The Blade that Bleeds

Salt churned in the air like the tide of a collapsing world. Every breath stung, every heartbeat thudded against a rising pressure that pulled salt from sweat, blood, and marrow alike. The storm wasn’t just descending—it was devouring.

Isaiah stood between annihilation and the people he swore to protect, his cloak flaring out to shield Angelique and the others. His breath came shallow, eyes narrowed as wind clawed at him. He gritted his teeth, tasting iron, feeling a sharp ache building in his left arm. He stepped forward, away from the others, toward the beast before him.

“Isaiah!” Angelique cried out. Her voice was muffled by the storm, but he heard it just the same.

He slammed the tip of his sword into the ground. His knees bent, grounding himself in more than just earth. Resolve pounded in his chest, a moment guided by his all-consuming ethos. He would sacrifice for others.

“An arm should be enough.” Isaiah thought to himself.

A red glow flared up his left arm, crawling from shoulder to fingertips. Veins bulged. The red ring in his eyes burned crimson as his sacrifice turned to his ideal. A roar built in his throat as the pain surged. Flesh cracked, split, and burst into tendrils of glowing blood.

He could sacrifice without pain. He had learned that in the past. The lack of pain during his sacrifice, however, weakened his ideal. He needed the pain this time.

A dome of blood surged outward, hardening in mid-air, encasing the Unproven, Angelique, and his brothers in a pulsating shield of crimson. Salt spattered and sparked, unable to penetrate. The barrier shivered but held firm, keeping Sodom's storm out.

Isaiah staggered but didn’t fall. He reached to his belt, retrieving three blood vials. Each one pulsed with a pre-sacrificed intent, an ideal stored for later. They each shone lightly in the darkness of the storm, one a dull black-red, another shimmering rose, and the third vibrating like a heartbeat.

He threw them forward, slicing through them with his blade. Each vial went to work separately, the ideal placed in them becoming reality.

The black-red blood shaped into form. Muscles. Armor. A tattered cloak. A perfect replica of himself took shape beside him, its body formed entirely from sacrifice and intent. The clone opened its eyes, glowing with the same crimson fury.

The rose-colored blood exploded in a pink mist—then reformed into a dozen thin needles that hovered like a halo above him and his clone. They drifted in and out, lashing at any attack or enemy within range.

The blood from the final vial dropped to the earth; it sank in. The ground rumbled, then erupted in a geyser of blood that shot into the air and scattered into a minefield of hovering orbs.

He decided to throw everything he could at this obstacle in front of him. He had a few more vials of healing blood, but he can't heal himself. It wouldn't be a sacrifice if he could. Raphael could fix him up, but only if he could keep Sodom and this Ornias at bay for a little while longer.

Two Isaiahs now stood between salvation and extinction. Sodom advanced through the salt storm, limbs reshaping with each step. The air warped around it. The ground beneath it glassed over, salt fusing stone into reflective ice. It had no core—no weakness—only the hunger of uncreation.

Beside it, the Ornias raised its grotesque cannon, pressure hissing from organic vents. The air around it compressed unnaturally. Above, the Lilith watched in titillated glee.

Isaiah raised his blade. His clone mirrored him. The mines pulsed, and their halos of needles shimmered.

“Blessed be the blade that bleeds for the Lord,” Isaiah muttered with a crooked smirk. “Let demons choke on our sacrifices.”

The Ornias took aim and fired. A compressed burst of air howled toward them, pressure so dense it carved a trench through the stone ground.

The clone lunged. Its swing split the blast in two, scattering it into swirling salt. The real Isaiah followed, leaping into the wake of the explosion. His sword cleaved downward, striking the Ornias across its arm cannon.

Metal shrieked against bone. The beast staggered. Bloodied cartilage and exposed tissue flailed as Isaiah brutally drove his blade again and again, dismembering the malformed weapon. The clone struck from behind, dragging its blade across the beast's back and knocking it into the rubble. The Ornias howled, its voice like wet steel.

Sodom moved, exhaling, a storm wave erupting from its chest. Salt blasted outward in a ring, shredding the landscape. The blood barrier groaned, veins rippling against the impact, but it held.

Isaiah and his clone separated, circling their prey like wolves. The clone jammed its blade into Sodom’s arm. Salt erupted from the wound, but the limb didn’t fall. It reformed, reshaping around the sword. The clone held on, twisting the blade deeper, keeping Sodom’s attention.

Isaiah launched upward, sword shining in the whiteout. He dragged his blade down Sodom's back, along its spine as he landed. The beast roared, a sound of gargled glass vibrating the bones of any who hear it.

Isaiah flung a signal with his fingers. The mines answered as he and the clone jumped away. The orbs converged on Sodom, exploding in violent fury, knocking it off balance. It stumbled but did not fall as the mines came in waves, locking it down.

Sodom swung a massive arm, a blade of salt forming as it flew. The halo of needles clashed with it, folding over each other to blunt the attack. It crashed into the clone, sending it tumbling through debris. It rose again, slower this time, leaking blood, its form wavering.

The Ornias tried to rise, but Isaiah met it halfway. He slammed his foot into its chest, forced it down, and plunged his sword through its sternum, twisting it. The blade cracked through bone as he pushed forward, up through the skull. Its eyes flickered, then went dead.

Sodom turned, exhaling again. The storm spun in reverse. Salt and wind screamed together, erasing everything. The world became white noise.

The clone crashed into Sodom again, hacking wildly. Each slash scored flesh, but nothing stayed broken. Isaiah stumbled, coughing blood through his filtration mask. His vision doubled. His knees buckled. But he moved.

He couldn’t stop. Twenty minutes was nothing. That’s all he had to buy? It could've been an hour for all he cared.

Sodom grabbed the clone and hurled it into a ruined wall. The structure collapsed. Dust and blood mingled in the air. The clone tried to crawl out but had lost too much of itself, now consisting of the barest bit of torso, head, and sword arm.

Sodom raised its arms. The storm slowed to a stop, salt floating motionlessly in the air, and began to pulse. Isaiah’s eyes widened. It was preparing something final.

He raised his sword, blood falling to the ground from his missing arm. Without his blessing, he would have bled to death in this time. He directed his halo of needles forward like a school of crimson fish.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “Only when they are safe.”

Suddenly, Isaiah's bleeding stump ignited. A flare of golden flame sprouted from his shoulder as another tore through the storm. A line of heat carved through the salt wall, burning it away. Footsteps followed, slow and steady. Fire burned in patches across his arms, his chest, and his legs.

Raphael.

His twin daggers glowed, shifted, and fused. A dual-sided polearm, burning and alive, formed in his hands. His skin sizzled as the fire seared the wounds made by surpassing his limits to make it this quickly.

“I’m here!” His slightly high-pitched voice carried across the chaos. “You're not dead yet, right?”

"Twenty minutes? Ha!" Isaiah sank to one knee. “About damn time.”

"Come on. I ran 93 miles! Give me a break." Raphael shrugged. "And I'm technically two minutes early."

"I could have done it in twelve." Isaiah chuckled.

"You have longer legs than me!" Raphael shot back.

Sodom stood between them, looking back and forth. The salt gathered and coalesced into spears once more. It plucked two from the air, wielding them while the others fought autonomously.

Isaiah had held the line, but now a second blade stood beside him. Two Seraphim, burning with divine fury, stared down the demon of salt.

The war wasn't over. It was just beginning.