!"
She wore a smile now, something he hadn't seen before, it made her look far less threatening. Trace and the Archbishop still looked warily at her, but Nezys simply grinned back at them.
"So... now that Hethir has made me good and free, ready to hear what it was D was after?"