Selina Del Naryen cursed silently as she landed on her back for the sixth time in half as many minutes, thumping to the wooden floor in the room where only herself and a gnarled old man were sparring. The hard floor, littered with broken furniture and shards of glass, was treacherous to move around on, with someone not moving carefully running the risk of shredding their bare feet, but a fall could cause even more damage to someone, if they landed badly.

She slapped the ground twice, signifying her defeat, then stood up, seconds before bowing to the old man. "Good shot. Now, it’s my turn."

The man smiled in response, revealing a mouth devoid of all but three or four teeth, then returned Selina’s bow with a sudden sweep of the wooden staff he held in one hand. Selina dodged the sudden move by jumping over the first strike, pulling her legs up as she flipped towards the Master. She hit the ground just as the return sweep of the staff smacked into her right shoulder, using the force of momentum to send her flying into the wall behind the Master.

Wincing, Sel flexed her arm, then ducked to the side, spinning outwards with a kick to knock the staff out of position. Her hands came down hard on several small shards of glass, which crackled and crunched underneath her fingerless gloves, but did not penetrate the hardened leather. Sel used her continued momentum of her kick to flip forwards, rebounding off of the wall and launching herself towards the Master.

She didn’t hit him, however, as her hands snaked out and latched onto the staff. Expertly, she switched her stance when her feet hit the ground, and, kicking upwards, she neatly wrapped her right leg around the Master’s left wrist, which she quickly yanked down and to the side by snapping her leg straight and out to the side. The sudden move forced the Master’s hand off of the staff, which Sel then twisted out of his right hand, negligently flipping it around to a combat pose behind her back as she blocked a solid kick aimed at her left knee.

Sel hopped back slightly, then neatly reached out with the steel-shod end of the staff, whacking the Master in his right elbow, temporarily deadening the nerves in his lower arm and hand. However, though the impact debilitated his choice of motions, he snapped his left hand across and grabbed the end of the staff. Shoving hard, he knocked the staff away from Sel, who, nonplussed by the counter, simply dropped down to her hands, scissoring her feet through the Master’s legs, which knocked him onto his back.

Soon, he slapped the ground, and climbed to his feet, with an assist from Sel. Sel retrieved the staff from where it had landed, and, dusting it off, she handed the weapon over with a nod of appreciation. The Master nodded back, examining the solid piece of wood with a practised eye. Then, smiling, he gestured for Sel to precede him through the door. Sel did so, absently blocking the staff’s tap on the shoulder with her right hand.

The two paused in front of a wooden door, which upon closer inspection, was about as wooden as a chunk of nickel. Though painted to look as decayed as the rest of the building, the door was actually a solid chunk of steel, with the exception of a small viewing slit in the upper third of the door. The Master tapped on the door with the end of his staff, creating a complicated pattern that Sel almost instantly tapped out on her thigh, in a near-perfect cadence, which earned her a raised eyebrow.

The door clicked audibly, then slowly groaned open, sounding like the last time the hinges had been oiled was close to twenty years ago. Behind the door was an immense man, looking like a scarred Michael Clarke Duncan, and he was holding onto an even bigger machine gun, easily toting the big gun one-handed. Selina raised an eyebrow when she recognised the gun as US military issue only, but didn’t pay it too much mind.

The Master stopped in front of a second door, then turned and gestured for Sel to stand next to him. Slowly, he opened the door, and Sel applied her own strength to opening the door as well, which protested the slow grind of momentum by squealing angrily. Finally, the door stood open, and, within the dim light filtering through the dust-choked room, Sel noticed the light was glimmering on an array of sharpened steel.

Walking into the room, Sel carefully examined the selection of weapons, which ran from the range of innocuous and pathetically harmless-looking tonfa batons up to and including vicious-looking swords, still stained with blood. Sel tried out a pair of Sai daggers, accurately pummelling a practice dummy with short stabs that would have thoroughly killed the thing if it had been alive in the first place. However, despite the good condition of the daggers, and the speed in which they could be employed, Sel replaced them, frowning to herself. She already had a dagger, though it languished inside her apartment

Instead, she turned and began examining the larger weapons. A pair of hook-swords caught her eye, at least, right before the two blades revealed their rust-covered nature to her. Sel sighed and replaced the two swords, glancing pointedly over at the Master, who shrugged. Shaking her head, Sel returned to the search through the weapons, until her eyes fell upon a dust-covered sword hiding behind three rusted hand axes. Gently reaching out, she picked up the long sword, surprising herself at the ease in which the blade seemed to fit in her hand.

Slowly wiping the dust off of the sword, Sel noted to herself that the sword was longer than it appeared, as much of it was invisible in the dark room, except for a faint gleam of sliver along the edge of the long blade. Turning slightly, and focussing her thoughts, Sel turned, blade outstretched, and neatly lopped the head off of the practice dummy. Then, without even thinking, she twisted the blade, overcame inertia, and sliced the flying head in half before it could hit the ground. Finally, with a third change in direction, the tip of the sword gently grazed the dummy from neck to waist, splitting the wood and fabric dummy down the middle and sending a cascade of sawdust to the ground.

Grinning, Sel flipped the blade around once, noting how the sword seemed to be perfectly balanced no matter which angle it was at. Turning towards the Master, Sel nodded, then selected a scabbard that could hold the sword, without being damaged by the exceedingly sharp edges. Sheathing the sword, she suddenly felt loath to remove her hand from the hilt, almost as if she had formed an attachment to the strange weapon. After a few seconds however, the point was rendered moot, as Sel slowly pulled her hand free from the hilt.

Turning towards the Master, Sel presented her choice to him. "I choose this blade to be my weapon of honour. May my choice bring good fortune to all my allies, now and future."

She then bowed deeply, still holding the sword’s scabbard just below the crossguard. The Master looked at the sword, and, all colour draining from his face, bowed slowly, barely inclining his head before straightening. He then stepped towards Sel, and gently placing his hand on her own, he pulled her down to a slightly bent posture so he could speak to her. "I am not sure that this weapon will bring you any good fortune. It is legendary, but it is also cursed. Stories speak of swords possessed by vengeful spirits, and that is one of those blades."

Sel looked skeptically at the blade she held, then shook her head. "I doubt that. After all, how could something of such exquisite make be cursed? Besides, I have a feeling that this will save me sometime in the future." Gently, she disengaged the master’s hand from her own, and, slowly stretching to her full height, she carefully wrapped the scabbard and pommel of the sword in a thin grease paper that masked it from prying eyes, not to mention prying fingers.

She then turned, walking past both men, and ignoring the angered "You’ll be sorry!" from the Master, she walked outside of the training centre. Once out in the open air, she sighed under her breath, feeling more than slightly irritated, but then looked around at her temporary home. *Gah. I hate this place. Why did I come to Tokyo in the first place? Oh yeah, I wanted to learn Pentjak Silat from the most powerful Master in the known world.*

Selina walked to her apartment, which she had nicknamed the ‘coffin’ as the tiny apartment wasn’t much more than a place where she could sleep and prepare the occasional meal. Once inside, she sat down on her small futon, wincing as a bruise on her arm made itself felt, and examined the sword. The long blade was almost as long as she was tall, including the eight-inch hilt and crossguard. However, despite the weapon’s obviously forbidding appearance, Sel handled the sword with ease, noticing that there was no blood channel in the blade, telling her that the sword was designed for vicious slashes, which would leave long tearing wounds that would put a victim into organ shock in one good swipe.

Sel didn’t care too much about what the damage potential of the sword was, as she was mentally entranced by the slowly shifting shades of black and dark blue that seemed to slide over the surface of the sword. Glancing at her watch, Sel absently noticed the time, and feeling tired, she put the sword back in its sheath, which was then carefully placed into the tiny closet where most of Sel’s clothes also resided. Closing the closet, Sel didn’t even bother to change into her nightclothes, instead falling back onto the futon and nearly instantly falling asleep.

However, during her dreamless slumber, something happened that was most definitely not normal. As she slept, a faint glow began to seep out from between the slats of the closet door. Unlike the faint and flickering glow of a flame, or the pulsing throb of a neon light, the glow coming from the closet seemed to amorphous, sliding and shivering across objects as it slowly expanded. However, it only stopped when it found Selina’s sleeping form. Pausing for a moment, and then moving tentatively, the glow slowly began to cover Sel’s body, only stopping when she was completely surrounded.

Slowly, the glow intensified, until it solidified as a pulsing sheath of bright red, completely covering Sel, and slowly constricting inwards Just as the glow flickered and died completely, Sel’s eyes snapped open, though they were no longer their usual shade of bright blue. Instead, her eyes were a dark shade of reddish-purple, glowing slightly as she sat up. Moving slowly and slightly jerkily, as if she wasn’t in complete control of her body, Sel stood up, walked over to the closet, and opened the door, staring at the sword. Slowly, she unsheathed the weapon, either not noticing or not caring that the sword was glowing a deep, pulsing shade of red in time with her own heartbeat, nor that she seemed to be revitalized by her contact with the hilt of the blade.

Slowly, Sel opened her apartment’s door with her free hand, listening carefully for anything of interest. Her thoughts had turned themselves to one focal point, and, with the primal urge having taken over, Sel’s only objective was to kill. Standing in the hallway, Sel hunched over slightly, sniffing the air like a wild animal, and then made a decision as she turned towards a door halfway down the hallway. The sword seemed to affirm Sel’s decision, and, tip of the blade leading, Sel started walking down the hall.

Standing in front of the door she had chosen, Sel paused for a few seconds, listening for anything inside. She heard the faint hum of a television being turned on, and, almost immediately, she swung the sword up, carving the blade through the right side of the door, and severing the hinges like they were made of paper. Just as the sword came around to lodge for a second in the doorjamb, Sel’s left foot slammed into the door, caving in a panel, but also knocking the door open in a spray of splinters. She yanked on the sword once, pulling it free, and walked calmly into her victim’s apartment.

Her victims, a man and a woman, were just rising from the couch where they had been cuddling, though there wasn’t much effectiveness as the sword flashed outwards, bleeding off excess energy in a coruscating trail of light that gleamed wetly before fading away. The first slash missed as both people ducked, though it did quite a number on the couch itself. However, the return sweep, angled down, chopped open the man’s chest, releasing a series of wet cracks as his ribcage was opened up like a book. The tip of the sword itself had neatly gouged a line across the heart, though it had not penetrated deeply, but it had also opened up the bottom third of the left lung. A small, multi-spouted fountain of blood squirted upwards from the arteries underneath the ribs, and the man collapsed, convulsing from the pain.

Selina, uncaring, slotted the tip of the sword into the gouge in the man’s heart and shoved with most of her strength, slamming the sword right through the person’s heart and pinning him in place like a butterfly to a cork board. The woman, who had stood, frozen, during the vicious attack, tried to escape, running past Sel for the open door. She managed a step and a bit before an outstretched forearm caught her across the throat, throwing her back onto the couch where she started to gasp for air. The powerful blow to her throat had broken the cartilage bands that keep the trachea open, and the muscular action of the gag reflex had sealed the woman’s throat tighter than any outside influence could.

Both people died within moments of each other, one from massive trauma, the other from asphyxia. Standing silently in the room, Sel blinked twice, her eyes turning more blue than red. Pausing, and seemingly fighting for control, she failed, and her eyes turned red once more. The sword, satiated upon the dead man, whose body was well and truly bloodless, was yanked out of the corpse, angled to the side, and neatly rammed into the body of the dead woman. Less than two minutes later, the sword flared brightly once, then relinquished its control on Sel’s body, which was first noticeable when her eyes turned back to their normal shade.

Taking a look around the room, Sel instantly glanced at the two corpses lying on the slashed-open couch, the sword still inserted in one of the two dried-out pieces of human jerky. Physically, she didn’t react at all. The only motion that she went through was a slow and methodical withdrawal of the sword from the corpse, which necessitated Sel placing her foot on the body’s abdomen as she pulled the long blade out of the bloodless form. Slowly, moving nearly silently on the balls of her feet, Sel turned and left the room, keeping a lid on her emotions only through sheer force of will.

Slowly, after closing and locking the door to her room, Sel examined the sword again. The black blade gleamed slightly in the dim light of her lone lamp, almost having a reddish tint that faded from view almost as quickly as Sel could focus on it. Finally, frustrated, confused, and emotionally drained, Sel just re-sheathed the sword, lay down on her futon, and wept.

Almost two hours later, she left her room, holding the scabbarded and fabric-wrapped sword in one hand as she walked out of the building. She didn’t pause until she was almost three blocks away, and then told a passing policeman that she had heard some screams from the apartment, and suggested that the officer check it out. She didn’t wait for a response, disappearing into the gloom between some streetlights by ducking into an alley.

Sel quickly walked to the building being used as the training ground, and, once she got to the door, she simply whacked the heavy metal with the hilt of the sword, creating a dull boom that resonated into the building. A few seconds later, a viewing slit opened in the door, and a pair of dark eyes glared at Sel. Then the door opened, moving slowly.

Sel didn’t move until the door was wide open. Then, silent as a ghost, she walked inside, the purpose in her eyes promising swift death to anyone who got in her way. Nobody decided to test her temper, or her force of will. Moving methodically, she quickly found the current fighting arena, this time being a grease pit where two trainees sparred in ankle-deep slime. She didn’t even pause, striding across the middle of the pit without even slowing.

Both trainees, surprised at her appearance, thought she was hostile, and attacked simultaneously. The response was quick, effective, and ended with one trainee cradling a broken wrist while the other nursed a dislocated kneecap. Sel then stopped in front of the Master, who had watched everything. She then showed him her right hand, which had an arcane marking burned into the palm. "Explain. Now."

The Master nodded, then gestured for the two apprentices to leave. "That is a mark of one who has been controlled by the sword. Go to the library, search for the ‘Black Blade of Carthage.’ your answers are there."

Sel nodded, turning to leave. She was stopped by a query, however. "How many did it kill?"

"Two. Bloodless husks by the time it was done with them." she then turned and walked away, leaving the Master to his thoughts. She instantly headed to the library, which had a collection of musty tomes that were several centuries old, as well as a few more modern ones. In one of the modern tomes, Sel found what she was looking for.

"The Black Blade of Carthage, a legendary sword of unparalleled power and destructive ability, is made of meteoric steel that is roughly twice as strong as Durallex alloy. Carbon analysis shows that the sword was originally forged around the time of the fall of Carthage, corroborating legends of an unstoppable warrior wielding a blade of night against the Roman legions. During the year 1612, the sword was recovered during the excavations of Carthage, though it then disappeared under rumours of people near it being possessed of murderous rage.

"Rumours abound about the weapon possibly being possessed, but scientific conjecture has shown that there is no proof of such an effect. Currently, the weapon is still missing, and is identifiable by the fact that the blade is almost completely black, with the exception of a few tinges of silver or red in the edges of the sword." Sel closed the book, having found what she needed.

She then picked up the sword, which had been resting against the table where she had been reading the book, and decided to head back to her apartment. At the exit, she was stopped by a half-dozen men, all of whom were carrying a variety of dangerous-looking weapons. Behind her, she heard the slow tap of the Master’s staff on the concrete floor. "Don’t try to stop me. I have no wish to kill any of the students, and you know that I can."

"I will not stop you, child. I wish only to tell you something. It may be possible to control the rage within the sword. However, you must be tested in order to see if you can control yourself." With that, he tapped the floor twice, and turned away. Sel instantly drew the sword, the black blade flashing in the dim light as it neatly shattered a pair of sai daggers that had been rather poorly thrust towards her. Thus began a defensive conflict that ended nearly ten minutes later. Sel actively tried to avoid seriously injuring or killing any of the students, which handicapped her only slightly as she used the sword as an effective weapon-breaker.

None of the weapons that had been brought to bear against her could stand against the supernatural power of the sword, and most shattered on impact. Simultaneously, Sel cut loose with devastating strikes that disabled her opponents by ruining kneecaps, elbows and wrists. By the time the last victim dropped to the ground, Sel was exceedingly angry. Turning around, she sheathed the sword, glared at the Master, and nodded, almost imperceptibly. He, in turn, nodded, then gestured to the door leading to the outside. "Once you leave, you will be dead to us. If you return, we will be forced to kill you. I wish this had not come to pass, but so it must be."

Sel nodded, then slowly opened the door. Pausing at the threshold, she slowly wiped a tear away from her eye. "So be it. Farewell."

Then, once again, she disappeared into the gloom, lost in the shadows of existence.